#this is deeply shameful

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[toomanyrats]

on shame and yearning (pt.1)

[kthulhu42]

I'm back to shaming it all.

The push to not kink shame was a psyop to try to convince us that simulated rape/pedophilia/beastiality/abuse/ etc. is somehow not as bad as really doing those things but every time you have an orgasm to some simulated version of real life depravity you're rewiring your brain to think the real life depravity is sexually arousing too.

[introboy]

I think we need to talk more about the fact that xisuma uses an oven and his bare hands to make tea

[inkskinned]

everyone talks about the clothing store and honestly everyone is expected to wear stuff from that store and you're a little young and curious, and what's the harm of looking. it's in all the magazines and everyone knows okay some of the things are ugly but! like generally everyone thinks we should be wearing these clothes. they're elite. they're precious. they are a symbol of wealth and status.

you walk into the clothing store and see a very nice sweater and you've been wanting to stay warm so you pick up the sweater. it turns immediately into a horrible fizzing froth, rushing over your skin, faintly acidic. it's tacky, it leaves behind a residue. horrified and a little ashamed - did you do it wrong? - you reach out blindly and your hands find a shirt. that one dissolves too. you think of the phrase you break it, you bought it. how much money did you just accidentally spend on that shirt and that sweater, both things that you'll never be able to wear.

more confused than anything, you turn to the first person you see, but she's experiencing the same thing, her brows furrowed. "i've been here since i was 13," she says. "one of these days i'll actually get to try on something."

you were raised with horror movies, so you look for an escape instead of trying to stay. you go to the front desk and wait in the front line and when you finally get to the front, a very angry man is sitting there, scowling at you. "i think your store is broken," you say to him. "i can't pick up any of your clothes. they don't work."

it is as if you have said something vile. every person within earshot takes a step back from you. the man gives you a cool look. "these clothes are good for you," he says.

"no, i know that," you've read about them, "but i can't seem to actually hold them."

again, everyone seems to think you've said the wrong thing. some of them are holding shirts, so obviously some clothes work. those are the people you hear whispering first. lazy. someone murmurs. i managed fine, you hear. i just had to keep trying.

the man taps a sign next to him. in big bold print: not everyone can have this.

"okay, um. if you're not going to be helpful, i'm just going to... not buy this," you manage, feeling yourself flush with heat. why are you so embarrassed? their clothes are the thing that aren't working.

"i don't have time for people who don't dress themselves well," he says. "it's disgusting."

you don't know what else to say because actually you dress fine, you're pretty sure, you're just not in their clothes. you leave the store.

but your hands are still tacky from before. you find yourself weirdly sensitive about your clothes. maybe you should go back in, try again? there were people who were able to make the clothes stay present, you might have just been doing something weird.

plus there's the rest of the world. how people look at you in airports. how shame rushes over your cheeks during job interviews, worried you don't look "professional" enough. the people across you are all wearing those clothes, and you're not. in the doctor's office, the nurse's eyebrows skyrocket. are you sure you actually went into the store and tried on the clothes? you're staring at her - i'm here to see about my cough, not about my wardrobe.

but of course it fucking matters. when you google it, you find out that most people can only hold onto the clothes for about two years or so, and then they fizzle out too. that the clothes only "stick" for 5% of customers. it just means that any person in those clothes matters more. it's a scarcity. at first, you're horrified by the idea of something that almost never works. but you learn it soon enough: being in the 5% means you have taste, class, are exceptionally pretty.

you try to ask why exactly it's these clothes, but you usually are answered with an eye roll. you ask why the prices are so high. why nobody seems to care about the way their clothes leave that weird strange residue for years later. there's a sizing chart online you find, hoping it might explain your weird inability to lift anything. most of the news articles all read the same thing - this chart was made by someone cruel and definitely isn't accurate, but for some reason it is still used as our golden rule.

so you go again. you fall too. it's worth it to try. even kind of ironically. even kind of privately, shamefully. this time you go and manage to hold onto socks, but it means you sometimes get that strange residue on your floors. you get used to the tackiness after a while, but when you manage to hold onto pants, you discover the tackiness spreads. sure, it's irritating - this sense there's a barrier between everything you touch, even you and your friends - but it's worth it, because people notice you're in those pants. and you don't want to be one of the 95% who lose them after all this fucking work you put in, so you let the tack get all over everything until it dries down into a fine powder that coats your floor in a brick red flurry. when you walk, your footprints look bloody, so you just learn to step gently.

and since it worked for you once, like gambling - you will come back. you will teach others how to get into the store. you will tell your own children - oh, you just have to keep trying at the clothing store. you will let others treat you badly when you are not wearing the right things. you will spend all that money over and over and over again and you will feel ugly if you are not wearing their brand. you are simply treated better if you dress like this. you feel better if you dress like this, secretly winning over your friends who are between sizes. it doesn't matter how much time you spend at the store, missing birthday cakes and parties because you're trying to make a dress look nice before dissolving. what matters is that when it works, all that relief and joy and peace rushes in. when it works, people finally love you again.

the diet industry promises you - it'll all be okay, once you're thin.

[six-of-cringe]

Something that is sad but also that I hugely appreciate about CK is that by the end, most of the systems that harmed the crows are still in place, but their relationships with themselves have grown and changed. I find this particularly interesting in the cases of Jesper and Wylan (shocking I know). Their identities still put them in danger of being exploited or harmed - Grisha indentures are still the norm in Kerch, and the auction scene made it very clear that if the Council knew Wylan's illiteracy was true, they would treat him much the same as his father did due to the culture surrounding productivity and ability. This might seem disheartening, but the hope lies in the shift in how these characters see themselves and their role in the world. By the end of the book, Jesper and Wylan are beginning to put away their internalized shame surrounding their identities. They may still have to hide who they are from the world to survive, but they're no longer hiding it from themselves - their true selves are no longer this crushing burden they have to turn away from to function. A general theme of the series is how, in accepting who they are and what has happened to them on a personal level, the crows place themselves in positions to make change on a systemic level - Inej and her ship, Nina and her mission, Kaz and his Barrel empire, Wylan and Jesper with their political, high-society empire. None of them are all the way there yet by the end - they're still healing, and both the loss of Matthias and the weight of those oppressive systems are going to weigh on them for a long time - but we get to see the very beginnings of that process. I'm going to bite someone.

[fuckalicent]

thinking about otto’s insane pseudo marital dynamic with alicent (‘you look so much like your mother’ ‘your mother’s dress’ etc etc) paired with viserys’ pseudo paternal dynamic with alicent (all their discussions centring rhaenyra, viserys talking down to her like he might a daughter… yet…) and how they resulted in alicent having the weirdest dynamics with her own children

[mamawasatesttube]

one of the cringiest things kon does after he and tim start dating, btw, is that when he wants snuggle time he will just hold out his arms and demand "WHERE is my CUDDLY, SQUISHABLE TIMMY-BEAR???"

one of the cringiest things tim does after they start dating is that he answers to this every single time, without fail.

[lizord-lord]

how to write cult of the lamb fanfic according to me

step 1: think of idea

step 2: play through the entire game, documenting everything that happens every in-game day and crusade etc etc from follower names and traits to what weapons you had when

step 3: ???

step 4: profit

[badolmen]

On the topic of ‘bad mascot horror video games for kids’ the exception to the rule (or rather, something that understood the assignment) would be My Friendly Neighborhood.

I don’t want to spoil anything if you haven’t booted up the game before, but just…don’t be fooled by jumpscare compilations or the character design. From the opening cutscene this game grabs you by the fucking throat. The mechanics have thought put into them, the voice acting is top notch, and christ the fucking story - a complete story, one that has an end that isn’t promised in future ‘chapters’ or left ambiguous.

Yes, it has jumpscares from goofy muppet monsters, but they’re not cheap tricks. Once you learn how the game works they’re easy to avoid or at the very least anticipate - not to mention they’re survivable with the healing mechanic. And just when you think the scares are done, when you’re well into the game and have all the tools you need to navigate around potential jumpscares, the final act dunks you into the deep-end with the actual horror and nightmare fuel puppets.

I’m not sure how much the game as a whole qualifies as ‘horror,’ but it’s certainly being lumped in with the Whatever-Mascot Horror Game of the Week genre. Which is a shame because My Friendly Neighborhood is leagues ahead of those other games. It has more in common with survival horror than it does with mascot horror in terms of gameplay and tropes. It’s literally just the ‘monster’ designs leading people to assume its another Poppy Playtime clone complete with half baked story and repetitive, unimaginative gameplay loops. And that’s so far from the truth -

My Friendly Neighborhood is like if Sesame Street and Resident Evil had a beautiful muppet baby that opened its eyes to have an existential crisis when confronted with the horrors and apathy of modern capitalism.

[chlxrophyll]

Another puzzle solved

[llumimoon]

Congrats on finally bonding with the eldritch god child you named and adopted !!

Dot is the Doodler from my AU! <3

[allgremlinart]

there's only 7 a/b/o jetko fics on ao3 (in which jetko is the main pairing/isn't a "past jetko" situation) ... this is so crazy... did I just imagine there being more... it seems like there would be right.? its so yaoiful a pairing that I just assumed there would be... something should be done about this...

[malyen0retsev]

the whole. entire. fucking. point of nick nelson as a character is to show that:

1) just because someone does not look ‘stereotypically’ queer it does not make them any less queer and their identity any less fucking valid

2) it’s so incredibly important to give people time and space to figure out their sexuality, with all the support they need, to not be pressured into coming out before they’re ready, to let people come out on THEIR terms

and you all fucking watched the show which made those points loud and clear and apparently none of it fucking went into your skulls because despite ALL OF THAT you STILL wouldn’t shut up, and forced kit connor into coming out

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

do you have an analysis on Alhaitham and Kaveh having no family in sumeru, (haithams grandma, kavehs mother going to fontaine) so they only had eachother? So their falling out must have hit harder-

Hiya! Thank you so much for the ask!! <333

I have some analyses on Alhaitham and Kaveh being each other's home and family! There's quite a few so I'll be brief with the synopses here as I don't want to bombard you hahaha <3 I have discussed the idea of Alhaitham being the ideal companion/family for Kaveh in an analysis of Kaveh's 2023 birthday letter; the motif of 'home' and what it means for Kaveh and how Alhaitham factors into it; as well as in the relationship between Kaveh's mother and father and how this parallels with Alhaitham and Kaveh's relationship.

In terms of Alhaitham and Kaveh's argument, I've discussed Sumeru's concept of the academic family and how Alhaitham and Kaveh's argument served as the dissolution of their found family, as well as an analysis of their argument, specifically from Alhaitham's omitted perspective. I have also speculated life for the two post-fallout, mostly from Alhaitham's perspective as Kaveh (as usual) is more open in his character stories.

You've highlighted a really key aspect of their relationship which haunts me - they met each other after the respective loss of their own families. Kaveh just said goodbye to his mother as Alhaitham enrolled in the Akademiya, just after his own grandmother passed. This passage described in Kaveh's character story 5 describes this, and then him meeting Alhaitham within the same passage.

Kaveh is described to have 'wishful thinking' regarding his and Alhaitham's friendship, in that, where he initially believed that their views aligned, despite the reality they have differing approaches to life, this isn't inherently a negative thing, as it can lead to new philosophies. Kaveh didn't want to believe that their differences were impossible to surmount, and instead that they complimented each other. Perhaps Alhaitham thought so too? They both agreed to work on a joint thesis together, with this conveying the implications of forming an academic family in Sumeru, with Kaveh trusting Alhaitham in picking a topic that highlighted both of their strengths - which ended up being a project revolving around language and architecture; two subjects which Kaveh now believes to exist on opposite sides of the mirror. Initially, this was to demonstrate the good that could come from balancing these seemingly opposing fields.

Although, it would inevitably come to be that problems arose between them when the differences in their philosophies became a point of contention. The two's previous harmony became misaligned when the assertion that their respective viewpoint was 'correct' over the other. When Kaveh tears up the thesis, he effectively ends the relationship he and Alhaitham built together, as well as the prospect of their found family. Alhaitham, in turn, removed his name from the thesis due to Kaveh's ending of their friendship.

After this, Kaveh graduated and threw himself into work, chasing his ideals, effectively distracting himself - both from the loss of Alhaitham, therefore his loneliness, and from the potential truth that Alhaitham revealed to him about his guilt being the cause of his incessant altruism. Contrarily, Alhaitham's life after this point is devoid of detail, only that he became the Scribe and moved out of his grandmother's house into the property that the Akademiya gifted him and Kaveh for the progress of their abandoned project.

Kaveh describes meeting Alhaitham as one of the most pivotal moments in his life in his hangout, and in A Parade of Providence, he describes their meeting as when his life began to go downhill - indicating, rather, to the consequences of their inevitable falling out. Alhaitham considers Kaveh as one of his priorities in maintaining the way of life he seeks to maintain, and although he is more reticent than Kaveh, in that his inner thoughts are concealed from the player, an instance that stands out to me that their argument personally affected Alhaitham comes from A Parade of Providence. This is when Alhaitham comments on the contradiction of Kaveh's motives, in that he expresses he has bad luck but insists on drawing lots, despite the fact that Faruzan offers to split the points between them. After commenting on this, Kaveh displays genuine frustration with him - to which Alhaitham backs down and switches tact. This is especially prevalent within the EN dub, where Alhaitham stutters before changing topics.

To me this underlines that Alhaitham was just as affected at by their argument as Kaveh was. Especially since this exchange can mirror the very exchange that caused the rift between them - in that Alhaitham points out Kaveh's self-destructive habits and it is perceived as a malicious critique. Alhaitham backs down when seeing that Kaveh is genuinely hurt because he doesn't want to repeat the past - he doesn't want to hurt Kaveh and lose him once more.

This is also encapsulated in the fact that Alhaitham sees Kaveh as his mirror, in that they both have a lack of familial connections. When Alhaitham believes that the presence of another genius can 'perfect' his vision, this isn't just a reference to Kaveh's differing perspectives, this also offers Kaveh as a familial figure to Alhaitham - in that, Alhaitham views Kaveh as his family. Similarly, Kaveh seems to hold an idea that he and Alhaitham are bound by fate, or 'the universe', meaning that he identifies Alhaitham as being essential to him in someway, however, as of now, he struggles with this being a benefit, rather than a negative.

I hope this answers your ask!!? You've unzipped me and all the haikaveh found family brainrot is pouring out <3333

[elena-illustration]

What is the mark underneath Cadogan's eye? From the animatic, it looks like it was there before he lost the eye, but not since he was a young child. Is it a scar?