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cdragons · 3 months

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #michael gavey x reader

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bloodyvioletzz · 8 months

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Drunk And Nasty

Miguel O’hara x Reader | AU

WARNINGS: fem reader, smut, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, oral sex (fem receiving), protected sex, praise kink, marking kink, biting, love bites, missionary, fingering, dirty talk, hair-pulling, literally so much smut so expect the worst, oh and miguel speaks spanish in this 🌚

Your boss was a dick. Always degrading you for anything you do.

“Is this all you did?” he asked. You were showing him your recent research on a spreading virus that started to infect people in Nueva York.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is it not enough?”

Miguel tossed the papers back onto your desk, ignoring your question. “Get back to work.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped back. Miguel was just heading out, but your tone made him turn his head to face you. You grew nervous under his gaze. “I’m sorry Miguel but- there’s progress on those papers! If you would just give me a chance.”

“How many chances have I given you?” Miguel replied coldly. “You keep disappointing me. I promoted you to this position for a reason. Do better.” And he left. Just like that.

As soon as he left the room you cleared everything off your desk, pencils rolling on the ground and files going everywhere. You grabbed the papers he had looked at off the ground and tore them up, frustrated. Nothing is good enough for this douche.

Jessica came in, a close friend of yours who was fortunately your co-worker.

“He saw you?” she questioned as she eyed everything on the floor.

“Yes! Nothing is good enough for him! It’s not like I went to fucking Harvard..”

Jessica laughed. “You need a break.”

You looked at her and scoffed. “Yeah, and get ridiculed for not working enough? No thanks.”

“Oh..” Jessica bent down and picked up some scattered files. She was off.

“What did you do…?” you asked suspiciously as you helped her clean your mess.

Jessica’s eyes were focused on the floor. “You know, I just thought you’d want a break- and everyone is going to the club tonight… I told them you’d come.”

You let go of the files and put your face in your hands, exasperated. “Oh my god. Of course you did!”

Jessica sighed as she finally looked at you. “I know you. You could really use this, when was the last time you partied?”

Your hands left your face as you shrugged, embarrassed.

“Exactly,” Jessica smirked.

“Shut up,” you smiled. “He won’t be there will he?”

“Oh no,” she replied. “Miguel doesn’t.. do clubs. Or people for that matter.”

“He’s quite the introvert,” you muttered.

Jessica nodded, getting up and setting some files neatly on a desk. “That he is.”

Once you two finished cleaning up the room, she drove you to her house. You figured you’d just wear one of her old dresses.

As you rummaged through Jessica’s closet, a thought popped into your mind.

“Is he like that with everyone?” you asked, looking at a black slip dress with red lace.

“Who, Miguel?” Jessica was doing her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

“Yeah.. like does he get that angry with anyone else?”

Jessica thought for a second. “No, not that I know of.”

You pulled the dress out, deciding that it would show off some skin and look good at the same time. “Interesting.”

Jessica laughed. “Interesting?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s like he has something personal against me.”

“I doubt it, he’s just an asshole.”

You walked into the club wearing Jessica’s dress. It was a little tight but it looked good nonetheless. To match the dress you let Jessica do your makeup. She gave you a smokey eye and red lipstick to match the colors of your dress.

“Want a drink?” Jessica asked, as if she wasn’t already dragging you to the bar.

Jessica ordered two shots, which you guys quickly downed. You smiled excitedly as you took Jessica to the dance floor.

Your hair stuck to your forehead as you danced next to your friends, occasionally feeling yourself and grinding against them. There was no attraction for them while you did this, but it was fun watching people watch you.

After dancing to a few songs, you lost Jessica and your friends. You were stuck in a crowd of people.. but danced anyway. Besides, didn’t Jessica say you needed a break?

You were moving your hips to the rythm of the song until you backed up and bumped into someone. You turned around laughing, obviously a bit drunk, and apologized.

“Watch it,” a familiar voice could barely be heard over the booming music.

Your eyes went wide as you realized who was here.

And oh, were you gonna be Jessica’s ass.

You decided to play it casual, considering it wasn’t a professional environment you two were in..

You continued to dance and playfully grabbed his hand, making him spin you around.

“What are you doing here?” you yelled, smiling at his unamused face as you forced him to dance.

“Jessica invited me,” he replied, talking louder now.

Miguel slowly felt more comfortable dancing with you, and moved his hands to your hips. It was like he guided you.

“I didn’t take you for a party guy!” you giggled as he rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t take you for a black lace dress girl,” he said, eyes skimming your form.

You gradually got closer to him and he allowed it. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you said, looking up at him.

His mouth opened but he didn’t say anything. You smiled.

“Did I make THE Miguel O’hara speechless?”

The corners of his mouth turned up into a… wait. He is smiling. Miguel O’hara is smiling. And he’s smiling at you.

He flipped you around and pressed up against you, causing you to gasp. He smirked as he felt you grind up against him.

You leaned your head back and it layed against his chest, exposing your throat and a better look of your cleavage. His hand reached down and grazed your stomach, going all the way up until it reached your throat. He gently wrapped his hand around it, not choking you but holding you. All of a sudden Miguel O’hara started looking a lot more hot and a lot less grumpy.

Your breathing became heavy at the way he was touching and grinding against you, he was like an animal.

When Miguel let go of you, you immediately turned around to face him. He had the smuggest look ever, it was like he knew what he was doing to you. He was driving you crazy.

But little did you know that you made him crazy first.

You were so busy stuck looking at his expression to fail to realize that he was hard, for you, in public, with your co-workers around. Oh, and don’t forget.. he’s your boss.

“I-it’s hot in here..! Is it just me?” you laughed nervously as you fanned yourself.

“Si, eres tu…” you heard him mutter.

“What?” you practically screamed over the loud music. Miguel smiled. “Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked.

You could’ve sworn he was a mindreader.

You tried to hide your smile by casually looking around, as if you were searching for Jessica. “Let me talk with Jess first, she’ll think I got kidnapped,” you joked. He smirked and nodded. “Sounds like her.. I’ll be waiting outside.”

You watched him make his way through the dancing crowd, instead of finding Jessica you ran to the bathroom, immediately touching up on your makeup and hair. Once you were done you texted Jessica.

—

jessocq

JESSICA

Uh.. who?

leaving club 🍆🍆

JESSICA

With who???

uhmm moguek

JESSICA

Miguel?!

yes

JESSICA

Oh god. Use protection, please.

—

You smiled to yourself at her replies. She’d make a good mom.

Once you thought you looked half decent you left the bathroom and went outside, waving to some friends on the way out. You saw Miguel leaning on a sleek, black car. It looked like it costed more than 200,000 dollars.. easily.

“I- Is this yours?!” you asked, growing nervous as he opened the passenger seat for you.

“Who else’s would it be?” he smiled as you rolled your eyes. “Yes, it’s mine.”

He shut the door once you were inside and got into his nice ass car.

“It looks even better on the inside,” you admitted.

“It looks better with you in it, neña.”

You looked out the window, smiling.

Music played quietly as he drove you to his apartment, unfortunately traffic was terrible on a Friday night in Nueva York. And you two got caught in it.

“Maldito gilipollas..” you heard Miguel curse under his breath as stupid drivers tried to swerve in and out of lanes.

You sighed, it was awkward being turned on and not be able to do anything. Miguel sensed this, probably because you were dead silent while he was there cursing in spanish and you hadn’t said a word.

Miguel snaked a hand over to your thigh and caressed it gently. You looked down at his hand briefly before looking back to the window. Was he seriously gonna do this while he was driving..? Best ignore it, right?

You tried ignoring it, but Miguel wanted to play with his food. He slid his hand farther up your thigh until he reached the bottom of your dress. Your breath picked up in just the slightest, but he noticed. He notices everything about you and he always has.

He dragged his hand underneath your dress and under your panties, long fingers gently touching the area that has been neglected for far too long.

You gasped softly as his middle and ring finger circled your clit at an agonizingly slow pace. You fought the urge to arch into his fingers, and Miguel eyed the way your chest rose and fell quickly.

“Use your words,” Miguel commanded.

“W-what?” you replied.

Miguel kept one hand on the wheel, one hand in your panties, and his eyes on the road. “Tell me what you want.”

Your mouth opened to speak but you couldn’t find the courage. He was so.. intimidating.

“Hm,” Miguel started to remove his fingers, but you were quick to put your own hand over his and guide him back down.

“I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

He hummed in approval, “Buenas niña.” His fingers continued the circular movement but faster. You sighed as your head rested against the window, your hot breath fogged up the window.

His fingers left your clit as they slid up and down your wet cunt, as if they were lubing themselves up.

Miguel pushed his middle finger into you slowly and you moaned quietly as he began pumping in and out. One finger shortly turned into two and he had you a moaning mess. If his fingers were this good…

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to silence your loud moans out of embarrassment, but Miguel was ruthless and added a third finger.

“Quiero escuchar tus gemidos hermosa,” Miguel practically whimpered hearing the wet noises coming from his fingers leaving and entering your hole.

“Miguel..” you moaned, his fingers pumping into you and his palm hitting your clit gave you just the push you needed. “D-don’t stop I’m..”

Miguel slightly increased his pace as you came all over his fingers, “That’s right..” he praised. “Come all over my fingers, pretty girl.”

He removed his fingers once you came down from your high and put them in front of your mouth. You complied easily, opening your mouth and wrapping your lips around his fingers. You licked your juices off as if you were starving.

After they were clean and he removed them from your mouth, you looked out the window. Your eyes widened as you realized you two have been in the parking lot to his apartment. You hadn’t even noticed. You turned to Miguel and a shit-eating smirk grew on his face.

“..how long have we been here?” you asked quietly.

Miguel opened his car door and stepped out, “A little bit.”

You laughed as he closed his car door, coming over to yours and opening it for you. He held out his hand and you took it, smiling as he helped you get out his expensive car.

You two were in his apartment in seconds. Lips attacking eachother as clothes flew off. Before you knew it, you were naked, laying down on his bed as he gave you sloppy kisses.

He worked his way down and bit down on your neck. You winced at the pain, but that pain quickly turned to pleasure as he marked you as his.

“I’m gonna make sure the entire fucking workplace know who you belong to.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he continued to mark you. You tugged when he bit especially hard, and he groaned into your skin.

Suddenly he was off of you. You whined and sat up, noticing he was laying on his back.

“What are you..” you questioned.

“Sit on my face,” he replied casually.

You blinked in confusion. “Miguel I- I’ll crush you..”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

You considered it and slowly made your way over to him, straddling his face. You were hovering over him until he harshly grabbed your thighs and dug his nails into them as he forced you onto his mouth.

Your clit was still sensitive from your orgasm in the car, and your moans became whined as he tried to make you come a second time. He ate you out like he hasn’t eaten in days. He didn’t waste a single second, slurping up all your fluids while his tongue flicked back and forth against your clit.

You were grabbing the sheets above his head, moaning and blabbering out his name as you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach. You began rocking against his face, chasing your orgasm until you finally reached it, coming all over his face. He happily licked it up but soon let you off him when your moans turned into high-pitched whines.

He wiped his jaw. “Think you got one more in you?”

You frowned, “Miguel.. I don’t know.”

He pushed you gently onto your back and he hovered over you, he was a lot bigger than you. His arms were on each side of your head, caging you in.

“We’re gonna try..” he started, “is that okay?”

You nodded and he looked to his side, reaching into a drawer and grabbing a condom. He slid it onto his cock and gave it a few pumps before lining it up with your entrance. He pushed in slowly and gave you time to take all of him. Your mouth fell open and your head fell back against the pillows as you felt him stretch you like you’ve never been stretched before.

His forehead rested against yours until he bottomed out. He slowly started to move, and your hands clawed at his back for support when he started to pick up his pace.

“Oh, fuck..” you moaned, scratching his back harshly as he drilled into your pussy. Miguel didn’t mind, he was kinda into it anyways.

His pace became brutal and he attacked your neck once again, biting and sucking on the spots he missed.

“Te sientes tan jodidamente bien..” Miguel moaned as he trailed sloppy kisses back up to your lips.

You groaned at his words, and when he removed a hand from the side of your head and put it down to your clit, you lost it.

You were screaming his name and clawing at his back, drawing small amounts of blood. You were so overstimulated.

“You’re doing so good,” Miguel praised. “Come on my cock like the pretty girl you are.”

And with that, your legs shook as you came all over his cock. You moaned in unison as he came too, sighing as it filled the condom.

Your breath was eratic as you came down, you opened your eyes to see Miguel sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead. You gently moved it out the way with you fingers, and he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

You winced while he pulled out. He took off the condom and tossed it in the trash. He slid on his boxers and he stopped you before you got up. “Hold on.”

Miguel went into his bathroom and came back with a warm wet towel. He gently pryed your legs back open and cleaned you up. He put the towel in his laundry and climbed in bed with you. You two fell asleep in eachother’s arms.

You woke up big-spooning Miguel. Your eyes widened as you looked at his back and what you did to him. There were scratch and claw marks all over his back. Oops.

You heard him snoring slightly, and you figured he was still sleeping. You slowly got up, feeling sore everywhere. You put on one of his shirts and went to the bathroom and stared in horror as you saw your neck and thighs. He fucking destroyed you.

You ran to the living room and grabbed your phone, frantically texting Jessica.

how do you hide a hickey???

JESSICA

Depends. How bad is it?

(Photo sent.)

JESSICA

What did he do to you???

NOTE: i’m so sorry if the spanish is goofy as fuck google translate is so weird </3

#smut #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you

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uhohnotthisagain · 2 months

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Admiring Sam - Headcannon

Time when you admired your boyfriend Sam.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, ghost

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: cuteness?, mentions of sex, mentions of injury, mentions of ghosts, no swearing.

My masterlist

Whilst doing research:

You’re sitting around a table in a motel room, only undressed the top layers of the FBI suits that you, Sam and Dean were wearing whilst investigating the current case. You’re sitting opposite Sam, Dean next to you.

At first you were concentrating, but then you looked at Sam in the corner of your vision, which lead to him taking up all of your attention.

You tried to keep looking busy, but with the way he was sitting; shirt sleeve rolled up, hair a mess from running fingers through it, hunched over the computer with a look of concentration on his face. He looked both adorable and hot at the same time.

Within a few moments, he looks up at you, feeling the holes you were burning into him with your eyes. He smiles at you, which you return with a blush, slightly disappointed you got caught.

He sneakily reaches under the table undetected by his brother sitting next to him, rubbing your leg as a form of comfort and love.

In bed:

You were both resting in bed after having had sex.

You splurged on your own room, needing some much needed privacy after a semi gruesome hunt.

You were both laying on your back, the only sound to be heard were yours and Sam’s rapid breathing. His hand was holding yours, gently stroking the back of it with his thumb.

You turned your head to look at him, taking not of the way his hair splayed out under him.

He looked relaxed, eyes were closed, trying to control his breathing, an ever so slight smile on his face.

He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at you.

His smile widened when he noticed you staring.

“I love you.” He whispers.

You smile, about to respond when he rolls back over to you, holding himself up on his forearms, dipping his head to kiss you, deepening it almost immediately.

“Ready for another round?” He asks, grabbing hold of your thighs to wrap around his waist.

When he’s asleep:

For once, you woke up before Sam.

He usually woke up before you, going for a run and usually bringing you back a coffee to wake you up with.

This time, you were awake, so you got to appreciate him without him catching you.

His breathing was even, face so soft and relaxed. A small amount of stubble had grown overnight. His soft hair had fallen into his face.

You brushed your finger along his face, moving his hair out of the way. You continued to trace his features, committing his face to memory. You traced over his eyebrows, nose and mouth. Along his jawline and hairline.

With a sigh, he moves, wrapping his arms more tightly around you waist, pulling you closer to him.

“You know thats a little creepy, right?” He whispers, eyes remaining closed.

You chuckle softly, continuing your tracings. “Good morning handsome.”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

He finally opens his eyes, and you stare into them, getting lost in them almost immediately.

You already had his eyes committed to memory.

When he saves you:

You’re in and out of consciousness, laying on the floor, unable to move.

It was a ghost, and despite having already burned the body, it hadn’t disappeared.

It had attacked you, after running out of rocksalt in your gun.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” You heard from nearby

You groaned in response, nodding slightly to allow whoever it was to keep fighting and not worry about you.

As your vision clears, you see Sam looking all around, trying to find the ghost to keep it away from you.

Finally, as it appeared right in front of Sam, it burst into flames, screaming in the process.

Sam rushes to you, inspecting all your injuries and determining whether to take you to the hospital or home.

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to get you to stay awake.

“I think so, I just need a minute.” You say, trying to sit up.

“Guys, so it was a doll that the spirit was attached to. But there was like a hundred dolls, so we need to go now if we don’t want to get caught on fire.” Dean rushes in.

“Can you walk?” Sam asks, you shake your head.

He picks you up bridal style, Dean following quickly behind with the weapons you and Sam had dropped.

Once at the car, Sam gets in the back with you, wanting to make sure you were ok.

“I think its just some bruises and a small concussion, you should be alright.” He says, stroking your hair as you lean against him.

You look up towards him, giving a small kiss to his jawline. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Anytime, beautiful.”

Dean groans from the front seat. “Get a room you two.” Sam rolls his eyes, but you spot the small smile on Dean’s face in the rearview mirror, happy to see his brother getting the love he deserves.

#sam winchester #supernatural imagines #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester imagines #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #spn #spn imagine

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 month

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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐛 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: lars content yay! as far as i can tell, i'm one of the few to do anything on him, so i hope there's more than ten people out there interested in him

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: she blinded me with science—thomas dolby

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• This guy is a snacker

• Take one look at him. You can't tell me that he doesn't constantly skip out on meals in favor of research, usually just pulling a granola bar or stained tupperware from his desk drawer to eat while he works

• Don't get me wrong, Lars can still devour a good bit of food. Sometimes you like to make fun of him for how much good he'll get on his face in the process

• "You're looking at me weird." He frowned at you one day from behind the rims of his glasses

• "Uh, yeah. Wonder why." You grin with mild surprise, watching as leftover rice and beans from the burrito in his hands stuck to the corners of his mouth like glue. He was quick to wipe it all off, ignoring you as you laughed at him

• Aside from that, Lars usually keeps his workplace pretty clean. It's cluttered, sure, but you don't think you've ever seen him wonder where something went. He just always knew where things were. It was like he had a system in his head, and the more you thought about it, the more you decided he definitely did

• The one time someone had even tried to clean his place up, you watched as he immediately jumped in, convincing them that they were needed elsewhere and sending them off before they could mess with his set-up

• Often times, when it's just the two of you alone in the offsight lab, you'll bounce a tennis ball off the wall while Lars types away, only ever looking up to squint at you when the ball gets to close to his head

• "You should really give that to the possesor. I'm sure it'd appreciate it." He hums to you at one point while spinning around in his chair to reach something. Behind you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a metal chair tapping excitedly on glass, and you make a tsking noise

• "Pretty sure you just want me to stop distracting you with my awesome skills." You boast, attempting to do a trickshot only to smack Lars in the back. He glares at you, and you inch backward with a nervous chuckle

• "You know what, I think I'll give it to the possesor."

• "What a brilliant idea." Lars says monotonely. You were quick to get rid of the ball

• He hums while he works!

• It's not anything discernable. In fact, most of the time he isn't even singing real songs. Just little tunes he'll make up on the spot for himself; often as a way to pass the time and make minute tasks fly by

• You notice it quite a lot, but don't really say anything. It's quite entertaining, if you're being truthful

• "Sittin' and waitin' for food. Sittin' and waitin' for food.." He'd improvised once while waiting yet again for a t.v dinner of his to finish its cycle in the labs shared microwave

• "Wow Lars. Voice of an angel, you have."

• "Stuff it."

• Lars doesn't often need help with his work, there's a reason he landed the job after all, but when he does, you're always the first person he goes to. It's a side effect of having spent so much time with you at work, and even outside of it—if you counted lunch breaks and independent experiments as a non-work environment

• He likes being able to get a fresh set of eyes on whatever's stumping him, and it usually doesn't take long for the two of you to work around whatever was holding him up

• Overall, you couldn't think of a better friend/co-worker to have, and the same applies for Lars. Your relationship will only strengthen as time goes on, even withstanding the bizzar experiences that Garraka eventually brings later that year

• But that's for much later. Right now, the two of you are content to sit in the aquarium-turned-headquarters, watching as the hours ticked by without a care in the world

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters x you #ghostbusters x y/n #lars pinfield #lars pinfield x reader #lars pinfield x you #lars pinfield x y/n #james acaster #headcanons

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uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

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

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

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

Word Count: 10,2k

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

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

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

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

Stop talking about it!

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

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

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

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

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

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

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

You’re no longer giving up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

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

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

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

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

Okay, painful change of plans.

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

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

Always the masochist.

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

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

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

You?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

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

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

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

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

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meine liebe…”

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

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

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

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

“Who did this?!”

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

Always determined.

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

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

And how can he say no to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

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

————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

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

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

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

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh?!

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what I did?”

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

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

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

Your head tilts down in shame, and you have to look away from him.

You take a deep breath and rest your palms flat on your thighs.

“Okay, look, I’ve done something horrible. I have not been very good to you, and… that sucks! Because I really thought we could have been,” You hesitate for a moment, “friends.” You close your eyes and take another breath, “At first I thought I could keep it a secret from you, even if I believe you have every right to know, but the truth is I just can’t handle the guilt anymore. I’m exhausted waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay?”

Konig’s whole body is tense now, standing at attention as he waits for your words. You’re worrying him.

“The day we met,” You’re choking up now, the adrenaline coursing through you, causing you to shake and perspire, mouth dry, “After our day in the shoot house, I forgot to disconnect your feed.”

Your tone shifts from serious to a bit desperate, “It was an accident, I swear, Konig.” You look at him, pleading eyes begging him to believe you, “And I should have just disconnected the feed when I found it, I know,” You’re getting exasperated, “But I’m sick and curious and to be honest I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, and swallows hard. He knows what you mean, but he has to confirm it with you to believe it, “What did you see?”

You look away from him and to the floor. It takes you a moment to work up the courage, “I saw you getting off.” You say it so quietly, ashamed to admit it.

“I shouldn’t have watched Konig, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I know it doesn’t mean anything now but I truly am sorry. But I did watch and I heard my name and I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since.“

He stands still, his breathing escalating slightly. He doesn’t say anything and the silence drapes over you both for awhile.

This silence was definitely awkward.

His eyes tell you nothing and his expression is masked by the hood.

You swallow, knowing you owe him the full truth as you force yourself to continue. If he’s already disgusted with you under that hood, this will really put you over the edge.

Your fist clenches, “In a moment of pure stupidity, I kept the video.” You break eye contact for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him. “I sent it to myself.”

“Okay?” You spit, angry at yourself, “I kept it and I’ve watched it so many times because I am just addicted to the way you moan my name, Konig. I’m sorry. I heard it and I needed more. It made me feel so good, and so so terrible at the same time.”

You’re on a roll now, rambling like you’re talking about your research.

“And I have not been able to stop thinking about you!” You laugh a bit, “And I understand how serious this is. So if you want to go straight to head of command and have me discharged, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, if you don’t even feel like filing the report, I’ll pack up my things and leave now, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

You pause, and he doesn’t fill the silence, so you keep going, the words coming out like vomit, “But there’s something else you deserve to know. When I sent the video to my phone - for personal reasons only, okay?! I was not planning on showing anyone, if that helps. When I sent the video, it opened a vulnerable point of entry for TF-141 to hack in. They… have your video. I’m so sorry, it was a major lapse of judgement, and I overlooked so many protocols, and I put our intel at risk. I put your private moment at risk. I put us all at risk. I-“

You cut yourself off, tears starting to well in your eyes. It was relieving to get it off your chest, but you knew what was about to happen. You knew you were lighting a fuse with one hand and holding dynamite with another.

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

The tears start flowing and you’re powerless to stop them. You hoped it wasn’t coming off as a desperate attempt to gain sympathy.

For awhile you stand there, eyes fixed at the floor as you wait for his response.

Konig hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, just stands in his spot, staring.

When you finally look at him, eyes full of heartbreak, he maintains eye contact for a few moments, expression unreadable.

After a moments to process, he uncrosses his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out the device you had given him on that very first day. His boots slowly cross the linoleum floor and he gently sets your device on the dinky table behind you before removing the wristband and setting it down next to the earpiece without making a sound.

He doesn’t even look back at you before he turns his back and walking out the safe house door, shutting it with a soft click.

——————————————————————

It’s been three days since Konig left you alone in the safe house.

You’re wondering if you should cut your losses and leave. Change your name & get started with a new life.

You’ve already preemptively packed up your things to make it less painful on yourself when your supervisor comes to kick you to the curb.

Even as your life is dissolved and scattered to the wind, you actually feel a lot better than you have in months. Almost like the worrying was worse than the actual consequences. At least now you can live honestly.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty painful. Your latest infatuation finding out how you so deeply betrayed them. Watching him walk out on you had left you sobbing face down in the dusty orange couch pillows to muffle your cries.

It’s late at night on that third day, and you had managed to find some respite with a surprisingly warm shower and losing yourself in blurry reruns of a game show when you hear the light ting of metals.

At first you think it’s the ringing in your ears returning, it had been on and off ever since Ghost concussed you, but you quickly realized by the uneven rattles it had been coming from within the safe house.

Your eyes scan the room after switching the TV off, first starting with the fridge that hums too loud, but quickly dart your attention over to the movement of the safe house’s doorknob jiggling.

Not again.

You try and suppress the flashbacks enough to find somewhere to hide, but the safe house is one big open room with a small obscured bedroom that was more bed than room, and you don’t think the bed is high enough off the floor to crawl under.

So instead you freeze on the dingy couch, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you watch your doorknob wiggle in its loose hold.

There’s a distinct click and then a long pause. You don’t even see the doorknob rotate because the door gets flung open with such speed and force it slams against the wall and bounces back.

“Konig?” You fear melds with confusion as you make sense of the figure rushing in.

He’s already closed most of the gap between you when you manage to squeak out a more alarmed, “Konig!”

It’s scary to have such a large man charge you, especially one you’re so used to being docile around you, one that usually stands hesitantly by the door until invited closer.

You don’t have a lot of time to think about it. Konig grabs you by the crest of the back of your neck with one hand, his other hand lifting up his mask to kiss you without room for arguing.

You let out a surprised gasp that was muffled by the kiss, and he takes that opportunity to have his tongue greet yours. His grip is tight on the back of your neck, his fingers digging in slightly to stake his claim. The stubble on his chin brushes roughly against your skin as he takes what’s his.

Once you catch up, you close your eyes and try to match his intensity but it’s difficult to keep up.

He finally pulls away, out of breath and letting his hood fall back over his mouth, his now free hand moving to the side of your face, “I’m sorry I left you, mein schatz.” He pulls away from your face slightly with a breath, “I needed to think.”

Your wide eyes flicker between his, mouth slightly parted as you nod. “Yeah,” your voice is breathy, the shock of the kiss having knocked the wind out you, “That’s uh, understandable.”

He brings his face closer to you. His eyes shift, and you see that dark flicker again.

“You have to understand, liebe, your deed will not go unpunished.”

Your brows retract as you swallow at the threat, looking up at him with concern in your eyes and your thighs pressed together.

You’ve been nervous around Konig before, maybe even scared, but you’ve never feared for your safety. Quite the opposite, actually. Such a large, strong soldier on your team gives you a shield of comfort - he made you feel safe.

But the way his voice had lowered and his eyes tinted with something primal shoots a tingle down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck. You’re not sure what he means, but your brain is coming up with ideas faster than you can sink your teeth into the details.

You’re almost ashamed at the warm feeling of arousal that sinks to your lower abdomen.

He kisses you again, this time closed and softer. When he pulls away his face stays dangerously close to yours, “You’ve done a very bad thing, liebe. You understand?”

His voice is low and husked but holds incredible authority. You can’t help but feel like a child being scolded in the principal’s office. You nod slowly, lips pursed and eyes still rounded in suspense.

He brings his finger up to your chin, his face close enough your noses are brushing, “I can’t hear a nod.”

The knot in your stomach doubles and your breath hitches a bit, shaking as you speak, “Yes, Konig, I understand.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, but it doesn’t soothe the mixture of fear and arousal flushing your skin.

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

You take a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but you’ve been desperate to fix what you’ve done since the moment you committed it. “Yes, Konig.” You nod your head, “I’d do anything.”

A pleased hum comes from him, and you're close enough to feel the vibration. You swallow nervously, gaze hesitantly watching his animalistic eyes stare down at you like you’re his prey.

“Stay.” He orders, pulling away from you and letting his hand linger on your face for an extra moment before turning away from you.

You obey, both fear of consequence and desperation to please not allowing an ounce of will to defy him. Your eyes are still locked on him as he steps to the dinky little table he had set the device on three days ago.

You had left it untouched, making it easier to swallow by still thinking of the device as his. As if Konig had just left it behind by mistake instead of intentionally returning your property to you.

He took both carefully in his hand before returning to you, boots asserting themselves as they slowly and confidently traverse the linoleum. He holds the devices out for you to take. “Feed on. Projection off.”

And you follow his instructions, what choice do you have? When his voice is strict and he’s standing over you, intimidating stature making you feel so small and defenseless. The shake of your hands causes your fingers to fumble as you struggle with the remote, his hand held out impatiently as you stumble with fluster.

When you finally get it, you place both devices in his palm, staring up with your eyes begging for his approval.

He gives you nothing, as usual, placing the earpiece under his hood and setting the wrist piece down simultaneously.

“You stepped out of line, liebe.” Konig takes closer to small gap between you you, “You humiliated me.”

His eyes are half-lidded now, boring into you with menace.

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

He touches your face with his thumb again. You can’t help but flinch at the gentle touch, on edge from unease and excitement.

He gives another light huff, reveling in his ability to intimidate you.

“On your knees.” He commands, finger pointing at the floor as he slides back to make room for you.

He huffs in satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth slightly agape and stuttering - it’s dawning on you now; exactly what you have to do to right your wrongs.

He squints at you, voice leaving no room for error, “Did I stutter, Schatz?”

That sinister glint in his eye returns again, and just the sight is enough to get you to slide quickly to the floor, assuming your position on both knees, neck slowly tilting back to take him in as he towers over you.

He leans in to to cup your face again, giving it a soft yet firm pat, “Good.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, even if simply articulated.

That’s all you want to hear. That you’re good. You want to be so good for him.

You’re dripping now, Konig already having you ache for his touch.

His strong hands slide down your face, four fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently. When your lips part he slides his thumb in your mouth and you oblige, obediently sucking and showing him what you can do with your tongue.

He gives a low pleased hum before removing his thumb and reaching for his belt, the buckle jingling as he unlatches it and removes it from his waist in one swift pull.

Your stare follows the belt as he folds it in half, and he muses at your worried look. He likes the way your mind wanders, always running with the possibilities. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

He doesn’t hit you, though, just taps it against the bottom of your chin to get you to fix your gaze back on him. Once he’s got your attention, he discards the belt and reaches down to pop the button on his pants, yanking each end to get the zipper down in one smooth move.

He slides his thumbs behind both waistbands, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. It’s rock hard and practically springs from his pants, and you can’t help but let out a small squeak and just how big it is.

You’ve seen it before, studied it endlessly, imagined it so many times.

It did nothing to prepare you for kneeling before it. Just like the rest of him, his cock intimidated you, at full attention and already leaking precum.

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

You follow his orders, softly gripping his cock. You’ve studied the video of him jerking off so many times, you know exactly how to please him. You start with a loose grip, your hand sliding from base to tip at a slow pace, as your other hand cups his balls.

At first he watches, enjoying how your hands looked so small around him. He can’t help but close his eyes and tilt his head back as he lets out a soft moan.

It sounds so much better in person, and your pace picks up, desperate to elicit more from him.

He tilts his head forward to get a better view of you.

“Suck.” He commands, and you hesitate for a brief moment, worried about the logistics, before ditching your fears and giving it your best shot.

You keep your hand steady on his shaft as you guide the tip to your tongue, a slow lick clearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed.

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

You press your lips to him, slowing working the tip into your mouth as you tease with your tongue.

As you work steadily down his shaft, you have to fully unhinge your jaw to fit him in to avoid teeth, and even then it’s a close call. You’re continue carefully and he seems willing to be patient with you as you get used to his size.

You manage to somewhat comfortably fit half of him in your mouth, using your free hand to squeeze the base of his shaft. You start to move back and forth, pressing your tongue against him.

He watches in awe as you take him in, not holding back in his pleaded hums and groans.

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

You look at him with a doe eyes and a full mouth, bobbing on his cock as you slick it up.

He moans at the sight, placing a hand on the back of your head. He follows it up with another order.

“Deeper. I want to see you choke on it.”

You’re not in a position to argue, so you oblige, letting his cock slide as deep as you can, but he’s not pleased with your attempt. He tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers laced between strands of hair, and slowly forces his cock in until you’re squeaking out noises involuntarily, eyes welling with tears.

He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first, but picks up the pace. He doesn’t wait for you to get your bearings or catch your breath, savoring the lengths you’ll go to please him.

“There you go, schatz, so good for me.”

The tears are steaming now as he triggers your gag reflex, and your underwear is stained with your arousal in response to being praised and used.

He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still wet with your spit, and takes a step back to admire you. Your breath quickening to catch up, the flushed look of your face, the disheveled hair. He relished in the mess he was making of the intelligent professional he had come to know.

He gives a pleased hum at how you wait so patiently for his next order.

“Up. Clothes off.”

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a shade deeper. You wipe the spit from your mouth and slowly stand, hands shaking with nerves.

Your fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, desperate to grip onto something, and you hesitate at his command, nervous to let him see you even more exposed.

You ignore your nerves, too willing to please Konig, and pull your shirt over your disheveled hair and discard it on the couch. Your fingers fumble with the waistband on your lounge pants, sheepishly pulling them down your thighs and stepping carefully out of them.

You stand before him in your underwear, and you can’t help but cross one arm over yourself. The way he’s staring at you, not shy about his gaze mapping your newly uncovered features. He steps forward again, close enough his hard cock brushes against your warm skin.

He gives a low hum of approval and steps closer, his hands gently running along your sides until they find your waist, staking their claim with a firm grip. He leans in and you feel the drape of his hood caress your shoulder as he brushes his head against yours, lips in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

You close your eyes as he plants a kiss though his hood on your neck, and you can feel his breath through the soft cotton.

It’s not fair that you’re naked while he’s still fully covered. You feel so vulnerable and exposed.

You quickly understand that’s exactly what you had done to him and let out a soft whimper at the realization that this is intentional, that he’s issuing this power play as part of your punishment. You’ve had your time to admire his body, now it’s his turn.

“Bedroom, now.” The softness leaves his voice with the demand and he pulls away from you once again to get a better view of you.

The knot is your lower abdomen doubles as you turn and head to the bedroom, giving him a good long look at the back of you.

You stand at the narrow space between the end of the bed and the wall, looking up at him when he enters, waiting for his next order. You can’t help but notice the jingle of his belt as he carried it with him. He sets it on the bed and takes his time committing your image to memory.

“On your back, liebe.” The pet name doesn’t soften the domineering tone, warning you not to dare rebel against him.

You follow his order, getting up on the bed and laying down for him, your upper half propped up by your elbows.

Konig follows, crawling over top of you slowly, his massive frame engulfing you beneath him as you lean into the bed. He appears even more menacing over top of you, strong arms and legs trapping you beneath him. You can’t help the nervous expression on your face as you stare up at those hungry eyes.

He brings a hand up to touch your face, leaning forward to plant another kiss on your lips, lifting up his mask as he does so. It annoys you that whenever he pulls away the hood falls, and you can’t even get a peek at what you assume is a strong jaw.

The hand on your face slides down your neck, fingers traversing the bumps of your collarbones before he shifts down to your chest, stopping for a moment to tease your nipples to attention. You suck in a breath and arch into the touch.

He hums again, low and devious.

Your hands reach up to touch his arms, but he doesn’t let you, removing his hands from your chest and grabbing your wrists firmly. He passes one off so he can hold both of your arms in one strong grip, and you’re amazed he’s able to subdue both of your wrists with just one of his massive hands. He leans back and uses his free hand to reach for the belt at the foot of the bed, before wrapping it around your wrists and fastening the buckle tightly.

He leans in close to your face as he places your restrained hands back above your head. He takes in the way your breath quickens through parted lips, eyes wide and cheeks flush with excitement and worry. He likes making you falter, likes watching you breakdown underneath his power.

“You’re all mine.” He reminds you, one hand keeping your bound wrists firmly above your head.

You nod, and when you speak your voice comes out quiet and broken, “All yours, Konig.”

It gratifies him, judging by his self-assured laugh and the way his cock twitches against your stomach. “That’s it, liebe.”

He removes his grip on your forearm with a firm squeeze to remind you to stay, and he scoots himself back so that either leg is straddling your thighs instead of your waist. His gaze shifts down, soaking in every inch as he cups you over your underwear, his careful touch taking advantage of your sensitivity.

You can’t help but grind your hips into his teasing, already leaking for him.

“Mm, I can tell you’re enjoying this. Such a dirty little pervert you are.”

You close your eyes and let out a whine at the teasing, both verbal and physical.

“Don’t worry, liebe, I’m getting impatient as well.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding his fingers along your hips to tease you a bit before sliding them down, having to readjust himself as he takes them off. He repositions himself between your legs this time, letting either of your ankles at his sides.

His hands slide up your quivering thighs, spreading you open and getting a good look at you. You try and fight the embarrassment under the heat of his stare, resisting the urge to bring your bound wrists down to cover yourself.

He takes his time slicking himself up with lube - he came prepared, you noticed. Premeditated passion. Guess he has to when he’s got such a large cock.

You’re worried about the logistics, but you get the feeling Konig wouldn’t dare hurt you in this way.

Once he’s nice and slicked, he lines the tip against your aching warmth, and leans down close to you.

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

“Please, Konig.” You whine, rutting your hips to grind against him.

He closes his eyes as he slowly works himself into you. Your suspicions are confirmed as he stops just after the tip, opening his eyes again to confirm the level of comfort displayed on your features.

Your teeth are grit, but you nod your head in approval.

He’s continues, pace so careful as he pushes himself further into you. It’s been so long since you’ve got any action, especially action from someone so well endowed, you’re incredibly tight around him. He’s studying you, searching for signs of being pushed over the limit as he takes his time stretching you out.

You can’t help let out a soft moan when he’s halfway in, just at the feeling of being filled. Your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself the ability to concentrate on the cock working into you.

It takes awhile, it does. You’re so small and he’s so big, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying using you as his cockwarmer, walls so cozy and tight around him. He thinks it’s so goddamn arousing that he’s so huge you have to push yourself to take him. He likes that he’s a challenge for you. He wants to train you and shape you in every sense of the word.

But for now, he allows you take the lead from underneath him, letting yourself grind your hips down on to him at your own pace as he lets low moans escape him.

When you’re finally at the point of desperately rutting your hips against him, you give him all he needs to hear.

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

He obliges, unable to say no to your eager and breathy tone. His fingers grip onto your outer thighs as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, but he’s still cautious not to force himself too deep inside you. He’s a disciplined man, after all.

Even without being all the way inside you, he’s still deep enough to hit the spot, forcing moans to escape from parted lips.

“Look at me, liebe.”

You oblige, and his cock twitches inside of you at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glazed in pleasure. He grunts, his pace picking up as he ventures deeper inside of you.

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #modern warefare ii #modern warefare 2 #konig x reader #smut #konig x you #x reader #fic #experimental #uhohwriting

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d6volution · 6 months

Text

Corporeal

Caine/Fem!Reader

caine wants to learn more about humans, so why not become one himself? surely, these new waves of emotions and new desires won't become an issue.

tags: mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, human!caine, lingerie, reader is down bad for caine but won't admit it, implied masturbation.

Chapter Two.

(previous chapter.)

As an AI Caine didn't feel love, or even fear death. If anything the notion of both seemed more like entertainment to him.

This human trial was proving to be more complex than he initially thought, but what fun that would be? It was in his nature to be curious and seek out answers so that's exactly what he intended to do.

-----------------

The following day Caine waited til what he thought to be a reasonable time to show up at your door, but he just stood there. Hand hesitating to knock. A new feeling, he thought.

"Oh! Need some help there Caine?" Kinger said, shufing over to him, lifting Caine's hand and helping him knock at the door. Kinger chuckled, "Always gets me too." And just like that he walked away. Perhaps everyone is right, he really is losing his marbles.

But Caine didn't have long to think about his strange and brief interaction with Kinger because you swung open the door. "Oh, Caine.. uh. what are you doing here?" You felt a little disheveled, trying to hide your form behind the door unconsciously. You usually had time to properly groom yourself before speaking with him.

He had to compose himself, clear his throat and remember why he was at your door in the first place, his persona switched on. "Gooood morning, y/n! I hope you're right ripe and ready for today, me and you will be going on a.. mini adventure of sorts!"

"Huh? Just us? Wait— why?" You almost didn't want to ask, afraid he'd suggest others to join.

"Now, now not too many questions, you'll spoil the fun my dear!" He said and patted your head gently.

You blinked and nodded, "Right.. well can I.. freshen up?"

"Of course, I'll be right here!" And he wasn't kidding, he'd stand at your door idly waiting as you shut it. You stared at your room with wide eyes, back to the door, "What the hell." You mutteted, was this some kind of prank? Did someone tip Caine off that you liked him? Why else would he be singling you out??

Maybe you're overthinking it. Definitely over thinking it.

You exited your room soon after, rushing out of the door you didn't realize that Caine was literally still standing in the same spot causing you to bump into him. He caught you mid way, large hands clutching your waist as he helped you up.

Soft, he thought.

"S-Sorry, Caine you really shouldn't stand that close to the door.." You said, a little flushed from embarrassment.

"Duly noted!" He held out his hand without speaking and the moment you grabbed it you were both teleported outside of the tent.

You still hadn't got used to that, your stomach was churning by you managed to hold it back. ".. What are we doing here again..?" You finally asked.

"Well, to put it simply you're going to be my little test bunny, y/n! Bubble isn't really any help at the moment.... and you! Well you're making my body react in all sorts of wacky ways!" He admitted.

"What.. exactly do you mean, wacky?" You said, trying to understand, knowing this all must be just as confusing for him.

"Well, I couldn't stop thinking about you last night. It was quite strange, I usually don't care too much about you all after hours but you were eating away at my mind, y/n!" He stopped and grabbed your shoulders dramatically and you flushed.

"And since that happens to be the case, I plan on keeping you by my side. For research purposes of course!"

This was.. a little messed up, in a sense. You felt torn between flattered and like he was playing with your emotions. But it could it really be helped..? You were stuck here. What else did you have to do with your time? Caine was the only one here you seemed to be the least bit attracted to so why not go along with it.

You cleared your throat, "Well, I see personal space still isn't a thing for you," You jested and he slowly let go of your shoulders, your mind briefly missed the contact.

"Personal space.. got it! Now, my dearest y/n, do tell me. I'm aware you're memories from before now are quite hazy but did you have any hobbies?"

What an odd question. Was he trying to .. get to know you? You had to think, "You're right.. it is hard to remember, but I know I loved being out doors. Walks, picnics... simple things like that were always nice. Though I'm not really sure that really counts as a hobby." You chuckled.

You laughed and he felt that pang in his chest again, he was silent for a moment.

"Yes, yes! All those things sound wonderful, hobbie or not you spend your time well! Come, let's go to the digital lake." He takes your hand without thinking, dragging you along towards the lake. You stumbled behind him, but kept up with his pace. You glanced down at your hands, and how his larger one dwarfed yours.

It made you think about other parts of his body, the way his fitted suit hugged his waist. Buttons struggling to keep his firm chest hidden away—

What were you thinking?? He's an AI. You scolded yourself before your thoughts could even lift off the ground.

"Here we are, I know it isn't quite the same but I think this should do just fine!" He snapped his fingers and a plaid throw blanket was laid out as well as a picnic basket. "Well don't just stand there , take a seat!" He said with a grin.

"I .. I wasn't expecting a picnic now." You said amused by his eagerness and plopped down next to him. You leaned over and opened up the picnic basket and there was nothing inside. "Caine?"

His eyes were busy, when you leaned over his gaze caught a glimpse of your cleavage, luckily before you made eye contact he was already looking away and tugging at his collar a little, "Oh , yes! What.. did you usually pack in your little basket?" His cheeks were dusted with the lightest tint of red.

"Hm.. sandwiches, water.. maybe other fruit on the side?" In the blink of the eye, pixelated versions of everything you named was now in the basket.

"Wow. That must be extremely convenient," You laughed a little, only now noticing the blush on his cheeks that seemed to be fading. "You're blushing.. does sitting out in front of a nice scenery do that to you?" You joked and he almost agreed, because you were the nice scenery at the moment.

"Oh, no no! It must be..sitting this close to you! I told you y/n this janky human body has a mind of its own!" Caine tapped at his baton at the ground a little, becoming fidgety. "Anyways, what a grand time this was! How about we head back? Our best bubble chef must be hard at work preparing dinner we wouldn't want to spoil our appetite too much now would we?" The words spilled from his mouth unceremoniously.

"A.. Already are you sure we just got here—" You tried to protest but he was dead set on ending the picnic so abruptly.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, we always have tomorrow after all!" He grinned and instead of taking your hands he made the bold decision to grab your waist instead. Teleporting you right back in front of your door.

"Well, until tomorrow y/n!" He tried to hurry off but you yanked him by the collar and brushed your lips against his cheek, and before he could respond you hurried into your room like a flustered school girl.

Gosh, what were you doing?

Caine was flustered, confused and utterly enamored. He didn't have a wacky comment to make, he simply relished in these emotions, though.. his thoughts flashed back to your chest and those feelings were amplified but now the feeling wasn't in his chest.. but somewhere lower. This human program was eating away at his base coding.

These desires were bubbling to the surface, and he'd have to... take care of it somewhere more private.

Unbeknownst to him you were having a similar issue. It didn't help that you were not only crushing on the ringmaster but you were touch starved as well.. in the emptiness of your room, away from judgement you thought about how it would feel if Caine was on top of you, touching you and praising you in that charming voice of his.

It wasn't fair.. it wasn't fair, you repeated. But he remained in your mind as you climaxed on your fingers to the thought of him..

You could only dread to think about what he'd think of you doing such a inappropriate thing with him in mind.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing while thinking of you.

(chapter three.)

#the amazing digital circus #ask #caine x reader #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader smut #tadc caine #im bad at ending chapters 😭#hope you enjoy

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

Note

hello panther, hope your doing well! can i request a romantic black noir (the boys) scenario w/ a reader who works in crisis management at vought? after having to oversee the cover ups of vought’s heroes they’ve become bitter to all heroes, they only continue working at vought out of necessity.

maybe with the prompts “I don’t scare you, do I…?” and “Is it so hard to love me?”

thank you for considering my request! no pressure to fulfill it, hope the rest of your day is great!

prompt links:

https://www.tumblr.com/ddarker-dreams/188458087108/yandere-sentence-starters-theres

https://www.tumblr.com/starbabytae/612088733784752128/yandere-prompts-1-i-saw-you-last-night-you

I can try! I've been getting into The Boys again and I'm halfway through Season 2. I know Noir has a bigger role in Season 3 but I got so impatient with my ideas so I just had to do it now. I did my research though!

Prompt 22 Here

Prompt 26 Here

Yandere! Black Noir Prompts 22 + 26

“I don’t scare you, do I…?”

“Is it so hard to love me?”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking mentioned/Implied, Delusional behavior, Subtle threats, Manipulation, Forced relationship.

You remember when you used to like Supes when you were younger. It was your dream to help Superheroes be super. Then, in your adult years, you l got a job at Vought's Crisis Management.

That's when you began to know better.

No, Supes weren't heroes in your eyes. They're people with way too much power. The only reason they look good is because people like you hide their flaws.

As Vought crumbles you're left bitter. How could you not when your job has only gotten more hectic as Vought's "heroes" mess up. But you try not to complain...

You really just need the money.

You've tried your hardest to not to associate with The Seven often. You've always been on to just keep your head down. Unfortunately... you still managed to attract attention.

From one of the most feared "heroes" in Vought, too.

Black Noir... even you didn't know much about him. He wears a mask all the time, he rarely speaks, and he always seems attached to you. You know what he's capable of... which is why it scares you to know he seems interested.

It becomes increasingly hard to do your job once Black Noir grows an attachment towards you. You've been constantly raising your head to see Black Noir standing there to visit you. He never says anything... he just seems like he wants to watch you.

You try so hard to ignore him... but you will admit... the hero scares you a bit.

Despite the violence he's capable of, he seems so gentle with you. You've even caught him reaching out to touch your cheek. You don't bother complaining... Vought would ignore the issue.

While you yourself are bitter towards Vought and its "heroes", Black Noir is infatuated. The Supe can't stop looking at you. He sees you as something close to comfort... perfection.

The Supe feels he's hopelessly in love with you yet make no real indication of showing it. He wants to hold you and feel your warmth. He could stare at your face forever.

... he wishes you'd look at him the same way.

Instead he notices the glint of fear you have towards him. You try so hard to focus on work... all while Noir tries to pull you closer. He wants that fear to be gone...

He wants you to adore him...

But your adoration towards heroes is long dead by now.

Tension between you and the Supe continues to rise as you try to ignore him. You hope the loses interest. You have no idea what he wants... but his gaze is suffocating.

It isn't until the Supe pulls you away during your break that you get some sort of idea.

You feel your heart rate increase drastically as Black Noir confronts you on your lunch break. You try to communicate with him and ask him what he wants. You're alone... just how you prefer it... but it leaves you vulnerable.

Noir merely passes you a paper, encouraging you to open it. So, you do open it...

Your heart drops.

In big bold letters on the paper... there's the words 'I LOVE YOU.' You pause, looking over the paper as you feel yourself shake. You barely even notice Noir sit beside you.

Not until he wraps an arm around your waist... he's actually oddly hesitant about it.

You slowly turn to look at the black mask staring at you again. Your hands are shaking as you lightly put down the paper. Oh... this really isn't what you needed.

"Y-You... You-" You're trying so hard to say something. However, Black Noir merely cups your cheek. Why is he so gentle?

He's a murderer.

"You... can't mean... me...." You whisper, but Noir merely nods while pointing to you. Black Noir has been following you... because he loves you.

Your worst fear has come true.

"I see..." You whisper, trying to stand up. Black Noir stops you from getting up, his grip pulling you back into his side. You're stuck... unable to leave his gaze staring into your eyes.

Fear shows in them... causing Black Noir to hold you in a tight embrace.

You feel your breathing pick up... then he spoke.

“I don’t scare you, do I…?”

His tone is a whisper in your ear, a soft yet unexpected question. You're shaking against him as you stare in his eyes. He seems to be trying to comfort you... ignoring the twisted confession he had shoved upon you.

The Supe's grip tightens.

“Is it so hard to love me?” Black Noir whispers again, sounding desperate as he holds you against him. You merely shake in his arms as he strokes your head like you're a frightened animal. Yes... yes it is... you want nothing to do with him.

You wish you could find another job other than Vought... you wish other jobs paid well. But no, instead you manage to catch the eye of Vought's best assassin. The same arms holding you... could easily tear you in half.

Black Noir then picks up the paper and passes it to you again. He taps the bold letter then points to you and him. He wants you to say it.

He wants you to love him too.

You take a deep breath, wanting to appease the Supe so you could leave. Black Noir looks at you expectantly. You're forced to play such a dangerous game....

"I love you, too." You say softly, hoping to appease the Supe.

Black Noir seems to take this as a positive, holding you closer. It was as though you said some sort of vow. One that would lock you to him indefinitely...

With how things work around here...

There's probably some truth to that... perhaps you really did just sign yourself away to a psychopath... all for the money.

#yandere the boys #yandere black noir #yandere earving #yandere the boys earving

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phoenixblaze1412 · 6 months

Note

Hi!!!! can I get a fluff oneshot with Akademiya Dottore/Zandik and a shy gn reader where ur both outcasts and like eachother a lot, and one day when ur both out researching together he tries his luck at at flirting with reader (he sucks at it) - 🐓

Warning: Zandik is adorkable.

Mute.

That was all the other Dasturs of your class would call you due to your shy nature. Even the sages started to doubt your abilities as a scholar due to your meek and timid self. They would always tell you that no scholar as shy as you should continue studying in the Akademiya. For them, being shy is an insignificant personality that doesn't deserve attention or praise.

You let out a sigh, another day in the Akademiya, another day to get outcasted by the Dasturs and the sages. Still you kept going, ignoring the insults and proceeding with your studies. You weren't the only one in this situation. Your friend Zandik also received the same treatment from the Akademiya but that didn't stop him from his research.

You really liked Zandik ever since you met him during one of your classes. You had to swallow your own nervousness just to approach and talk to him, you didn't believe in the rumors about him being a weird one. He was rude to you at first but he slowly began to accept your presence and considered you as an acquaintance friend. Others would call you both as 'the weirdo and the mute', the outcast duo.

What you didn't know is that Zandik liked you as well. Your knowledge and intellect fascinates him and he finds your shy and timid nature to be adorable too. There's not a single day that goes by where you don't come up in his thoughts.

Zandik decided to invite you for a field research, using the excuse of needing to find another ruin guard for research purposes just to be able to spend time with you.

You both walked south of Vimara Village, the presence of each other bringing you both comfort. You looked around the area in search of a ruin guard, Zandik on the other hand was too busy trying to come up with something to say to you. You saw a pair of rishboland tigers passing by, you watched in awe at how the tigers interacted with one another. Zandik watched as you looked at the rishboland tigers, liking the way your eyes lit up from seeing the creatures of nature itself. Without a second thought, Zandik cleared his throat and said something that came to his mind.

“If we were ever cats, I'd spend all of my nine lives with you.”

You stared at Zandik in surprise, the male looking back at you with wide eyes, even shocked at himself for saying such a thing to you.

“Wait no, I mean I would never donate my organs to others but I would always give you my heart.”

Zandik could only mentally facepalm at himself for what he said as he felt his face flush red. He would want nothing more than run away from you and hide in his closet. Embarrassing himself in front of the person he likes was not on the scenarios he thought of last night. He swore it sounded much better when he was only thinking about it.

Oh, Archons you were looking at him as if he had grown two heads. Your doe-like eyes staring at his reddened face. Zandik gulped down his nervousness before facing your figure and looking at you.

"(y/n), as you can see from my failure of trying to flirt with you, what I'm trying to say is.. I like you."

Your eyes widened in surprise as Zandik held your hand in his, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"I was wondering if I can ask you out on a date, to make it official. You can say no if you don't reciprocate my feelings. Someone as extraordinary as you shouldn't even be hanging out with an outcast like me."

What Zandik didn't expect was you leaning in close to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. You let out a small giggle as you watched him erupt into a blushing mess, him letting go of your hand just to hide his red face.

"I like you too, Zandik. You can take me out on a date."

You were confused when Zandik's flushed face started to scowl at you. He grabbed your arm before pulling you close to him, your body pressed up against his. You let out a small squeak as you stared at the male, not knowing what to do.

"Aren't you a sly little bunny? Kissing me on the cheek just to get me caught off guard. I thought you were just a shy little scholar. Seems like there's more to you than meets the eye.. but I'm not one to back down."

You were about to ask what Zandik meant when he suddenly held your chin between his fingers before pressing his lips against yours. You squeaked out in surprise before kissing back, not caring if anyone sees either of you in this situation.

An unlikely pair of outcasts. But they love each other nonetheless. And nothing in Teyvat can ever separate them from each other.

#dottore x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dottore #zandik x reader #gender neutral reader

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cumikering · 8 months

Text

Possessive bf Soap x reader 3

2k | fluff, swearing Home: Dating Soap (Part 1) (Part 4/5)

“Did you mean that?” Soap grabbed your shoulders. “What you just said?”

“Yes?” you hesitated.

He sighed with a grin, pulling you in again. “Say it again, lass. Been waiting to hear it forever.”

“I like you, Johnny. I like you a lot. I really do,” you mumbled, your warm face pressed into his shoulder.

He groaned, giving you a squeeze. “Fuck, that feels so good to hear.”

“Why’d it take you so long to say anything?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he retorted.

You looked up at him, slapping his chest a little too hard. “You dafty! You said you don’t want to date, always making fun of me for wanting to!”

He gave you a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Well?”

“I was so scared to tell you,” he began. “The better the friendship, the higher the stakes. It’s far easier to be on the safe side of things, you know. In case you don’t feel the same, or if it doesn’t work out, because then I’ll just end up losing everything. And I’d really, fucking hate to lose you.”

You always liked seeing his soft side. “I’m happy you feel the same.”

“So what now?” he said, voice filled with hope.

“First off, I need to know just what prank you pulled on Daniel.”

Soap sighed in defeat. He knew you were going to ask eventually. “Well, he’s married, so I-”

“What the hell! How did you know this?” Your brows furrowed. “Did you stalk him?”

“No, I got the tech department to look him up. I know I’m not supposed to tell you, but it’s mad how easy it is. It’s literally just a few clicks away.” He added quickly, “But I only started doing this since Randy.”

You blinked. “Randy?”

“Ehm, Nathan, but that’s his fake name. He’s a scammer, so I guess I scared him off when I said I was meeting Theo who got a lead on him.”

“Oh God, so what you said wasn’t just rubbish? He did look like he was sincerely ill after you left. I thought that’s because he was upset you interrupted us.” You couldn’t help laughing. “But why him?”

“It was my last ditch effort. You already saw him a few times, and I was worried you were going to become an item…” he trailed off. “I was jealous,” he confessed in a small voice.

You huffed. “But that’s not okay you snooped around like that. It’s none of your business at all.”

“I know, I felt guilty doing that. In a sick way I’m glad I found something so I could justify my borderline creepy behaviour.”

“True, but you’re really lucky you turned out busting these arseholes. Because otherwise you know I’d be fucking furious, yeah?”

He hung his head. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Better not. No much a point doing background research on yourself.”

His eyes twinkled. “Is that what I think it means?”

You gave him a mischievous smile before turning on your heels, walking further down the street. “I’m still hungry. Buy me pizza, Johnny.”

He spun you by the wrist, looking down at you. “If you’re mine, give me a kiss.”

The intensity of his blue eyes sent your heart racing. “Promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” he breathed out.

“Clean up your place. It’s always such a big mess.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you.

You crushed on Soap all over again - how could you not? He trailed behind you constantly, like a blue-eyed puppy, but now with the licence to. He didn’t have to make up excuses to spend time with you anymore, and he was having the time of his life.

“What’s going to happen if I miss you too much?” You clung to him the morning of his next deployment.

The sun barely peeked over the horizon, yet Soap was already up in his uniform while you just got out of his bed.

“That’s fine.” He smiled, rubbing your back. “I know I’ll miss you more, so at least you know I’ll suffer more.”

You had apprehensions about how long distance was going to work, but you didn’t realise parting with him would be so hard. He’d gone on countless missions over the years, yet for the first time you were near to tears about him going away.

“Don’t eat all the brownies in one sitting.”

You’d baked him a batch of brownies the night before and wrapped them individually for the road. You knew how much he loved to snack.

His chest rumbled in laughter against you, completely ignoring the comment as he had other plans in mind. “I’ll call and text as much as I can.” He kissed your forehead.

Soap promised and delivered. Sure, his fond texts came at the wildest hours, but they quenched the longing regardless. He’d given you the keys to his place too, for if you ever wanted to lie around in his bed. With bits and pieces of him surrounding you, the times he was away didn’t feel so bad after all.

When he was back in town, he was eager to please, clingy in the best way. You didn’t complain because you wanted him just so. Everything he did had a loving undertone to it, or maybe it was always there all these years, but you never noticed.

“You want popcorn? I’ll make some for you,” he said as you both cuddled on the couch with a film on. “Don’t have to pause it for me.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

A few moments after, the air reeked of burning. You poked your head in the kitchen. “Johnny, what’s that smell?”

“What smell?” He looked up.

“Oh my God, Johnny! It’s smoking!” You rushed in, turning off the heat which he’d cranked to infinity. “It’s a stove, not a furnace!”

A cloud of pitch black smoke rose up as he lifted the lid. “It wasn’t popping so I turned it up!” he defended.

You laughed. “Guess we’re having charcoal to snack on.”

Soap pouted.

“It’s fine, Johnny.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We can have something else. But you’re scrubbing the bloody pot clean because you’ve somehow managed to burn it to absolute oblivion too.”

Soap’s acts of service didn’t go unnoticed even that they didn’t always turn out. One day when you were under the weather, he’d asked you to stay over so he could take care of you, even going as far as cooking his mum’s soup for you. You admired his efforts as you knew how much he didn’t like cooking.

“Lass, come have a look!”

You entered the kitchen to him beaming proudly by the stove. You peered over the pot and bit your lower lip.

“I love you so much,” you began. “But fuck me, Johnny. You’ve got the uncanny ability to make everything look like prison food.”

“Och, piss off. I know it tastes good.” He took a spoonful of the chunky soup and eyed you sideways. A second after, he held a cough in and blinked a few times as he struggled to swallow. But it’s Soap, so he wasn’t going to admit to his fuck ups. “If you don’t want it, I’ll have it,” he mumbled, looking away.

He insisted on buying you takeaway down the street, so you did what you could to salvage his soup while he was gone.

“Had some of it. It’s nice Johnny, thank you.” You slid a bowl over to him, stroking his hair.

“I told ye,” he said with a small pout before grabbing the spoon. After a bite, he looked up at you with an apologetic smile, acknowledging the assist.

You shook your head as you chuckled, digging into your own bowl.

“Johnny, I need to ask. How much salt did you put in the soup?” you asked as you dried the dishes.

“One teaspoon, just like what the recipe calls for.”

“Are you sure you put in one?”

“Affirmative. This much.” He grabbed the salt container, holding up the heapingest heap of salt that has ever heaped in a teaspoon.

“Johnny, that’s a dump truck, not a teaspoon.”

“Fuck off.” He laughed as he tickled your sides.

“I’ll write you recipes with detailed instructions,” you managed through your giggling fits. “I’ll even illustrate what a teaspoon worth is supposed to look like.”

He stopped, hands resting on your waist. “Why don’t you move in? So we can cook together every time.”

“W- what?”

“Move in with me.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I love having you around.”

Familiarity made you move fast, perhaps too fast, but it felt right. Everything felt right with him, especially when he took you home on his next leave. You’d met his family countless of times when you were still in school, but seeing them with the new title made you a hint nervous nonetheless.

“Och, hen. So good to see you again!” Mrs. Mactavish pulled you in for a hug right after she opened the door. “I was so happy when Johnny told me!”

Soap’s open arms were met with the chilly wind. ”Maw!” he protested.

She laughed, beaconing for him to join the hug. “Get in here.”

His mum took your hand, leading you to the house you hadn’t seen in a long time. The corridor was quite literally a memory lane. Your steps slowed as you admired the framed photos on the wall. Most were of his family – Soap striking silly poses with his parents on holiday, and his yearbook photos over the years you always teased him for. He had a different hairstyle in each one until he settled for his signature mohawk in fifth year. Further along the wall hung new ones of him and his bright blue eyes, standing proud in his SAS uniform.

Mrs. Mactavish squeezed your hand. “Look how handsome my baby is,” she cooed, running a hand down the most recent photo.

You turned to him smiling gently at you. The photos didn’t come close to representing how striking he truly was.

“Let’s have lunch now.” She tugged at you, leading you further in. “I made your favourite.”

Not much had changed. The couches were still there, the rugs the same, even the way that his mum always cooked too much when you came over. That day, it looked like she made enough to last the rest of the week.

Sitting at the dining table felt like slipping into a time machine. On the same wooden chairs with floral upholstery, under the frosted glass pendant light, Soap had spent many hours there teaching you chemistry and maths, subjects he excelled at. But now with his tender gaze as he held your hand under the table, you knew this was meant to be.

That night, you squeezed together in his bed looking up the indie band posters from his teenage years. It was your first time seeing them from that angle. Nostalgia swept over you again, and you couldn’t help feeling a touch emotional.

“I know it looks blatantly obvious my maw can’t love you any more, but I hope you don’t let it get to yer head because I know I’m still her favourite.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, mama’s boy.”

“But you can rest assured no one loves you more than I do.” He kissed your forehead.

You turned to him, beaming.

“I think had I not gone to SAS, we’d have been together soon after we graduated. We would have been here years ago already.”

“How so?”

“It took me some time before I realised I liked you, and that was in SAS, but it didn’t allow me enough time to turn us into a couple, only friends.” He glanced at you. “By the time you moved to the city, we were such good friends already. I wanted so much more, but I feel we walked down the wrong path, and I didn’t know how to change that, so I just… did nothing. I'm sorry for taking so long.”

“I’ve got no regrets, Johnny. I’m happy we’re together now. I can’t ask for anything better.” You smiled against his lips.

Taglist: @sofasoap @thewizardarson @liyanahelena @kenma-izhu

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im-not-corrupted · 3 months

Note

Because I'm totally normal about your writing (you can hear me hiding a pile of your writing that reaches my head behind my back) can you do 6-Should I write you a poem instead? For the Valentines Game (yes I feel really funny for choosing that)

<333

Mar!! Hi!! :D I hope you enjoy <3

---------

Dream has always enjoyed gift giving.

He has always been the one to gift things to others. To adorn lovers in jewels, to weave tales and compose poems for them. It is no hardship; when he loves, he falls hard and fast, and often to the point of ruin. Before they reach that point, though, he has always found it delightful to gift those who have captured his attentions ways to assure them of his adoration, ways to prove just how significant they are to him.

It has never been any hardship, and Dream thinks it unlikely that it should ever become one. There will never be any greater joy than the chance to see one he loves taken aback by his gifts, than being able to prove his devotion in some real, tangible way.

There is a lot that went into the creation of the gift he wishes for Hob to have. He does not consider a gift until Hob mentioned one of humanity's popular traditions off-handedly—Valentine's Day, he called it, and though he claimed it mattered little to him, he also stated he enjoys the gift-giving aspect of it in the same sentence.

Valentine's Day is not something Dream was familiar with, before he returned to the Dreaming after that particular conversation to conduct some research. He had considered asking Matthew, but then reconsidered. While Matthew was certainly the leading expert in the Dreaming regarding human traditions, he has yet to voice his own feelings for Hob. Has yet to put words to the tangled mess inside his chest, at least not in the Dreaming.

He thinks it is obvious anyway. His realm has embraced spring, flowers blooming through the cracks of his castle, the sky a pleasant blue, the air clear and cool. The Dreaming takes all those feelings and puts them on full display for all his creations to see. It is obvious. He needs not voice such things, not yet.

And he believes Hob knows, too. They have grown steadily closer since Dream's return, thirty-three years late and full of a fierce hope that he wasn't too late. That he hadn't ruined everything by failing so terribly to escape his prison, to make it to their meeting in 1989. Dream has already stated that Hob is important to him, and has made an effort to be more present in his friend's life. Despite the fact that he has not put words for the tangle of feelings inside his chest, he has not made them a secret.

No, Hob must know. He must, surely; there is little chance he does not.

Of course, it is possible Dream has been misunderstood. Hob has been...reciprocative of his attentions, his stares lingering, his touches more purposeful now instead of accidental brushes of their shoulders, but he has not put anything to words either. Still continues to call Dream old friend, an endearment that makes the traitorous thing inside his chest tug almost painfully.

That, he supposes, is the point of his gift. He wants Hob to know just how much he means to him. Wants to put those thoughts to words; to stop dancing around his own feelings. He is sure Hob feels similarly, even if Dream cannot quite understand why; he would not risk ruining their friendship this way otherwise. It means far too much to him for that.

It's late, when he turns up at Hob's door for Valentine's Day. It feels appropriate, knowing the meaning behind this tradition, to give his gift to Hob on this day instead of any other.

As always, he is welcomed inside with that same, lovely smile he has adored the sight of since he was first gifted it the day of his return. It is blinding in its radiance, so lovely, and Dream thinks he understands the meaning of reverence every time he sees it. It is a gift in and of itself, that warmth, that joy at seeing him, and he is selfish enough to hold the memory of it close to his chest, to return to the Waking for the sole purpose of being blessed with it once more.

It has become quite a problem. His mind turns so often to Hob Gadling, to that smile, that he has begun to create dreams of comfort and succour around it. Lucienne's knowing look the last time it happened remains forever ingrained inside his mind, now.

"Wasn't expecting to see you today," Hob tells him, but he sounds pleased about it. Somehow, he always does. Dream remains ever-baffled by that particular fact, but is too selfish to risk giving it up by questioning it. "How're you, love? How's your day been?"

Inside his chest, his heart warms. He has no use for a heart, not really. It does nothing for him. He does not typically have one, either, but there is something about being here, with Hob, that makes him stray a little closer towards humanity. He can feel the warmth of Hob's apartment, the cosiness that leads to a sense of security, greater this way. He does not mind fashioning himself a little more human for the sake of those things, however unconsciously.

"Well," he answers. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. The gift in his pocket seems...heavier, suddenly, or perhaps he is all-too aware of it. "I have a gift. For you."

Eyes widening, Hob blinks at him. "Oh, do you?" he asks, and he already sounds delighted. It soothes some of the nerves that have made themselves known, and Dream sighs softly. "You didn't have to do that, love."

"I wanted to. You mean...much to me, Hob Gadling." It is stilted, that admission, more than he wants it to be.

He is rewarded with a faint flush to Hob's cheeks regardless as he steps closer to Dream, that smile growing wider. "And you mean much to me too, Dream. I have to admit, I'm curious now."

He digs his hand into the pocket of his coat. It is functional only when he wants it to be; he hadn't wanted to lose this gift to the galaxies that line it, not when it is so important.

When he pulls his hand away, he holds out a small, black box and holds it towards Hob. His heart is in his throat now, terrified and nervous. "For you, my friend."

His excitement is palpable when he takes the box from Dream's hand, fingertips brushing his palm for just a moment. When he opens it, his eyes widen further for a moment, until he eventually plucks the ring from the box. "Dream." His voice is choked when he says it. "This is..."

The gold of the ring shines in the low light of Hob's apartment, the ruby shard glinting. "It was made by my own power," he explains. "The jewel is a shard from my own ruby. You can...communicate with me through it, should you wish to." This, Hob has mentioned already—I'd like some way to contact you, if possible, he'd whispered softly, not long after Dream gained the courage to tell the story surrounding his absence in 1989. In case...In case something like that happens again.

It was, in the end, a small request. One he thought he could fulfil easily.

The silence that grows between the two of them now, though, makes him think differently. "Should I have written you a poem instead?" he asks. It is a lot, he supposes, to gift his friend a ring of all things, even if he wishes to be a little bit more with said friend. Perhaps he should've asked Matthew for his opinion after all. "You need not—"

Whatever he was going to finish that sentence with gets quickly cut off when Hob meets his eyes. There's a faint sheen to them, the beginnings of tears, and Dream has only a moment to panic over the sight before his friend slips the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly, just as he planned for it to, and he begins to say as such, but he's interrupted when Hob strides forward, closing the distance between the two of them.

The expression on his face is open, warm. "If I'm mistaken," he whispers softly, "I apologise. Please don't smite me for asking, but—may I kiss you, Dream?"

His heart jumps. "Yes," he breathes. "I would like that."

Lips quirking, Hob says, "Good," before he cups the back of Dream's head, fingers weaving through his hair and gripping lightly, and kisses Dream lightly.

It is tender. Warm and loving. Something snaps inside him instantly, whatever restraint he let hold him back abandoning him as he grasps his friend's waist and pulls him closer, allowing his lips to move against Hob's. It is lovely, everything Dream has imagined it could be.

Eventually, Hob pulls away, resting his forehead against Dream's. "Not mistaken, then," he murmurs between them, chuckling softly. He continues to play with the hair at the back of his head, and Dream shivers.

"Not at all," he says, and kisses Hob once more.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #eris writes things #valentines day prompts

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frogmanfae · 1 year

Text

Anthony Lockwood x GN! Reader- You Too? (FLUFF with a little bit of angst)

Summary: Anthony can't sleep at night. You can't sleep at night. Most of the time you avoid running into each other, but one fateful night of tears in the basement leads to an awkward bedroom experience.

A/n: this one is quite a bit longer than my other ones, about 4,000 words. I think it came out pretty well. Please don't make this dirty, I beg of you. It really is just awkwardness that happens to occur in a bed it isn't anything spicy.

Reader pov

There are nights where I can't bear to be in my room. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I need a break from such mundane consistency. I just need to see something other than those walls.

On these nights, I usually make myself some tea and go to the basement. I'd much rather sit in the library, but Lockwood is in there most nights. Nobody ever comes down to the basement. I'm alone with only my thoughts and my tea.

I don't quite understand why my room has this effect on me sometimes. When my parents died, my room was my safe haven. My refuge. My sanctuary. So now that I'm in a new environment, it makes little sense to me that it can feel more like solitary confinement. It makes even less sense that I'm soothed by the concrete and dust of the basement.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's probably three in the morning as I sit on the floor leaned against the wall, sipping my tea. I'm a listener, like Lucy (though not nearly as powerful) so a moment of silence is rare, but extremely calming. To use my power and hear nothing is bliss.

I've only about half way finished my tea when someone comes down the stairs, clearly laser focused on something. We're in the middle of a big case, so that's probably it. I had expected it to be George doing some late research or maybe Lucy to see if she can listen to any of the sources down here and get a lead.

To my surprise, it's the other one.

I watch silently as Lockwood pulls out several files and spreads them out on a table. He seems extra stiff, like something is really bothering him. He grumbles something in frustration before collecting the files and putting them back in the cabinet.

He walks over to my wall and sits down a couple feet away. From what I can tell, he hasn't noticed me.

I'm right here, isn't your talent supposed to be sight?

I simply continue sipping on my tea, remaining quiet and looking forward to not disturb him, though he really is an idiot if he doesn't know I'm here.

I thought for a moment that he actually did see me, but he needed space and realized I needed the same so he just didn't acknowledge it. I was certain on this until I heard him crying.

I look over at him. He's still wearing dress pants and his button up and tie. He's still got on his dress shoes. However, his hair was a mess and his hands were currently tangled in the back locks, only making it worse. His face was buried in his knees. I swear I heard a tear drop on to the floor. He was quietly sobbing, clearly trying to not alert anyone but still in pain. Emotional pain, anyhow.

I debate what I should do for a moment. I don't want to startle him, and honestly he seems like he needs this. I decide to just keep drinking my tea and not look at him. I'll let him get it all out before I make my presence known.

It lasts longer than I thought. Perhaps ten minutes? I'm not the best with comprehending passage of time but that seems right enough. Regardless of the details, it was a long time to sit here holding my breath and listening to his suffering.

Finally, he sniffs and wipes his eyes. I'm still looking straight ahead holding my cup, only seeing him out of my peripheral vision. He runs his hands back and forth over his hair a few times. I close my eyes.

"JESUS FUCKI-"

I snap my head towards Lockwood. He's now on his back with his legs closest to me, propped up on one arm and looking at me as if I'm a ghost. I can properly see his face now. His dark circles seem more prominent than usual and his eyes are red and puffy. His nose is red. His cheeks are discolored. He looks abnormally pale. His lashes have been thickened and darkened by his tears. It was truly a sight.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?"

"I was here before you."

"AND YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING? YOU SAW ALL OF THAT?"

"Shhh you'll wake up the others, we both know how lightly George sleeps while we're in the midst of a case. Anyhow, you seemed like you needed it. I didn't want to interrupt. It's not like I watched you."

"But... You saw it all. You heard everything!"

"Lockwood, I hope you realize I think no less of you."

"What?"

"I- oh gosh you can't be comfortable like that. Sit up, why don't you?" He hesitantly pushes himself up and leans against the wall again. "I'm worried about you."

"Theres no need to be-"

"Bullshit. You can't keep concealing your emotions like this. It's okay to be overwhelmed or stressed or overall upset for any reason. You always act like everything is wonderful but it's not. I don't know if it ever has been."

He looks down. "(Y/n)... It's not that easy-"

"I never said anything about it being easy. Of course it's hard. I can't even imagine how you feel owning an agency so young, having all that pressure on your shoulders. It's terrifying to be vulnerable."

"Is that why you're in the basement in the early hours of the morning, drinking herbal tea?"

I hum. "I just couldn't sleep, and I like herbal tea."

"Now who's bullshitting?" The corners of his mouth tug up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You much prefer green. Herbal simply calms you down. You only ever drink herbal tea when you're upset."

"How..."

"I notice things, (y/n). Lots of things. Don't think I don't hear the kettle during the midnight hours at least three times a week. The peculiar thing is I never hear anyone go back up the stairs and whenever I go into the kitchen, it's empty."

I look down. How'd he make this about me so quickly?

"Tell me, (y/n), do you spend your nights in the basement often?"

"... No. Only when I can't sleep."

"So... Often." He nods. "Why don't you stay in the library? It's much more inviting."

"I don't want to bother you. That's where you are most nights."

"You could never bother me."

"Stop, you were the one crying a few moments ago, this isn't about me."

He sighs. "It was worth a shot."

"Now, what's bothering you?"

"Uh... Nothing, really."

"Lockwood."

"It's just the case, that's all."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

He let's out a noise of exasperation. "Fine, you really want to know? It's my parents."

"Your parents?" I ask softly as I scoot closer to him.

He nods. "They died when I was six years old. You really have no idea what it's like to have such a great life until suddenly you don't and it all gets ripped away from you without warning and nobody will take you in so you have to fend for yourself before your age even reaches double digits."

"Actually... I think I can relate more than you realize."

"How can you possibly relate?" He almost sounds angry. I don't blame him, I never told him my story. I kept it to myself even after living with other people all this time. I moved here with a purpose, to start new. Therefore, my past never happened according to anyone else. I was another person then. I've left all of that behind, taking only the nightmares and memories with me.

"My parents were murdered when I was eight." I look straight ahead. "Nobody really wants to adopt a kid who's just began to really get strong in their talent for hearing brutal murders and death. It freaks adults out. So I was on my own until I found you guys."

His expression softens. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry, I... Wait, you were fourteen when you applied. That's six years."

"It was hard but I managed. The whole ghost hunting agent thing isn't so bad. Once you've been forced to watch your parents get nothing short of quartered right in front of your sensitive, innocent eyes, you can watch anyone else get ghost touched no big deal."

"I'm sorry, quartered?" His eyes are wide.

"Yeah, are you familiar with the French Revolution?"

"I'm familiar enough to hope you were talking about a different type of quartering."

I shook my head. "It was intense. I still think of it every time I close my eyes."

"I can't even imagine..."

"I didn't tell you this for you to feel sorry for me. I only wanted you to know I'll understand. You aren't as alone as you believe."

He nods slowly. "I see... Thank you... For sharing, I mean."

"Of course. So now that you know I can at least sort of understand what you're feeling, what's going on with you?"

He sighs. "I don't know... Sometimes I just..."

"Miss them?"

"... Yeah." He nods. "Yeah I miss them a lot. I miss them all the time but sometimes when I think about it it's not so bad, it's let me do what I've done, accomplish all of this. Other times..."

"It's mentally suffocating."

"Mentally suffocating... Yeah that's a good word for it. Like it's put a sheet over your brain to prevent it from getting oxygen, but you can still physically breathe with your lungs for the most part."

I nod. "Yeah, it's frightening. George has a book on it he was telling me about some time."

"George knows you feel like this sometimes?"

"No, but we often discuss our readings, trade books, recommend authors or titles... Things of the sort. I haven't told anyone about my past. Except you of course."

"Well aren't I special," he flashes one of his signature Lockwood smiles.

I roll my eyes. "Don't let it get to your head, your ego is already so inflated I fear it might burst."

"Oh haha you love my charisma."

"Is that what we're calling it?" I smile at him.

He laughs. Not his public press laugh, but a true, genuine laugh. One that I've never heard from him before. It makes me feel a little bit warmer with emotion.

"You know, most nights I stay awake in the library simply because I can't stand the solitude of my room."

"What?"

"I know, it's silly-"

"No, not at all! I come down here for the same reason!"

"You do?" He raises his eyebrows, sounding surprised. "I thought you just worried over cases or, well now I thought you thought about your past but-"

"No, it's like..." I think for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "Like the silence is too loud and the space is too big for just me, even though my bed hardly fits properly."

"Exactly! Like I don't have anything to focus on except for the sensory deprivation and my anxieties."

"Yes! Oh my goodness I can't believe you get it!"

"I thought I was the only one!" He laughs again, different this time. It sounds almost relieved. "Say... Maybe we could help each other out."

I raise an eyebrow. "Help each other out? How so?"

"Well, feel free to decline if you want and we'll never speak of this proposal again, but perhaps we could try spending the night in the same room."

"But..." I get that warm feeling again, more intense this time. "Each room only has one bed..."

"Yes well..." Despite the horrid lighting of the basement, I could faintly see a light pink tint spanning across his nose and blotching on other, seemingly random, spots on his face. "Like I said I understand if you decline and if that is your choice we can pretend I never said anything... However... I feel it may be beneficial to the both of us to have a... companion in the lonely, deafeningly silent hours of the night. If it works, splendid we can finally get some proper sleep. If it doesn't, we each return to our respective seperate rooms and carry on as if nothing ever happened."

"..." I nod slowly. "Okay."

"Ah- really?" He turns to face me more. "In all honesty I thought you would detest the idea."

"Do you still want-"

"Yes! I mean," he clears his throat, "uh... Yeah, the offer still stands."

"Perfect."

"Well then." He stands up and offers me his hand. "Shall we?"

"Oh you mean like right now! Alright then." I take his hand and he pulls me up. He chuckles and leads me to his room.

"I uh... I'll go take this cup back to the kitchen and let you get changed and what not."

"Oh- right." He pushes back some of his hair. "I'll only be a minute or two."

"Okay, I'll be waiting for whenever you're ready."

He smiles at me as he steps back into his room and closes the door. I swiftly make my way to the kitchen and set my cup in the sink, resolving to wash it in the morning, and return in under a minute.

I wait outside for only about thirty seconds longer before Lockwood opens the door again.

"Sorry I took so long."

"Long? Lockwood that was- wait."

"What? Is something the matter?" He takes his hand off of the door handle and peeks his head out around the corner.

"No, just... You're wearing a shirt."

"Oh, well..." He stepped aside, inviting me in, and closed the door behind me "Yes in fact I am. What about it?"

"Lockwood you've never worn a shirt to bed in all the time I've been here. It's like an unspoken principle in the house; you don't wear shirts to bed and George doesn't wear trousers."

"I didn't realize it was such a disruption of order-"

"Well- that's not what I'm saying." I sigh. I've always struggled with putting things into the right words. "Obviously it's fine if you wear a shirt to bed, I just... I'm just wondering why all of a sudden?"

"Well... I don't know. I suppose I thought you may be a bit uncomfortable sharing a bed with me when I've no shirt on." He looked down, those pink splotches returning to his face. "After all, this is only an arrangement of convenience and practicality. It's not like were... uh... going out... or anything..."

"Ah, right..." I can feel myself getting flustered. "Well... I don't mind, really. The whole point is to feel more comfortable going to sleep so if you feel more comfortable with no shirt on, honestly it doesn't make any difference to me."

"... Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, really." I smile reassuringly. "Whatever makes you fall asleep best."

He hesitates. "Well, if you're absolutely positive-"

"Lockwood, I promise you."

He hums lowly. "Alright then. But if you change your mind just tell me and I'll put it back on straight away, I swear-"

"Lockwood!"

"Alright, okay! If you're sure-"

"I'm sure."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, a smile gracing his face. It isn't one of his signature smiles, it's real, quite boyish actually. He seems so young. Sometimes I forget how young we really are, but then again, all youth since The Problem has forgotten how young they really are.

I try my best to appear to be disinterested and looking away as he removes his shirt and folds it, neatly placing it in the bottom right drawer of his dresser. Of course, I watch the whole thing unfold. I'm only trying to appear as if I'm not.

"Alright, well..." He awkwardly rubs his arm. I've never seen him seem so nervous before. "I suppose now is when we uh... get into bed, then..."

"Yes it does seem like that happens now..." I slowly nod.

"Well uhm... After you." He gestures toward the bed.

"Oh no, please, it's your bed, you go ahead first." I wave my hands.

"No no I insist. You're my... guest? Is that the appropriate term for this? What do we call this?" He lets out a breathy chuckle. "Sorry, I'm a bit..."

"Nervous?"

"To say the least."

We both laugh a little bit. There really was no need for it to be so nerve wrecking. We had already agreed that if it doesn't go well we pretend nothing happened. Nobody needs to know.

"Here, why don't we just both get in at the same time?" I offer.

"Yes! Yes, that sounds like a good idea." He goes to the side of the bed opposite of me.

It's still extremely tense as the both of us climb in under the covers. There's plenty of space in between us. I'm nearly hanging off the edge, no doubt Lockwood is as well.

Fuck it.

I move onto the bed more so I'm a comfortable ways on. "Lockwood?"

"Yes?"

"Can I be frank for a moment?"

"Well I think I'd prefer you to stay (y/n) but I suppose whatever makes you happy-"

"Oh shut up." He laughs one of those real laughs again. I nearly melt.

"What would you like to talk about?"

I take a deep breath, admittedly, his joke (however stupid) managed to cut some of the tension. "This isn't going to work unless we get over ourselves and actually share the bed. Like real sharing."

He pauses. "You're right. The question is, how far are we going?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Well..." He huffs. "If we're being frank-"

"I prefer Anthony, but I suppose-"

"Oh shut up, it really isn't funny." Despite his words, he was smiling again. "I see your point now."

"Well, what is it you were going to say, Frank?"

"Please don't." He laughs, making me smile more.

"I'm listening."

He inhales deeply. "Well, how far are we going as in... Are we simply laying next to one another and trying to go to sleep or... to be blunt, are we spooning?"

I nearly chocked on my own saliva. Blunt was certainly one way to say it.

"Well... Whatever makes you comfortable. Honestly I think it would work best if we... Uh... Did the latter, but I don't want to make you-"

"I was actually hoping you'd say that-"

He sighs, sounding almost... Relieved?"

"Really?"

"Yes, I-" he rolls over, bringing us from being over a foot apart to our noses now almost touching. "Goodness you are much closer than I thought-"

"Sorry, I-" I start to move back, but he puts his hand on my waist, gently stopping me.

"No no I uh... Well if we're going to uh... You know, uhm, we're going to have to be close anyway so..."

"Right, yeah..."

He softly pulls me closer using his hand that still rests on my waist. I move towards him until my hands are pressed to his chest and our legs are touching under the covers. His face is splotchy red again, the most intense I've ever seen it, though I can't imagine how flustered I must appear.

"Uhm... May I?" He starts to wrap his leg around mine.

"Ah..." I nod, unable to trust my voice.

And so now we lay here, about two seconds away from being puddles of awkwardness and mild embarrassment. He's warm. Very warm. It's kind of nice being this close to him.

I've always found him attractive since the moment I saw him. He is, objectively, a good looking guy.

Then I got to know him a little bit. He and I would often bicker and pester one another, some times seemingly more serious than others, but for the most part it was all in jest. Making jabs at each other is just what we do.

I think I fell for him more and more over my time here, but tonight I saw a new side of him. A side that really pushed me over the edge of having a bit of a crush on him to trying to stop myself from kissing him at any given moment.

"(Y/n)? Are you alright?" He brings a hand up to my forehead. "You're awful warm and you look... Distressed."

"Anthony?"

His gaze softened. I don't think anyone has called him that in... well who knows how long? Too long. "Yes? Is something the matter?"

"No I just..." I make eye contact with him, effectively rendering myself speechless.

He inches closer. "Are you sure? This is quite the... intimate position... I wouldn't want to make you..."

By this time, our noses are back to almost touching, but even closer than before. He tilts his head just enough to avoid colliding them.

"Make me what? Uncomfortable?" I glance down at his lips, quickly looking back to his eyes to avoid suspicion. "Anthony, you could never-"

He kisses me.

Holy shit.

Anthony Lockwood is kissing me.

I'm in Anthony Lockwood's bed.

I'm kissing Anthony Lockwood!

"I'm sorry-" he pulls back. "Oh no... I shouldn't have done that... Shit... Oh shit I'm so sorry-"

I kiss him again. "Shut up, will you? I just had a life altering moment here and I'm trying to enjoy it."

"You- you liked it?"

"Of course I did. Anthony, I've liked you since... Well I suppose there wasn't a single moment I could pick out but-"

"I love it when you call me that."

I smile. "Call you what? Anthony? Well that is your name."

"It hasn't been used in years. Not by itself, anyhow. It sounds nice coming from your lips."

"I like your lips." It takes a moment to register what I just said. "Wait, I didn't mean-"

"You like kissing me~" He teases me, putting on his Lockwood Smile.

"Oh shut up!" I put my head on his chest to hide my face. "Of course I do..."

"Well... You know what I would like more than just kissing you?" He carefully lifts my head up with two fingers under my chin.

"Hm?"

He hesitates for a moment. "I'd like to be your boyfriend."

"What? Really?"

"If you'll have me, that is-"

"Of course I'll have you, you prick!" I lightly punch his chest. "Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you that?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say I do."

"Well there wasn't a specific time but I think I started to think about it more and more around the time we were working the Brentic case."

"The B- (y/n) that was at least a year and a half ago."

"I'm well aware."

"... Huh."

"What?"

"I think I've known since the Dalkins case."

"Lockwood, that was long before the Brentic case-"

"It seems my charm worked then."

"Oh shut up! Go to sleep!"

He laughs a bit. "So... Are we...?"

"... I think we are..."

"Wonderful! Splendid! Perfect! Grand! Fanta-"

I laugh. "Anthony shut up!"

He goes quiet, but the smile remains on his face. "Do we tell the others?"

"... Nah. It's funnier if we just let them figure it out. But we don't necessarily have to hide it either."

He nods. "It'll take all my self control to not shout it from the rooftops."

"Oh hush." I roll my eyes, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. "Get some sleep, lover boy. You clearly need it."

He kisses me once more, shorter this time, before closing his eyes and pulling me closer to his chest. He falls asleep surprisingly quickly, his breaths going even and his mouth falling slightly agape in no time at all.

I watch him for a moment. Once again, he really shows his age for only a second. I push some of his hair away from his face and place a kiss on his forehead, causing him to stir just a bit.

Before I know it, my eyelids feel heavy. It becomes increasingly harder to keep them open, to stay awake. Soon enough, I'm drifting into sleep with pleasant dreams to greet me and Lockwood by my side.

How lucky am I?

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