#striped shift dress

[hellenhighwater]

I was shoveling my sidewalk during my lunch break, wearing an ankle-length wool coat, equally long black striped dress with a leather cincher belt, gloves, and combat heels--over all looking like I just finished a long shift at the foul incantations factory-- and these two bright eyed homeschool kids scampered up and offered to help me shovel. I was, frankly, a little shocked at their daring (the last small strange child that I passed on the sidewalk while wearing that coat asked me if I was a vampire).

But then they informed me that we'd actually meet before. I flagged them down at the end of Halloween trick or treating and emptied the entire remainder of my candy into their bags, and apparently bought goodwill for life by doing so.

So I thanked them and hired them to shovel my walk during this weekend's snowfall, because I'll be mostly gone. The kids are all right.

[emacrow]

Alfred's day off came as he went for a visit that cause suspicious in the batfam.

Alfred was looking rather energetic and enthusiastic as he was fixing himself up in the mirror, cleaning any lint and dust on his casual clothes.

The batfam has been noticing he is getting more excited that he even made everyone's favorite lunch in record time as today was one of alfred rarest day off.

Tim on the other hand is thinking that alfred might be dating someone, because he saw alfred bring light blue letters that had a soft jasmine smell.

Bruce believes Tim finally lost his marble because when does alfred had the time to date around.?

Until Dick mentioned that even old people get lonely and tend to matchmake in the form of letters like the good old days..

Which right now the batfam and Bruce leading them are currently spying on Alfred far enough where they think he wouldn't noticed them stalk- observating him.

Alfred was picking up a couple of presents, one that had plants, another had old Techno theme, one with birds, a fire theme one and a space theme present that he loaded his car with along with a stuffie bear.

Steph thinks that he could be visiting relatives at that point..?

While Bruce was remaining quiet with a calculating glint in his eyes.

They follow alfred all the ways to the one of the barely remaining clean parks, where a another young man sat with a orange hair little girl in a light greenish blue dress, a sleeping baby girl in a bassinet on a picnic blanket with a purple clock theme pattern, as he watches 4 toddlers playing and squealing around a oddly colored puppy.

Two toddlers look like a bait-adoptable bait even if both has stripes of white in their hair and one had red eyes, one toddler had blonde hair with the tips being black with purple eyes and a lightest greenish skin tone, and the remaining toddler was Egyptian African American looking with how he playing with a odd toy phone that look Egyptian theme before being dragged along to play by the green dog snatching his toy phone.

Alfred brought the presents along sitting down with the now seemingly much older man..

Jason seemed to noticed that nobody else is noticing that that guy holding the clock like staff is literally shifting from young, to adolescent, to young adult, and elderly man beside himself when he voiced his concerns.

They weren't close enough to hear what the two were saying, but the little girl with the orange hair was speaking mostly before looking up with tearful green teal eyes at alfred who went to comfort the girl.

[bi-writes]

huhhhhh more bestfriend!roommate!simon x fem!reader because i want them to touch

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 4/?)

cw: nsfw (18+), suggestive language and content, mature language and content, kissing over the mask, simon "my girl cums first" riley, fem!receiving touching, praise kink, size kink, simon's thicc thighs need a warning, simon "the mask doesn't come off" riley

simon had a bad habit.

a nose-scrunching habit, a oddly pretty habit, a clouding habit.

you shut the door behind you, locking it. you dropped your keys by the door, slipping your sneakers off and hanging your jacket up. you had the day shift today, so simon let you walk home on your own. but he didn't know when you were coming home, and you suspect that's why he was outside on the balcony, a cigarette between his index and middle finger as he leaned against the wall.

you come up to the sliding door, narrowing your eyes before knocking on the glass. simon didn't move immediately, but you saw him turn his face away, tossing the cigarette onto the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his combat boot. when he turned to look at you, his mask was on, and there was a little apprehension in those dark eyes.

you gripped the handle of the door, sliding it open. he moved to stand in front of you, taking up the entirety of the doorway, broad shoulders taking up the width of the space.

"luv--"

"shut the fuck up, simon," you snapped. you reached over and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him inside. he had to maneuver his shoulders to slip inside, and you brought him right up against you so you could glare right up at him. "you know, it's one thing to come back from your boys' nights smelling like it, but in our home?! simon! how many times do i have to tell you that those things will kill you?!"

he sighed, shaking his head a little.

"trust me, luv," he murmured. "this isn't what'll kill me."

"you shut up," you reached up and gripped his masked chin, forcing his eyes on yours. your eyes were a little watery, and your bottom lip trembled. "don't say things like that. don't you dare."

the air was a little stiff. simon was a bit ashamed, averting his gaze. you leaned up and put both hands on his cheeks, putting his eyes on yours again.

"look at me, simon," you said lowly. "i...i cant tell you what to do. i'm not your mother. but i don't like it. its not good for you. i..." you looked down. "i'm sorry. i'm not trying to...i'm not trying to control you, i just--"

"its alright, luv," he quieted you. "it's alright, i know."

you sighed, dropping your hands to rest on his chest. your splayed your palms there, feeling the warmth of him. you held back a smile when you noticed him puffing out his chest a bit, flexing the muscles under your palms as you pressed against solid flesh.

"big, bad lieutenant riley..." you hummed lowly. "nothing can kill you, is that it?"

simon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side as he grunted.

"dunno what'll kill me, luv, but it won't be a bloody smoke."

you smiled wide finally, your eyes sparkling as you looked towards the kitchen.

"what do you want for dinner, simon? did you go shopping like i asked?"

"'f course i did," he said quickly, his tone nearly offended for even a hint that he you had doubted that he would do ask you asked. you let go of him, making your way to the kitchen. simon let his eyes wander. you were still wearing your uniform from the diner, pretty white and red stripes in the most adorable dress he'd ever seen. he'd curse the man who'd made you wear it the day he saw it the first time; his gaze that couldn't help but follow the valley of your breasts, the way the skirt fell over the curve of your ass--he felt like a teenager fawning over something so trivial about you, so physical and seemingly superficial, but you looked fantastic in it. his beautiful girl, the one he had known since she was only 17, how she grew and blossomed and before he knew, there was no other woman who could take up as much space in his mind as you.

simon had been to many dark places. the dark edges of torture, the narrow walls of being cornered by an enemy, the hot places where hell was just right over the cliff--he was a machine of order and sheer will, he had killed the parts of himself that never quite suited him for war, but somehow, this place with you stayed the same. it was the one constant he knew, the one constant that just never, ever changed, and for that, he was grateful.

you don't think simon riley believes in god. but he believes in you.

simon had been around the world. he had seen the worst of humanity, ripped his own right out of his chest, but none of it mattered as he sat down on the couch he had picked out with you. he remembered when you sent him the pictures of it, your voice on the other line of the phone as you told him how much you liked the pieces. he had been on deployment, and while he could care fuck all about what color the couch in your shared living room was, it was important to you so it was important to him.

"simon?"

your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"simon, could you open that bottle of wine? i need it for the stew."

domestic. fuck, this was too domestic, it was simple, it was calm. simon never flinched, not even when a bullet would hit the wall by his head, but fuck, the sight of you stirring vegetables in a pot in the kitchen of your shared apartment was making his head spin.

simon riley never missed his target. he set his sights on what he wanted, and with the ease and practice of a lieutenant, he crossed another name off his list.

and one could say that his pretty, little roommate, the woman who had been there before the scars and loved him even after them, was another target. your figure was in his sight, but fuck, his hand was shaking.

when the pot was simmering, you poured yourself a glass of wine and came towards him on the couch. simon was sitting, legs spread a little wide, his hands on his thighs as his eyes were fixed on the low hum of the television. you took a seat beside him after setting aside your glass, putting your feet up underneath you and leaning up against his arm.

"simon? everything alright?"

he turned to face you. a low shadow hung over his face, the hood of his jacket making his face appear even darker despite the mask he wore. you reached over under the hood and brushed a few strands of his hair off his forehead, tracing a small scar against his hairline. you smiled at him, running your knuckles down his temple. in the low light, you could barely see even his eyes, but simon spoke so much with just his eyes. they were beautiful. they were alive, had so much emotion, and you wondered always if maybe simon had learned to speak with them knowing it was the only part of him truly visible.

you lowered your gaze as he pressed his forehead to yours. his skin was warm, and you put a hand on his thigh to steady yourself. you swallowed, noticing how much smaller your hand looked next to his. he wore gloves, like always, but it didn't hide the size of him.

lieutenant simon riley. your simon. built like a fucking bear, a mind of impenetrable steel, eyes that had seen the nine circles of hell and wouldn't spill any of their secrets, simon riley who died and a ghost who brought him back and the woman that he dreamed about when they had taken everything from him except his goddamn memories--

he was kissing you. not in the way other men had kissed you, but in the way that simon riley would kiss you. the front of his mask met your lips, a touch of fabric that was warm and soft and melted your insides with a thousand unspoken words. he whispered your name against your lips, a quiet thing that felt like prayer. and maybe it was a sort of prayer, one that only he could make real, one that only he could make sound like faith and all the ugly, sorry truths that it brought with it.

but there was nothing ugly about this kind of prayer. it held no malice. it was pretty and soft and the only kind of word that ever brought him memories and not nightmares.

you were the one to press your lips to his. even through the fabric, it was like kissing someone for the first time. but not just anyone, simon. simon--simon who kissed your tears when you got stood up at a school dance. simon who promised into your hair that he would come back when you discovered the letters about his deployment overseas. simon who beat the manager at the first bar you ever worked at for following you home one night after your shift. simon who died when his family did and then came back, but only within the walls of your shared apartment and nowhere else.

simon, simon, simon--

his hand was under your dress. one gloved palm slipped up the back of your skirt, caressing one side of your ass as he guided you into his lap.

"simon--"

you choked on his name when you felt bare fingers slide over the edge of your panties. you reached up and cupped both sides of his face, whining as he moved his fingers under the fabric. your cunt was wet and glossy, and he pressed his face into the palm of your hand when he realized just how much time he had wasted being anything other than yours. and he had always been yours, but fuck, why hadn't he ever told you?

"youre so pretty, luv..." he smoothed his other hand up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging just enough to make you moan. "so pretty...so bloody wet...have you always been like this?"

you nod, unable to speak. his fingers spread your puffy folds apart, a soft wet sound that makes you cry. you want him to put those fingers inside of you, to make you ride his hand until you see nothing but white, but you just cant seem to form any words.

"oh, luv...youre a bloody mess..." he chuckled a bit. "fuckin' hell...let me see you--"

he picked up the skirt of your dress, his dark eyes flickering down. he cursed his breath, fisting the lace of your panties and ripping them right off. you whimpered as he tossed them onto the floor.

"christ, luv, can't believe i ever let this cunt be with another man. look at ya. it's fuckin' christmas mornin', aye?"

"you hate christmas--"

"dunno. could be more inclined if i got to have you in the mornin'."

"fuck you--"

"not yet, sweetheart."

simon never really thought you were much of a singer. but the crying and the begging and the moaning was music--and he was learning how to play you just right.

fingers teasing your cunt, he can feel the way your body aches for something more--something big and eager and warm, something that needs you badly, but fuck--you're so pretty with his name in your mouth and your cum on his fingers.

mine, mine, mine--

he grunted when you gripped his wrist, steadying his fingers enough so you could sink down on them. he groaned lowly, watching you tilt your head back and ride his fingers. sinking those gorgeous hips down again and again, putting his hand to use in a way that felt wrong up until now. fuck holding a sniper rifle and putting bad men to sleep--his hand was made to please you, that much was clear to him now.

you were so tight. grinding slow against him, dripping down his fingers, crying out when his thumb moved a gentle circle over your clit and his fingers slipped up enough to graze a pretty spot inside of you.

"nnngghhh--simon--"

"that's it, luv...'s it..."

you laid your forehead against his, nodding along to his words but your thoughts were only on the feeling of him. one finger, a second finger, a third--fucking up into you and feeling the squeezing of your soft walls and touching you in every way that made you dizzy and warm and cock-drunk--

"fuck, fuck, fuck--!"

you sobbed against his covered mouth as you came over his hand, a cloud of euphoria and pleasure and the soft thoughts of him that seemed to string together in some wonderful, hazy picture of him. simon was all hard lines, rough edges, the cut of broken glass or the wrong end of a gun, but it never mattered to you.

simon was the beginning and the end, of what, you weren't sure, but he was the beginning of something and definitely the end of it.

his eyes were on yours, dark, beautiful eyes that never lost their gentleness even when they should've been permanently black with his rage. simon was not angry. simon was not bent on revenge or eager to kill or smiling the face of death.

no, simon was in love. simon was so fucking in love.

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Since October is rounding the corner I was wondering if we could please get reader dressing up dog shifting 141 in doggie costumes?

Thank you!

Your friends always call them your little army, so that's exactly how you've dressed them up for Halloween.

It's pretty easy to find "tactical" dog vests on Amazon, so one day, you call them to sit close while you open the giant cardboard box delivered just minutes before. "Ta-daaa!" you grin, holding up one of the little costumes for them to see. Cue the simultaneous head tilt.

"Look, there's space for patches. Maybe we can add your names and stuff to 'em," you point out, wiggling closer to Price. "Make it all cute and customized."

He agrees with a soft exhale, then tugs at your sleeve to guide you to put the vest on. He stands tall and proud as you clip the belts into place, and after examining himself in the hallway mirror, walks back and pats the plain spot on his chest. Then gestures to the Union Jack hanging by your front porch.

"Ah, right. Gotta make it all official. How patriotic."

The next few days are spent helping the boys customize their little outfits. Mainly by what they fetch for you on their walks around town: Price refuses to leave a shop window with a bucket hat, and Ghost gets a little skull bandana. Soap insists on some face paint (dog safe, of course) in the form of messy stripes going down his face. And Gaz gets a baseball cap.

Halloween night, Kate is walking down the street with her wife when she does a double take--seeing a group of four dogs with their owner, letting a bunch of kids pet them.

[starkeysprincess]

Help a Friend Out

pairing: bsf!rafe x reader warnings: mentions of cheating (I don’t condone cheating, this is purely for the plot), oral (m receiving) word count: 1k

based off this request: omg pls pls a smut/one shot of rafe being readers best friend. He calls her over to “help” him out (hes just super horny) but rafe has a girlfriend so reader is super against it until he convinces reader.

main m.list ⟡ taglist

You had just finished drying yourself off after showering when your phone rang. “Hey, Rafe” you greeted, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear while you were getting dressed. His voice sounded hoarse, “Can you come over? I need your help”. You didn’t have to think twice, you never felt like you had to because he was your best friend, you were there for him just as much as he was for you. 

Once you arrived at his apartment, you used the spare key he gave you and unlocked the door, walking in. Your voice echoed through his apartment, letting him know you were there, only to hear him calling out for you from his bedroom. 

You went to his room, frowning when you saw him in bed. “Hey, is everything alright?” you queried, nudging him as you sat on the edge of the bed. Rafe groaned, your gentle yet harmless touch burning into his skin. “Yeah, I just need help with this problem I’m having” he mumbles, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion at his words, “Problem? What problem?”. 

Rafe sighs, thinking of what to say before blatantly saying, “I’ve been trying to get some relief and I’m fuckin’ frustrated that nothing is working”. You don’t miss how he shifts in the bed, his hand moving to adjust himself under the comforter. You’re baffled at his implication, “Rafe, I’m not helping you. You have a girlfriend for fuck’s sake”. 

“Listen-” Rafe starts but you’re quick to cut him off, “First off, I truly can’t process the fact that you think I’m the type of girl that goes for someone’s boyfriend and I can’t believe you even called me over when you should be calling your girlfriend for this shit”. 

“Can you just listen to me for a second?” Rafe huffs, “You know Sofia and I have been having problems for a while, right?”. You nod, remembering all the times he called you, telling you about the issues he and Sofia had, “It was starting to become complicated so her and I decided to break things off to figure shit out”. 

He sees the way you’re stuck in your thoughts as you try to figure out what you should do. “All I’m asking is for your help and you know it wouldn’t make things weird between us considering we’ve done a lot more before Sofia and I got together”.

“What if you and Sofia get back together?” you question, “If she and I do, this will just be a secret between us but she and I aren’t together anymore”. His eyes bore into yours, “You know I wouldn’t lie to you, right?”. 

“Yeah, I know” you responded, “I trust you, I’m just not sure about this”. He reaches for your hand, “C’mon, just one time, like we used to”. You chew on your lip nervously, your brain feeling like it’s going a million miles per hour as you think. You hesitate before finally saying, “Okay, just this one time”. Rafe grins, pulling your hand under the comforter and guiding it towards his erection.

He guides you to palm his bulge before letting go of your hand, groaning softly as you continue to rub his length through his sweatpants. He pulls the comforter off his body and you lean in, pressing feather-light kisses to his neck as your hand dips past the band of his sweatpants and boxers. Your baby pink manicured nails wrapped around his shaft, giving him slow strokes. 

He feels your lips kissing down his body, making their way towards the waistband of his sweats. You pull your hand away, shifting your body down the bed. He lifts his hips as he feels you tugging at the cotton material, aiding you in pulling them down along with his boxers.

His thick cock sprang free, smacking against his stomach. You lick a stripe up his shaft to the head and notice the small bead of precum leaking from his swollen tip, your tongue swirling against his head, collecting the precum before wrapping your plush lips around him. “Shit…” he curses when you start sucking at his tip lightly, trying not to buck his hips upwards. 

Your mouth stretched around his length the further you took him into your mouth and used your hand to pump him at the same time. “Fuck, just like that…fuckin’ missed the way your mouth felt around my cock”, your hand twists up and down his shaft as you suck, earning a moan from him. His hand moves to the back of your head, bunching your hair into his fist as you start moving your head up and down.

He can’t help but push your head down, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He lets out a grunt when your throat constricts around him as you gag, “Look so pretty gagging on my dick”. Your drool spills out of your mouth, coating his cock, making it easier for his cock to slide in and out as he starts to thrust up into your mouth.

You look up at him, batting your lashes, “Always know how to make me feel good, huh?” he grunts, his voice raspy. You hum around him in response, moving your hand from around him, planting them on his thighs. Tears fill your eyes as he thrusts harshly, your nose hitting against his pelvis with each thrust. 

He pulls at your hair, his release teetering towards the edge the more he thrusts. You remain holding eye contact with him while your tears start to stream down your face, staining your cheeks. “Gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours like you used to let me?” he lets out a strangled moan, “Mhm” your words are muffled by his cock being stuffed down your throat.

His cock twitches and strings of curse words leave his mouth as his thick load fills your mouth. He pulls your head up, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a pop, “Better fuckin’ swallow that shit”. He smirks to himself, enjoying how obedient you’re being when he sees you swallow, “Good girl. Remember, this is a secret between us, yeah?” Rafe asks, “Don’t want Sofia to know before it ruins our chances of getting back together”. 

“Yeah, I promise” you whisper, but little did you know that Rafe lied to you, he and Sofia never broke up.

tagging: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @annoyingassleo @drudyslut @nemesyaaa @rafesthroatbaby @slumnit @strawberrydolly333 @hallecarey1 @heartsforvin @sturnioloshacker @rafescurtainbangz @eddieslut69 @eternalbuckley @kisses4angel @hyperfixationgirl @emilysuperswag @flvredcas @rafeinterlude @starkeysheart @starkeyisthelastname @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @fae-of-prey @amandabbbbb @rafecameroninterlude @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @spid6y @chimindity @starkeysbebe @spacexdrago @honeybunniesoobin @juniebugg @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafedrewandjjs @shawtycoreee @usergeta

[krosiefics]

battle scars • lee minho

WC: 557

Summary: reader is insecure about her stretch marks and minho knows that

Tags: fluff, afab!reader, established relationship, stretch marks insecurity, scar insecurity (both reader and minho), minho is such a softie :(

Steam filled the bathroom as you stepped out of the shower. You dry your hair with your towel before drying the rest of your body. After finishing, you drop your towel onto the floor, noticing that the mirror on top of the sink begins to decondense, your body coming into focus now that the fog has evaporated.

You gaze over your naked body, this was always your most vulnerable, you either thought you looked pretty in your body or disgusted, wanting to not be in your body. This time when you looked at your body it was the latter, you noticed all the flaws that your body showed. A small bruise on your hip, the scratch on your arm, but the one thing that stuck out the most were the pale lines that stripped across your chest, your stomach, and your legs.

You never felt comfortable wearing shorts or crop tops because you knew people would be able to see your stretch marks. You hated these scars. You wished you could just cover them up permanently. One time you tried putting foundation over them, only for the makeup to rub off after sitting down.

A sudden knock on the door snapped you out of your insecure daze. “Babe? You almost done, I need to pee!” You chuckle at your boyfriend's plea, you quickly dress yourself in your pajamas and open the door for Minho.

A few minutes passed after Minho came out of the bathroom. The two of you are now snuggling on your shared bed flipping through the channels on tv. A soft finger starts trailing along your legs, you turn your gaze to the boy who is touching you, “I like these pj’s,” You furrow your brows in confusion, Who meets you gaze and smiles, “The shorts are cute.” You can feel your cheeks redden, you instinctively pull them down further, hoping to cover those scars you dreaded anyone seeing.

Your action does not go unnoticed by Minho. Though he’s never pointed them out, you've opened up to him about the scars, so he’s quick to understand the reasoning for pulling your shorts. Minho suddenly grabs your wrists with one hand, pulling them away from your shorts. He shifted the fabric slightly up with his free hand before trailing his finger along your stretch marks. “I like seeing these too.” He peers down at you, his hand pulling further up towards your stomach area, “They show how much you’ve grown.”

You frown at his choice of words, “As a person…they’re kind of like battle scars. You’ve survived puberty.” You gawk at him, bashfully pushing his hand away from your wrists to smack his chest. “Look,” Minho says, pulling away from your huddled bodies. He lifts up his shirt slightly, revealing his abdomen, you immediately notice the scar that shot across part of his lower abdomen. Minho was always insecure about his scar too, he had shared that information when the two of you both started dating. “See…battle scars.”

You gave him a soft smile and he smiled back. He pulled you into a hug, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Tiger stripes.” Minho mumbles after a few seconds of silence, his fingertips still trailing along the markings on your stomach. His words embedded themselves in your mind, ‘tiger stripes’ ‘battle scars’ you liked that perspective.

[tojipie]

content: gentleman! shiu x fem reader, asshole! toji x fem reader :((, smut, blowjobs, semi-public, soft n loving !, creampie, cunnilingus, vvv minimal degradation

1.1k words !

format was loosely inspired by this lovely jaw breaking scrumptious post written by the extra talented satocidal

the two men in your life were dual sides to a deliciously sinful scale, bringing two vastly different creeds to the bedroom. keep just one, and the scale shifts, leaving you unfulfilled. keep both, and watch as they balance in perfect equilibrium.

˚ ✧ ───────────

shiu likes pretty things. soft, warm bodies he can bring home and toy with on his nights off. likes using his charm to break you in first, getting you all pliant for him before he fucks you. 

he always starts with his mouth, always. soft kisses melding into deep, sinful strokes over your tongue with his own, overloading every single one of your senses with something else that is so uniquely him. 

shiu is a sensual man, experienced well beyond words. the type to wine and dine. he takes pleasure out of pleasing you, growing hard in his dress pants as his tongue sends bolts of electricity down your spine and to your aching core.

he likes to surprise you sometimes, licking a stripe from just above your mound to below your navel, blowing over the wetness to watch you squirm at the temporary coldness before letting you settle down on your knees, a pillow wedged under your legs. 

he’s gentle as he guides his length into your mouth, whispering soft praises while his thumb strokes over the swell of your cheek, obstructed by the shape of his cock slipping in and out of your throat.

he wipes the tears from your eyes every time, pressing a kiss to each eyelid with mumbles of “aww can’t take it?” and “we’ll train that out of you, don’t worry.”

it doesn’t matter that you’re already drenched, leaking onto the pillow separating your body from the floor. he’ll make time to eat you out, every. single. time.

thick, wide strokes of his tongue over your heat gradually melt into soft, gentle sucks on your clit. you can't quite remember when he laced his hand with yours, the warm weight keeping you grounded while you paint the lower half of his face in slick.

“don’t cum yet,” he whispers, flicking his tongue back and forth over your hole. you nod despite the stars clouding your vision, hand squeezing his like a vice. you hike your knees up to your chest as he shucks his pants down the rest of the way, keening at the praise you get for catching on so quickly.

don’t cum, not because he doesn’t want to see it happen, but because he wants you to do it on his cock.

he’s a tease through and through, slapping the weight of his dick on your opening before he pushes in, basking in the way your face screws up with desire.

shiu’s kind, attentive, always knowing what you need before you can say it. long, sensual strokes push you towards your edge, two hands locked iron-tight around your waist to pull you down onto his cock.

you don’t need to warn him before you cum when he already knows, licking his thumb and rubbing quick circles into the swollen bud of your clit. sucking dark marks into the delicate skin of your neck as you convulse around him.

shiu was pure sensuality. the type to make your head spin. 

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji, to put it bluntly, simply liked getting his dick wet.

what can he say? the man loves sluts. hard, fast, and filthy sex, that was his specialty. and you were no exception to his bruteness.

whenever, wherever. that was his motto.

and so it was no surprise that you’d found yourself shut away in the corner of the mall’s single-stall bathroom 10 minutes after closing time, hand cupped around your mouth to mask your sounds of pleasure.

“no one takes cock like you do angel,” he whispers, a large hand rubbing circles into your tummy.

the gesture is oddly comforting, though that doesn’t last long as soon as soon as his thrusts pick up, trapping you between his hulking form and the cool wood of the bathroom door.

you needed this, needed him to treat you the way he did to feel something, that rush of electricity that starts in the out of your stomach and makes your ears ring. you couldn’t only live off of princess treatment from your other beau, not when toji was here, in the flesh.

the sound of shuffling outside makes your blood run cold, a harsh knock rattling the hinges of the door.

“is someone in there?” a husky voice asks, jiggling the handle with a sigh.

“janitor,” you whisper, struggling to speak as he continues to pound into you, not faltering even once.

“so?” he sighs, hiking your leg up to get a deeper angle.

the spot he hits inside of you is blinding, the head of his cock nudging against pure ecstasy with every movement.

“alright i’m coming in,” the voice warns, the sound of keys forcing you into action.

your hands jut out to hold the door shut, wobbling on one leg with the other still in toji’s grip.

“nono i’m—mmhh—busy!” you call, face burning at the accidental slip.

“busy using the bathroom!” you add, as if it’ll sound more convincing. toji laughs into the crook of your neck, still using your body like a cocksleeve.

“slut,” he mutters. the sound of his palm coming down on your ass likely doesn't go unheard by the stranger.

the keys recede, and so does your grip on the door handle.

“you better be out in 5 minutes, you hear me?” 

“th—fuck, toji— thank you!”

you feel yourself being flipped around, both legs now in the air with your upper half supported against the door. the sound is anything but cautious, earning a raspy groan from the man holding you up.

“gonna fucking cum,” he whispers, face tucked into the curve of your neck. you reach down to rub your clit at his admission.

a few more thrusts are all you get before hot seed floods your inner walls, warmth spreading up your spine. you reach your high soon after, feeling him shudder while your cunt milks him for all he’s got.

“fuck,” he groans, pulling out of you after your high fades. firm hands reach to steady you as you quickly pull your panties up, smithing your dress back over your wobbly legs.

“gotta get out of here,” you mumble, watching him tuck himself back into his jeans. the two of you slip out into the empty corridor, searching for an exit hand-in-hand

“you’re such a good girl, you know that?” toji mumbles into your neck, leading you down the stairs to the parking garage. you wobble into the passenger seat of his car, watching him settle into the driver’s side.

there he goes again, that little sprinkle of affection in a sea of obscenity. 

“ugh, my legs are sore,” you mutter, kicking your feet up on the dash to text shiu and ask when you were meeting up next. you guess when it came down to it, you’d always need balance. 

[youaintnothinbuta]

“What flavour do you want?” “You.” — austin butler x reader

Summary: At the end of a dinner date, Austin decides he’d rather have you for dessert.

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem!reader

Word count: 1200

Warnings: smut, 18+, oral (f receiving), explicit, mature language. also warning this might be a little bit shit, I wrote this last year and never posted it :,)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Austin sat across from each other, on your date, him observing you as you considered the dessert menu.

“What are you thinking, Aus? We could get ice cream, what flavour do you want? Vanilla? Chocolate?” You asked, not lifting your eyes from the menu.

Austin smiled, it stretched perhaps a little too far as he leaned in to you and mumbled, “You.”

You laughed at his joke, “C’mon, what do you want for dessert?”

“You.” He repeated himself, his hand reaching out under the table to gently tap the inside of your knee.

Oh. OH. He wasn’t joking.

Your heart fluttered a little, realising he’d been sat there, watching you quietly, thinking about all the things he could be doing right now, all the things he wanted to be doing.

“Do you want to go?” You asked, shifting in your chair.

“Very much so.” Austin stood up, going to pay the bill. Coming back to your table, he picked up your coat off the back of your chair and draped it over your shoulders as you stood up.

The pair of you walked out the restaurant graciously, but inside your tummy was on fire, tingling with excitement, knowing what was soon going to unravel between you and him. The whole drive home Austin kept his fingertips pressed into your thigh, gripping onto you for dear life. Austin was starving for you, ready to devour you the second he got a chance. He always gave you good head, he loved it, loved making sure you felt good, but when he got himself worked up the way he had, wanting to eat you the way he did, it was always an extra intense experience.

“Come on, baby, bedroom.” He placed a hand on your back, guiding you with him as he locked the door after bringing you inside. He didn’t have to tell you twice.

“Sit, Austin.” You pushed him gently towards the edge of the bed. He nodded and took a seat, watching you with hungry eyes. You dropped your coat on the floor and lifted one of your feet up on his knee, asking him to undo the buckle of your heels. He did just that, pushing your foot down and bringing your other one up to do the same.

You stood in front of him, each of his hands finding your thighs, running his fingers up and down the back of them, tickling you slightly.

“Let me at it, darlin’.” He cooed, pulling you closer to him. You smiled, bringing his hand under your dress, to the waistband of your underwear. He pushed them down around your hips and then to the floor, taking his middle finger and pressing into you slowly, before drawing a slit down towards your clit, making you shudder. He paused for a second, shutting his eyes to process how wet you were for him.

He brought his face to your body, gently kissing around your tummy. He placed his hands on your hips, guiding you to lay down. You did just that, he then got comfortable, laying between your legs. He continued his trail of kisses, up and down your inner thighs, all around your pussy, except for the place you needed him most.

“Austin.” You mumble his name, your way of asking him to move on with the teasing. He smiled, placing a final kiss directly on your clit, making you jump slightly.

“Mm, sensitive, baby?” He hummed.

You nodded.

“Good,” he kissed your core once again, “I always get the best orgasms from you like this.”

He wrapped his arms around each of your legs and pulled your body closer to him, resting his hands on your tummy. He collected your arousal on the tip of his tongue as he licked a long stripe up your slit, before letting your own fluid coat your clit, swirling around in slow circles, making your moaning begin. Your hands reached down, tangling your fingers in his blonde curls as you gently gripped and tugged on his hair. Your sudden desperation he takes as a cue that he’s dragged it out long enough, and he encompasses his lips around your clit, gently sucking on it. You let out the most strung-out, desperate moan, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at what he was doing to you.

“I love the way you taste, darlin’.” He looked up at you, gave you a little grin and went back to sucking on your clit, making eye contact with you as often as he could. The visual of him, pleasing you like this, it’s almost enough to push you right over the edge, your arms started to shake with the weight of your body, making you drop back down onto the bed, continuing to whimper and whine as you watch Austin down the length of your body. He stopped sucking for a moment, bringing one of his hands off your stomach and using his thumb to lift the hood of your clit up, giving himself more surface area to suck on.

“Holy fuck, Austin.” You gasped, your pelvis smacking into his nose as your body jolted, your already sensitive clit on fire with the feeling he was giving you. Austin knew your body, knew the signs of your orgasm building. The specific whiny moans, the way you hips couldn’t hold still, the way you pressed up again him to get as much friction as you could, and the way your thighs started trembling.

“Oh, baby.” He mumbled against you.

“Austin, please, I’m so close.” You begged, your hands unable to choose whether they’d rather grip onto the bedsheets or his hair.

“I know, honey, come for me.” He encouraged you, his hands having to press harder and harder on your stomach to hold you still enough to keep his lips in contact with you.

You thrashed around, in his grip, your body unsure of what to do with all the pleasure he was giving you. With a loud cry, you felt that big release, your thighs clenched around his head, your orgasm pulled your hips upwards, lightly smacking Austin in the nose, making him smile as he continued to gently lick the rest of your orgasm out of you.

Once he was sure he’d gotten out of you all he could, he crawled up, laying his body over yours. The weight of his body on yours helped you calm down from your high, and he loved the feeling your body twitching underneath him, the feeling of your heart racing, right up against his.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your lips, then your forehead, “such a good girl for me.”

Still wriggling around under him, you couldn’t manage anything but another moan, making him chuckle.

“That was good, huh, baby?” He smiled, looking down at you.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, your abs clenching against him with another twitch.

“Still coming for me? Oh, darling, that’s it, that’s the way.” He continued to talk you through your orgasm, holding gentle eye contact with you.

With a deep exhale, you finally felt your heart rate begin to return to normal and your muscles relax, “That was crazy, Austin.” You laughed.

He smiled, “told you I could get a good one.”

[theemporium]

“Oh, fuck.” 

It was a week out until the next full moon, and he was already starting to feel angsty. 

The day had been dreadfully long. From the early morning start to nosy colleagues and stupid office drama, all leading up to the fact he wasn’t able to get lunch until an hour before his shift even ended. It was safe to say that Remus was just done with the day.

When he had finally managed to escape the office, he was ready to just shove whatever quick meal he could make before falling face first into bed to enjoy a long lie in before his day off tomorrow. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to call you today during his break, and he kicked himself a little knowing that you’d probably be asleep by the time he arrived home. 

But you weren’t. And you weren’t in your own apartment either. 

You were here. You were here and you were sprawled on his bed, dressed in some lacy number that he definitely did not remember you owning before. You were here and every exhausting thought in his head was long gone when his pretty girlfriend was waiting for him with a knowing look and a sweet smile. 

“Welcome home, baby,” you said to him, propped up on the mattress on your elbows. “Rough day?”

“You…” Remus trailed off, letting out a breathless laugh. “You’re a fucking menace.” 

“I thought you liked trouble, Moony,” you said in a teasing voice. 

“Don’t call me that,” Remus said, shaking his head as his eyes wandered down your figure. “Not when you’re dressed like that.” 

“No?” You raised a brow. 

“How did you…” he trailed off, still shaking his head in disbelief as he took a step closer to you. 

“Spare key,” you answered before you nodded towards the bedside table. “I thought you could use some…relief after I didn’t hear from you today. Thought I could give my boy a little surprise.” 

“Love—” he started but you continued. 

“And you should know better than to think you can hide from me,” you said as you shot him a look. “We’ve been dating for three years, Remus. I know how you get before a full moon. And I know what makes you feel better. Stop pulling away. Stop pushing me out.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he whispered, a little sheepish as he shrugged his jacket off and kicked his shoes off too. “I’m just—”

“I know,” you reassured him as you reached for his hand and pulled him towards you. “And I know what else makes you feel better,” you continued with a sparkle in your eyes. “Chocolate.” 

He paused. “Chocolate?” 

You grinned. “Chocolate.” 

The lacy number was ripped to shreds on the bedroom floor, your body was arching off the mattress and Remus had never been more glad to have the next day off. 

“Merlin,” he groaned, his head ducking down to lick the dribble of melted chocolate that dripped between your tits. “Why have we never done this before?” 

“Remus,” you breathed out, aimlessly trying to tug yourself free but his hand kept your wrists pinned above your head. “Please.” 

“Nuh uh, honey,” Remus murmured, lips brushing against your skin as he kissed along your skin before licking a long stripe up your stomach. “Gotta keep you still. Thought you wanted to make me feel better?” 

“I do,” you whined, nodding your head.

“You gonna let me fuck you, baby?” Remus taunted, his eyes darkening as he took in your flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. “Gonna let me taste that pretty cunt of yours? Bet it tastes better than the chocolate.” 

“Remus,” you cried out, squirming beneath him. “Please—”

“I know,” he cooed, throwing your words back at you. “Gonna take care of you, gonna fuck you, gonna make us both feel so fucking good.” 

.

[vampsywrites]

forest boy.

synopsis: you are tsakarem (tsahik-in-training) of the metkayina clan, promised to ao'nung. however it seems that things take a turn when you catch the attention of a certain forest boy.

tags: fluffy drabble, fem! metkayina! reader, a test post to see if this fandom still lives lol, jealous! ao'nung, pining! neteyam, love at first sight! neteyam, subtle tsireya x lo'ak, reader and ao'nung are parallels of ronal and tonowari

part 2 here

The bellow of a horn echoed throughout the village, accompanied by the fluttering of an Ikran's wings. Both you and Tsireya halted your light conversation, laughter dying down as your attention was drawn to the exotic mountain banshees flying above. Sharing a curious glance, both of you moved towards your Ilu's, making haste towards the sandy shores.

From afar, you could see how a family of forest Na'vi dropped down to the sands. They seemed apprehensive, led by a tall man dressed in exotic gear.

"Isn't that the Olo'eyktan from the Omatikaya clan?" Tsireya whispered, her voice barely audible. "What could possibly bring them here?"

"I have no idea," you replied, dismounting from your ilu as you approached the shore, Tsireya mirroring your actions.

As you dipped your head in the water, you pushed yourself upward, breaking through the surface. With a graceful motion, you brushed aside your damp hair, allowing it to cascade down your shoulders in a shimmering display.

Just then, your eyes locked with one of the strange forest people. Almost immediately, he bowed low, gesturing to you by placing his fingers on his forehead and extending one hand down. Smiling, you gestured back, returning the greeting with a nod of your head. The forest boy seemed pleased by your response, and his eyes sparkled with interest.

As Neteyam's gaze fell upon you, he couldn't help but become entranced by the mesmerizing shade of aquatic blue that adorned your skin, gracefully accompanied by flowing white stripes resembling gentle waves. The captivating allure of your large, penetrating blue eyes seemed to delve into the depths of his soul and he found himself speechless, mouth running dry.

Taking in your petite stature, the fin-like formations on your arms and legs piqued his curiosity, evoking images of elegant aquatic creatures. Your attire, intricately woven and embellished with coral, shells, and delicate trinkets, complemented your features perfectly, adding to your captivating appearance.

"You're staring, skxawng," Lo'ak snorts, playfully knocking his brother's side. Neteyam huffs, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he quickly averts his gaze. "Shut it," he retorts, trying to brush off the moment.

As their father engaged in conversation with the newcomers, a group of boys broke away from the crowd, heading towards the brothers. Lo'ak and Neteyam exchanged quick gestures of greeting, but received no response in return.

Neteyam's gaze sharpened as he observed the group encircling them, a hint of caution in his eyes. One of them then laughed heartily, pointing at their tail, "What is that? Is that supposed to be a tail? How are they supposed to swim?"

"Do not!" Tsireya hisses, swiftly moving to smack Roxto's hand away. Sensing the tension, you saunter towards them, joining Tsireya in scolding the boys. "Be nice," you chide firmly.

Neteyam's attention shifts, his gaze locked on you as you approach Ao'nung and place a firm hand on his bicep.

In that moment, Neteyam witnesses a silent conversation unfold between the two of you, communicating with nothing but your eyes.

'You are being mean again,' you assert, raising your eyebrows and fixing your intense gaze upon the Metkayinan boy. Ao'nung blinks slowly, a dull look on his face. With a click of his tongue, he shuts his eyes and huffs in resignation. 'I know,' he concedes.

As all four of you shift your attention back towards the newcomers, Tsireya beams with enthusiasm, her warm greeting echoing once more, "We welcome you."

Lo'ak acknowledges her with a nod and a mumbled greeting, and you can't help but notice Tsireya's endearing reaction. Her cheeks flush, and her smile turns almost bashfully giddy as she glances down at her feet, clearly charmed by the interaction.

Months had passed since the Sully's integration into your village. You couldn't help but admire their quick learning, seamlessly adapting to the ways of the water in less than a month. As you spent more time training with them, your bond with the siblings grew stronger, particularly with endearing little Tuk, who always seemed eager to drag you along the shore to play.

'This is going to be interesting.'

Amidst the camaraderie, not everyone got along. Fights frequently arose between Ao'nung and the two Sully brothers, resulting in heated scuffles, both physical and verbal. And while Ao'nung and Lo'ak seemed to have made some progress in improving their relationship, the situation with Neteyam remained…unresolved at best.

"Ao'!" You gasp out, flinching back when he tackles Neteyam to the ground. The two boys exchange hits with fervor, their fists flying in rapid succession as they grapple with each other.

"Oh, you skxawngs!" you huff, unable to contain your frustration any longer. You grab hold of Neteyam's tail, pulling him off Ao'nung and breaking up the fight. "What is wrong with you two?!"

"I told him to back off!" Neteyam snarls, his hand pressed against a blossoming bruise on his torso. Ao'nung clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders as he stands up, his expression defiant. "Maybe you should back off my mate."

The tension in the air remains palpable as emotions run high, leaving you caught in the middle of the escalating conflict. You don't miss how Neteyam's shoulders drop, his mouth agape as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Confusion fills his gaze as he stammers, "Mate?"

"I am Tsakarem," you affirm, taking a step towards Ao'nung's side to assess his injuries. "But it's bold of you to claim that I'm your mate," you add, clicking your tongue disapprovingly. Neteyam, catching your mocking tone, seems to perk up and grin

"Don't get too excited, forest boy," Ao'nung grumbles, his gaze drilling holes into Neteyam's head, "She is still promised to me."

Sighing you tuck your head into his shoulder, begging him to shut up.

May Eywa help you.

[mypoisonedvine]

"I can think of a more fun way you can thank me." + "has anybody else ever made you feel like this?" with mob!bucky

oh, mob!bucky, how I've missed you <3 this turned out pretty um. fucked up tbh

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), oral m receiving and creampie, daddy kink, public sex/exhibitionism, hair pulling, established (sugar daddy) relationship

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"And what do you say when I buy you something pretty, baby?" he purred as he ran his hands over your exposed back-- funny how the dresses he bought you always showed so much skin...

"Thank you, daddy," you cooed in return, bending down to kiss him on the cheek, and he smirked as he spread his legs a bit wider in his chair.

"Doesn't she look great, boys?" he prompted the men around him, who nodded and hollered in agreement. Sometimes it could be hard to get Bucky alone, with all the guards and 'employees' of various ranking always around him. Of course, you had him to yourself every night as long as you were willing to wait for those late night drinking and poker sessions to end-- which you were, you were used to the way he lived. And you were used to the attention of his colleagues, as well, because he loved to show you off to anyone he could.

What you weren't used to was him reaching down to pet your legs suggestively like this, in front of everyone.

"You know, if you wanna thank me," he continued with a raised eyebrow, "I can think of a much more fun way."

You cleared your throat nervously, glancing at the men around you. "O-of course, daddy-- when you come to the penthouse tonight, I'll thank you all night long."

The men snickered, but Bucky wasn't satisfied. "You can thank me here," he decided. "I don't have anything to hide from them."

Your heart raced, but fuck, it turned you on, too. Especially that look in his eyes, you would've done anything he wanted right then. But you wanted to be sure you weren't misunderstanding his intentions. Leaning in, you mumbled quietly: "Do you really want me to... in front of them?"

"Yes," he answered, looking up at you expectantly; and so you kissed him as you started to sink down onto your knees in front of the chair.

Already there were some strong reactions from the men watching you: cheers, laughs, even clapping. It made you feel... several emotions. It made you fucking wet.

You broke the kiss when you were fully on the ground, running your hands up his legs until he moved his hips forward for you to open his belt. "Can I take it out for you, daddy?" you asked sweetly, and he laughed as he nodded.

"Of course, baby," he hummed.

You didn't waste any time-- you freed his cock from his suit trousers, and dove in to lick a long stripe from the base of it to his tip. He got a bit harder in your grasp, putting a hand on the back of your head to guide you to swallow him down.

"Fuck," he groaned, "she's got such a sweet little mouth..."

Your hips shifted, something sexy and filthy about the way he was talking to them instead of you. But, he did address you next.

"Show them how you can take it all, sweetheart," he encouraged, "show them what daddy taught you."

You bobbed your head lower until your lips were at his base, and his tip was pressing into your throat. They made sounds of awe and amusement, watching him hold your head down and fuck up into your mouth until you gagged loudly. He held you down for one more moment before letting you breathe again-- you pulled back and looked up at him as you sucked in air sharply. "Is that good, daddy?"

"Yes, babydoll," he assured, "you can keep going."

You got back to it, though he gave you a little more control this time, and you used it to bring your hand around him and stroke the rest of his cock while you sucked him. You still deepthroated him when you could, just with breaks in between; all while he bragged about you to his men.

"See how obedient she is?" he announced smugly. "She'll do anything for me. Such a good little girl for daddy."

They certainly seemed to agree: you heard someone say "I bet she is" and someone else notice "she really knows how to suck a cock, huh?"

Just when you thought you were doing well, Bucky grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him; before you could ask what he was doing or if you'd done something wrong, he stood up and bent you over the table roughly, slamming you down hard enough to make the poker chips and cards bounce. "Sorry, baby," he growled as you whined, "you can't get daddy all worked up like that and not expect any consequences."

He was still pinning you down by your neck with one hand while the other pulled up the bottom of your dress to expose your ass-- no panties, just like he'd told you when you left to try on the new dress. He slammed his cock inside you, making you cry and arch your back as he fucked you brutally against the table. Some of the men were still seated around it, and you shut your eyes tight so you wouldn't have to make eye contact with any of them.

"She's such a good girl for me," he praised again, "always ready to take my cock. Isn't that right, dollface? You let daddy fuck you whenever he wants?"

You nodded as you whimpered, and the men laughed. "She's so cute," one of them noticed, "no wonder he can't keep his hands off her."

"And she likes it when daddy gets rough," Bucky added with a low laugh, and you moaned louder. "Uh huh, I know, babydoll-- you love being mine so much..."

"Daddy!" you yelped as he started to pump even faster-- he certainly wasn't pulling any punches. Probably because he knew what it did to you. "Daddy, m'gonna come!"

"See how easy she is?" he smiled. "Fuck, she can't help it, she just loves getting used so much. You can come, baby, nice and loud so everybody can hear you."

"Fuck, daddy, fuck!" you moaned, legs shaking as the feeling hit you hard and sudden. You hadn't expected at all how easily you would come from this-- if anything you thought it would be harder with all these eyes on you.

You would've collapsed if you weren't being held against that table by his painfully-tight grip on your hair. "Fuck, she squeezes me so good when she comes," Bucky growled, "this cunt really knows how to treat a cock."

He seemed to be going even deeper inside of you, if that was possible, and you felt your own wetness starting to run down your legs.

"I'm close, baby, I'm fuckin' close," he warned with another tug on your hair. "You want daddy to come?"

"Yes," you whimpered.

"You want daddy's come deep inside you?"

"Yes!"

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned, and all at once he stopped, grunting through his teeth as he filled you as deep as he could go. "Fuck, babydoll... god, look how pretty you looking getting filled with come... doesn't she look pretty, boys?"

He slowly pulled out of you, but put both his hands on your ass to spread it out and get a better view of your hole.

"Damn, look't that," he praised, "can't hardly tell daddy just beat you up, you're still so tight. Push it out, honey, I want them to see how good daddy filled you."

Your face was so hot now you honestly thought you might melt-- and you kept your eyes shut tight to hide from the embarrassment-- but you heard the men leaning and looking around you to get a glimpse as you flexed your muscles to push his come out of you.

You felt a thick drop run down from your opening, and they all reacted aloud. "Good, sweetie, keep going," Bucky praised, and you whimpered as you pushed more and an even bigger wave oozed out of you.

The men couldn't keep their mouths shut now. "Damn, that's a lot of come." "She really does whatever he says." "Look at it running down her legs, what a whore." "You can tell she likes it too, look-- fucking slut."

Bucky guided you to stand up straight again, pulling your dress down to cover your ass. You blinked your eyes open, though you couldn't be too surprised as the lascivious stares of all the men in front of you. "You did so good, baby," Bucky praised softly in your ear, holding you close from behind. "They all want you so fucking bad, hm? But whose are you, doll?"

"Yours, daddy," you answered weakly.

"That's right, sweetheart," he cooed as he kissed you on the cheek, "you belong to me."

[bi-writes]

i have brain rot about simon riley and need to write this down somewhere -> thinking about childhood-bestfriend!roommate!ghost x fem!reader

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 1/?)

slight nsfw (18+) thoughts ahead...

it's your first day of work at your new job. you took up something at the diner nearby, a 24/7 little place that served greasy eggs and day-old coffee in cracked, porcelain mugs. the floors were sticky, half of the menu was crossed out in scratchy black ink, you had to wear this god-awful uniform, but the pay was decent and the cooks were kind.

the diner had a theme, and that theme meant you were buttoning up a terrible uniform. a red and white striped dress with a frilly white apron wrapped around your waist. it cinched at the waist, the skirt was too short, and the neckline showed off too much cleavage, but you needed the money, so damn the uniform.

your hair was slicked back, showing off your light makeup and red lipstick. you fit the hat over your head and slipped the white sneakers on before grabbing your bag and coming out of your room. "and where are y'going lookin' like that, luv?" you froze, closing your eyes and sighing as you gripped your purse tighter.

"im going to work. im gonna be late." "that right? let me look at ya."

you turned around, opening your eyes. simon was standing there, leaning against the kitchen doorway holding a fresh cuppa. you swallowed hard, trying to be subtle as you looked him up and down. black cargo pants, compression shirt rolled up to his elbows, hood over his dirty blonde locks, a surgical mask covering his pretty face.

he put the mug down and straightened his posture at the sight of you. his dark eyes honed in on your figure in the dress, but he tried to hide the way his pupils dilated at the sight of the low neckline. if he moved just right, he could see the white lace of your lingerie peeking out from just under the lapels.

"bloody christ..." he hissed, clicking his tongue.

"shut up, simon, okay? im gonna be late. i know i look ridiculous, i--"

you gasped a little when you felt warmth against your neck. his palm caressed your jaw, fingers tightening around one side of your face. his hand nearly took it all, your cheek smushed against him as he examined you. his eyes grazed over your long lashes to your soft blush to the red of your pouty lips.

he thought it might look nice on him everywhere else. kiss marks on his neck, his chest, his scars, the inside of his mouth--

"dont look ridiculous," he corrected you. "look like a fuckin' doll."

you sucked in your breath as he smoothed a thumb over your bottom lip, his finger coming back a little pink with your lipstick. so pink, so cute, so adorable, just like your glazed, doe eyes and the sight of your tongue sliding along your teeth. you were holding back a whine, that much was obvious.

"simon..."

his other hand moved up, tracing along the edge of the lapel and just barely skimming over the lace of your bra. you held back a shiver, and you felt a warmth bubbling inside of you when you noticed him lean a little closer, his eyes peeking cheekily down the valley of your breasts.

"you let me know when your shift is over," he murmured, letting you go slowly. he knocked his knuckles under your chin, making you look right into his eyes. "im gonna need to walk you home, luv."

"you don't need to do that--"

"wont be taking no for an answer," he narrowed his eyes. "bloody beasts will eat up a pretty thing in this fuckin' dress."

your lips part slightly, your eyes half-lidded as you wonder what it might be like to push the mask up and lick into his mouth, taste the ash on his tongue and the warmth of his breath.

"beasts like you, simon?"

"aye."

[rockatanskette]

So, I've written before about how our relationship with predators would probably intimidate aliens, but I just pictured another way we interact with predators that is honestly just as scary from an outside perspective: we pretend to be predators and even make up new ones, all just for fun.

Now, we also adopt predator patterns for utility: wearing striped makeup for camouflage, imitating roars and bird calls, etc. But I'm specifically talking about the video I just saw from Creature Bionics of creature rigs designed for a human actor to better do motion capture. I'm talking about voice actors and sound designers creating new and terrifying clicks and roars and growls because lions' roars just aren't scary enough. I'm talking about adults dressing up as plush monstrosities to entertain sports fans and children. Gritty is terrifying, objectively.

One day at an early meal, human Janet seems confused when her alien crewmates start asking about a shape-shifting monster that they keep seeing in human culture. They ask her what it's like to live on a world with "dogjons;" animals that can shift from a fan-headed creature with eye-covered wings to an amphibious eel-like figure, humanoid but not human, to a death-pale monstrosity that chases anyone who dares get near its food. Human Janet is confused until they say that the pale figure has eyes in its hands; bloodshot, and glassy.

"Oh, Doug Jones! No, he's not a monster, he's just a really good actor. Too good—the Shape of Water awakened something in me, specifically."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say the lady 'mating' with him isn't a horror story, it's a fantasy." Human Janet says, like it's nothing. Then something seems to occur to her, and her eyes brighten with what the aliens are quickly learning is mischief. "Oh my god. Am I the one who gets to explain monster fucking?"

Elsewhere, an alien accompanies xis human friend on a day out with their young. There's some kind of show being put on for human youth and Xlibthar is excited for this insight into how humans get Like That. Imagine xis surprise when the lights go up on the entertainment platform and a horde of creatures rushes up. They are large and bright yellow, with big black eyes as dark as singularities, with bright red spots on their heads that clearly indicate venom. Xlibthar shrieks and shields xisself behind Akio and Hinata, sure that something has gone terribly wrong.

"What are those?!" Xlibthar demands, quaking in xis shoes.

"Those? Oh, they're just Pikachus." Akio does not seem even the slightest bit distressed, and five-year-old Hinata is absolutely losing her mind with excitement at the sight of these garish monstrosities.

"What. On Earth." Because this could only happen on Earth. "Is a Pikachu?"

"It's a Pocket Monster. It's a series about monsters that battle with each-other. Pikachu is a mouse that can shoot electricity out of its body."

Xlibthar stares at Akio, wondering if this is an example of what humans call "gaslighting," because keeping monsters in your pockets sounds too insane even for humans. And, "you bring these things around your CHILDREN??"

"I mean, they're not real." Akio puts his hands over Hinata's ears. "They're just people in costumes. Though Nintendo would never let you see one with its head off."

Xlibthar has many questions: why? What? How? What? But one question has been answered: if this is what entertains human youth, it is exactly why Humans are Like That.

[sunnycanvas]

Hello, I love how you write and the most beautiful narrative way. Could you do one of balwin taking care of his pregnant wife?

"Careful" Baldwin IV warned as he helped me get out of bed. My feet had swollen due to pregnancy. I felt embarassed by my own body. Baldwin IV noticing my discomfort kissed my forehead and said "Don't worry, you are beautiful". I couldn't help but doubt his words. "Does he even understand not only I have physical changes but emotional one as well". Ever since Baldwin IV learnt about my pregnancy he has treated me like piece of glass. He refused me to do any physical labour, even going as far as refusing me to leave bed. We had a huge fight about it. Baldwin IV kept on insisting that it's our first child. He was finally blessed by God to be father and Kingdom too will have heir. There was no way he is risking this opportunity. After lots of fight and request from my part Baldwin IV finally agreed however he insisted that I shift to his room and stay with him all time. In case I wish to leave the bed, I need to inform him so that he could escort me.

Baldwin IV carefully guided me to bathroom. As soon as we step in he closed the door and started striping me. I was staring myself in front of giant mirror. I was ashamed when I looked at my body again. I could see strech marks in my torso. My body had become fuller than before. I was in such a deep thought that I missed looked of adoration from my husband. It wasn't until he started started caressing my stomach that I finally noticed. Once I noticed and started staring back at him he smiled and kissed both of my cheeks. "You have made me happiest man alive" "Mon amour, never doubt my love for you" . "Come it's time to give you a bath". Baldwin IV ensured that I sat down for bath safely. He soon began filling my bath tub with warm water. Knowing how much I prefer it. I was still sad about everything. Could it be because of pregnancy? I couldn't help but feel anxious about future. Thoughts like "Will I be good mother?". "Will my husband still love me after my breast has become saggy and my hips and stomach covered in strech marks?"

"Mon amour, look at me" my husband called me in his commanding voice. Once I noticed him. Baldwin IV started stripping. I became shy and attempted to look elsewhere

"No, see it all before you look elsewhere" this time he was gentler while speaking to me. Hesitantly I looked back at him. I saw scars and disfigurement of his body. He soon took his pants off and now I couldn't help but lust after his body. Baldwin IV slowly walked where I was standing and said "See this is how I feel when I look at you" Baldwin IV laughed and said "No matter what, at least you will be better than leper". I was hurt knowing how insecure my husband is when it comes to his own body. Even though he is comfortable now he refuses to show his face preferring to hide it behind the veil instead

"Now you know how I feel" he replied and I grew quite. Baldwin IV went inside the bath tub with me and carefully hugged me from behind making me sit on his lap, squishing my boobs with his arms saying "Your pregnancy has made me want to have sex with you more"

" You look so beautiful while pregnant with my child but unfortunately we can't do that". "It hurts to see you looking at your self with disgust and being anxious about yourself". I couldn't help but cry a bit at his response. Baldwin IV wiped my tears and kissed my cheeks and pecked my lips. Once I was okay he took a mug filled with warm water and poured it over my head. I moaned in bliss and Baldwin IV started kissing my neck. He also washed my hair gently massaging my scalp and washed my body thoroughly with soap. Once we were done he helped me get dressed and took me to bed.

"Where are is all the food which I asked to be brought here" he shouted he angry. "Mon amour, please wait for a moment" he left the room angry. Soon bunch of maids came apologetic with food. I could here my husband mumbling angrily. He soon placed the food on the table and said "Now leave us come back after 30 minutes". Once they are gone Baldwin IV attempted to feed me with his hand. "We talked about this" I said in in anger. Baldwin IV replied back "I can't help it" "Fine feed yourself if you want"

"No, actually never mind". Baldwin IV gave me 'are you serious' look before continuing once we were done. He said "The maids will come back again to take care of you in my absence " "Make sure to-"

"Yes, I remember don't go far away and no physical labour" "Now leave"

"Not before my good luck kiss" he leaned and kissed me before leaving for work. Once I was left alone the maids came it with jeweller. "My, lady" he bowed before continuing "His majesty the king has insisted to choose whatever you like and he will pay" I couldn't help but smile at his pampering . I felt immense joy to have such a caring husband and felt ridiculous to doubt his feelings towards me

[comfortless]

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

[enree9h]

MIDNIGHT HOURS • lhs

PAIRING : fuckbuddy!heeseung x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS : just some Heeseung smut

WARNINGS : drabble?, smut, pinv, reader is a uni student so is Heeseung, tiny little bouts of angst?!

WC : 1k+

A/N : FIRST!!?? This is a rather short one, just wanted to try something with this writing style. Let me know how you like it. Open to any and all suggestions ♡

Your eyes trace familiar grounds- the wooden floors of your apartment that lead to the main door, the hour hand of the clock that hung right above the door, inching closer to one. It was all a routine at this point, three weeks of the same thing yet you found yourself secretly dwelling in the hours of midnight you spent on the couch waiting for him. The pace of your heartbeat quickens at your phone's ringing, the screen lighting up with the name you'd grown familiar with. You abruptly swipe your thumb across the screen and receive the call, putting it on speaker soon after.

“Open up”

You don't bother responding, rather you quietly walk to the door and reach for the knob, twisting it slowly. Your body seemed to react to him even before your gaze landed on the dark-haired boy- sweaty palms, your breath coming out in shallow pants. Weeks of the same thing and you still couldn’t find a way to contain yourself around him. Clutching the knob gently you pull the door open. Seconds later you're knocked off your feet, and the sound of the door shutting echoes through the apartment.

“Slow down oh god”

Your arms are around his neck while he casually carries you to your bedroom. One arm under your knees while the other lightly grips your waist.

“Shut up” he doesn't bother looking at you as he lightly plops you down on your bed, his focus shifting to your exposed thighs. You could see him mentally undressing you and you hated that you enjoyed being under his darkening gaze. The pale cloth of your dress was almost see-through and you mentally took a note to never wear this in front of Heeseung, ever again.

Heeseung watches you subtly pull the dress over your thighs, your eyes anywhere but on him and he relishes in this, in your subtle gazes. He knows what you hold back on whenever you're with him but the rebelling thoughts come out as whimpers the moment his lips come in contact with your neck. And he likes it, likes seeing you struggle against the warnings blaring in your head. And so that is exactly what he does, his hoodie is on the floor in seconds, the red and white stripes of it against the dark brown of the floor and his lips are on yours. He gently pushes you down and you balance yourself on your elbows. “Missed this” his words are whispered against your lips and you hear your walls crumble, the bricked protection falling away to his touch.

You thought you could get away with it, watching him hurriedly undress you almost every night without developing a taste for it but you couldn’t. You tried to not dwell in those shared gazes, his eyes staring into yours as his fingers left marks on your hips.

“Missed you”

These words always sat on the edge of his lips but you thought they lacked meaning, uttered under the influence of wandering hands and eager breaths. You move your hips upwards in response, meeting his eager bulge and feel your core heat on contact.

Heeseung buries his face into the crook of your neck, his moans vibrating against the warmth of your skin

“A little excited today?” he teases

“Aren’t we?” you hear him chuckle, the sound laced with lust. He quickly slips out of his jeans, the cloth joining the pile of his clothes on your floor.

“Heeseung please” you attempt to voice your needs but it comes out as pants, a pathetic attempt to hide the effect he’s having on you. You try and squirm under him until you feel the tip of his dick graze your hole. He hums in response and you feel him push his dick inside of you, a light whimper escaping at the movement. You both moan in unison, Heeseung’s grip on your hips tightening as he slides in, stretching you to accommodate his dick.

“So tight baby” his lips move over your jaw, stopping to suck on the spot he knows would get a moan out of you. “Love it so much” he mumbles against your skin. The next second he's driving into you, hungrily and you're left a moaning mess. Heeseung feels himself twitch inside of you and takes it as a sign to do deeper, “Oh my god” your voice flutters to his ear, a smirk growing on his face at your state.

You were sure your nails dug through the skin on his back deep enough to draw blood but at that moment he was numb to anything that wasn't you. Your hips met his in unison, the rhythm producing the incoherent moans you were attempting to stifle.

“You like that don't you” Lips graze your earlobe, a scoff follows through and you fail to hide the undeniable effect it has on you. Teeth nip at the skin that stretches over your collarbone, starved.

“Heeseung please” you whimper your voice barely audible. “Please what baby”, you could hear the smirk in his voice, the response to having kept you on edge all night, taking you to heights only to snatch it away at the last second. His teeth don't leave the spot, suckling in on the now bruising purple of your skin. You let out a hiss and mentally calculate the time you've got left to deal with the mark left on you before your class the next morning. But his hurried thrusts make your eyes roll back, his tip hitting your cervix at all the right spots, nails digging in deeper and the to-do list for the next day soon forgotten. “God you feel so good” his voice is your unravelling, “is this what your needy cunt wants ”

“Yes oh my god” a moan falls out of your lips at the instant he quickens his pace, pounding into you like there was nothing else he'd be doing at that point. “I know baby”, his fingers swiftly wrap themselves around your wrists as he pins them above your head, gaining a little more control over your overstimulated body “So good”.

His hips speed up from then on, and your moans go unheard as Heeseung nears his release, the knot in your stomach tightening, “Hee please” you plead for the release you'd been craving. His lips crash on yours in response, silencing your whimpers. “So close” his voice, hoarse and frantic, vibrates against your lips and you feel the heat build up in response. His hips thrust in deeper and faster, the motion making you cry out, the pleasure too much to contain.

“ Hee, I think I'm-” Your feeble attempt to voice anything is crushed again. “I know” he growls and you feel his body grow tense with every second, his voice travels to your core, your eyes rolling back at your nearing climax. You feel him twitch inside of you and you clench around him in response “Stop clenchi-” but his grumble is lost in the pleasure that shoots through his body the next second.

You feel his wetness pool your insides and you let go soon after, your toes curling, nails clawing at the bed sheets. Heeseung still hovers above you, his arms caging you under him, his eyes stay rolled back, breath coming out in pants “Woah” he mutters and you let a light chuckle out in response as you watch him with half-laden eyes, above you, sweat dripping down his nape onto his tensed biceps.

You feel your heat rushing to your cheeks, red, staining the skin on your chest, up your neck and onto your face. You waited for him to hoist himself up, gather his clothes, get dressed and walk out just like he did on the days he came knocking on your door. Cold makes its way over to you as Heeseung moves to sit on the edge of your bed, still coming down from the high. The light wind makes you shiver and you pull the covers over yourself, feeling a growing burn behind your eyes.

Heeseung watches your frame disappear behind the covers, his breath coming out in uneven pants. He watches you drift off to sleep, the silence between the both of you stretching into the night.