#Today i have chosen Violence

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 20

(Ch. 19) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: Being a spy, Alix is accustomed to lies. But then, maybe the lies that hurt the most are the ones we tell ourselves.

WARNINGS: Angst!!!! Heartbreak!!! Mixed Signals!!! (w/ a side of worried Skip & Don)

A/N: Normally I would wait longer to post this but alas, I have no self-control lol 🤭

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @wwhatev3r

Contemporary: October 24th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

Being that Easy Company had settled for the day, mail call was a great opportunity to put names to faces and Alix was taking full advantage of it.

"Lipton!" A particularly pompous PFC barked as he read off the envelope in-hand. "First Sergeant Lipton!"  

A seated trooper with downturned eyes and a weary smile raised a hand from his spot about a yard away, sending the orderly scurrying over to him with his delivery in-hand.

Seconds later, another announcement and another package: 

“Welsh! Lieutenant Welsh!” 

“Right here!” a voice shouted and Alix saw a curly-haired trooper with a wry, gap-toothed grin jog from his foxhole to retrieve the parcel, too impatient to wait.

"Next is… Talbert! Sergeant Talbert!" 

This time, the private was waving a fistful of envelopes about 2 inches thick, each a different shade of pastel.

“Over here, Vest!” a pleasant-sounding voice rang out from another foxhole nearby and Alix heard the footfalls of the messenger scrambling his way to him as well.

“That’s Bunny for ya,” Skip chortled from beside her, nodding to the speaker, a young man with a square jaw and ash-brown hair who was collecting his letters with a satisfied smile.

“Fastest guy in the company and I don’t mean with a gun. Gets around like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Alix couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. 

Talbert was alright-looking, she supposed, but particularly special. He was no Gene Kelly and he was certainly no Joe– 

“Liebgott!” The orderly’s voice rang out, cutting through the spy's ruminations like a knife. 

"Corporal Liebgott! Anybody seen Corporal Liebgott?" 

Alix's head shot up but he was nowhere to be found. 

Moments later, the spy's head whipped around at the sound of leaves rustling and Skip snickered because it wasn't Joe she spotted coming through nearby foliage, it was just Nixon, tramping through the leaves with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

"On his way back from an interrogation," her handler informed the orderly before taking a seat in the dirt by Lipton’s foot. 

"Just got the radio transmission. He should be here in maybe half an hour." 

"Well I'm not waiting till then," Vest replied snippily before removing the giant bag of mail he had been carrying and unceremoniously dropping it to the ground.

"I gotta take a leak." 

Turning to his left, he half-tossed the letter in Alix's direction, letting it flutter to the ground carelessly near her instead. 

"Give that to Lieb will ya?" he instructed brusquely over his shoulder. 

"You'll prolly see him before I do."

Before Alix could protest, the imperious orderly had stalked off into the brush, leaving a bewildered Alix behind with a letter that did not belong to her sitting just an arms-length away. 

It had fallen mere inches from her, the words “T/5 Joseph D. Liebgott” written in looping script on its face. 

The handwriting was unmistakably female and in the upper left-hand corner, she vaguely spotted the name Millicent along with a return address somewhere in Oakland, wherever that was. 

As the pungent scent of perfume wafted from the paper, curiosity began gnawing away at Alix’s stomach like a rapidly-fraying rope. 

Who was Millicent? 

So when Skip too vacated his spot beside her to heed nature’s call, Alix scooted to the foxhole's edge and strained an arm out to retrieve the envelope. 

Upon inspection, Alix noted quickly that surname was different-- Burke, not Liebgott-- so whoever she was, Millicent was clearly of no relation to Joe.

She was probably just a family friend or the like, writing to check up on an old acquaintance while he was at war. 

But still…Alix chewed on her bottom lip as the rumbles of jealousy stirred within her like distant thunder.  

What if it was something more? 

It doesn't matter, she scolded herself. When it comes down to it, you barely know him. And wasn't it you who said this was no time for romance? 

Nonetheless, she supposed, it couldn't hurt to just take a glance at the letter's contents. Perhaps it could help to jog her memory. The censors had already opened it anyway, after all, so it wasn't like she was tearing it open herself.

But when she turned the envelope over, her heart sank like a stone.

There, painstakingly inscribed on the flap in flowery script, was "To My Love", sealed with a berry-red lipstick print.

Alix felt her stomach lurch as she traced the lipstick and the words over and over again with her eyes, unable to believe it.

He was already spoken for.

She didn't bother to read any further.

She didn't have to.

No wonder he hadn’t written while she was at the aid station, Alix thought grimly. He probably felt too guilty. 

He had been toying with her all that time, pretending that they had been a couple, fooling her and everyone else, while all along, he had “Millicent” waiting at home for him.

And she had almost believed him.

Alix felt sick to her stomach.

Had she learned nothing from her training?

╔══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤•══╗

1 Year Earlier: October 1943. Special Operations Executive (SOE) Compound, United Kingdom.

"Lies--" Instructor Flynn began with a crack of the yardstick on the board for emphasis.

“We tell them to each other and most importantly–” the seasoned instructor paused two desks down in front of Agent Perrault, who shrank under his scrutinizing stare.

“– We tell them to ourselves." 

Clasping his hands behind his back, Flynn resumed his methodical march across the classroom floor, the rhythmic stomps of his footfalls sounding almost like drum beats. 

"Save for your handler, take no one at their word: not assets, not acquaintances, no one." 

The instructor stopped again, this time in front of Alix’s seat. His eyes seemed to bore into her but the spy lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. 

“Trust your instincts, operatives, but always verify them with facts. Self-delusion is a spy's worst enemy. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, Instructor!" 

╚══•🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤•══╝

Contemporary: October 24th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Alix jumped and turned to see Don's worried face just behind her.

"You okay, Pyro?" 

No, she wanted to say. Do I look okay to you?

But she forced a smile instead, internally seizing her heartbreak by the collar and stamping it viciously down into the dirt beneath her boots so her friend wouldn't worry.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah and I’m the president,” the freckle-faced paratrooper quipped, plopping down in Skip's vacant spot with a slight grunt.  

"So what's really going on?" 

"God, is that obvious?" Alix winced and a warm voice from behind her replied, "To us? Definitely." 

With that, Skip clambered back into the foxhole.

"Other people? Probably not."

With that, the blond poked his head over the spy's shoulder like an inquisitive child.

"So Pyro, what's the dope?" 

Alix opened her mouth to make a denial but was cut off by a frowning Don.

"And it's not nothing so you can axe that excuse." 

But the sound of a twig snapping in the shadows behind them instantly took precedence and the three instinctively shifted into a defensive position with Skip taking the center-right and Don angling to center-left with Alix dead-center.

Instinctively, the spy had already dropped the letter into her bag and retrieved her gun, cocking it with her good hand. She was still undercover as a combat nurse but according to new regulations, medics were now allowed small arms in the field. 

“Flash!” 

She could shoot to kill if she needed to. 

But luckily, this time, she didn’t need to. 

“Thunder!” 

Alix felt her chest constrict. 

She knew that voice.

“Whoa there,” Joe remarked as he entered the clearing, his sparkling eyes firmly fixed on Alix as he held up his hands in mock-surrender. 

“You really gonna shoot me, gorgeous?”

“I just might,” the heartbroken spy muttered bitterly as she lowered her gun, tucking it back into its proper place.

The flirtatious smirk playing on Joe’s face faded, replaced by a look of wounded concern that made Alix almost regret speaking to him sharply…Almost. 

“Hey," he said, softening his tone as he approached the foxhole's edge. “What’s eatin’ you, Ziskeit?” 

Her stomach twisted with a mixture of grief and rage.

How dare he pretend to care about her. She didn't need his fucking pity. 

“Nothing,” she returned coldly, avoiding his gaze as she boosted herself out of the foxhole. 

"And don’t call me that.”

Pushing past him, the agent began to limp away but Joe wouldn’t be deterred. 

“Hey, s'cuse me,” he interjected as he caught up to her, lightly catching her arm.

“D’you at least mind tellin’ me where we’re going?” 

“WE’ aren’t going anywhere,” Alix snapped, pulling out of his grasp. “And where I’M going is none of your business."

She had hoped blatant hostility might chase him off but it didn't. 

Even as she hobbled away, she could hear his footsteps crunching in the leaves behind her.

"You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy, Ziskeit," he called but Alix ignored him, gritting her teeth and continuing to trudge onward.

 

Truthfully, she wasn't sure where she was going; as long as it was away from him, it didn't matter. 

She wouldn't let him see her cry. 

But her injured ankle slowed her down considerably and he caught up to her a second time without much difficulty.

“Zees c’mere, lemme hel–” Joe began, starting to put an arm around her, presumably to help her balance, but Alix pushed his arm away.

“I don’t need your help,” she lied, trying to muster a scathing glare despite the tears pricking her eyes and the fire that seemed to engulf her swollen ankle with every excruciating step.

The sensation was nearly unbearable but she forced herself past one more foxhole when suddenly, her ankle gave out and her legs buckled beneath her.

“Cazzo!”

But to her surprise, Joe stepped in and deftly snaked an arm about her waist to steady her in one fluid motion, their faces so tantalizingly close now that she could see every shade of honey in his mesmerizing brown eyes, his lips so near that her breath caught in her throat. 

His gaze flickered down to her lips which instinctively parted like flower petals and for a second, the world around them seemed to slow as all her righteous fury melted away like snow in Springtime. 

Joe's hypnotic brown eyes drank her in with tender admiration and Alix could've sworn her heart skipped a beat at the warmth within them, like hot chocolate on a winter’s day.

When he drew her closer in his deceptively strong arms, she offered no resistance, sparks seeming to dance across her skin at his touch.

"You didn’t think I’d let you fall, did you?” he asked with a cocky smirk and Alix could feel a reluctant heat rising to her cheeks. 

But before she could get any words out, a nasal voice from nearby cut through the tension, causing the pair to jump apart.  

"Hey, Liebgott!" 

It was the orderly from earlier, Vest.

"What?" Joe snapped rather sharply and the PFC visibly withered under his glare. 

"Just-Just wanted to make sure you got your letter alright," the younger man stammered but Joe looked perplexed. 

"What letter?"

Alix came back to her senses with a jolt. 

Suddenly, the forgotten letter felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and she took a heavy step back, guilt flooding her senses.

She had been about to kiss someone else's beau. 

"This one," she said curtly, digging into her bag and handing the perfume-soaked envelope over to Joe with a weak smile.

"Sorry, I forgot." 

Eyebrows raised, he turned the envelope over in his hands and a wallet-sized photograph dropped from it onto the ground, landing face-up to reveal a young woman, maybe a year or two older than Alix, with pale green eyes and mousy brown hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulder.

Joe snatched the photo off the ground but the damage had already been done. By the time he looked up again, Alix was gone.

#Good morning come get y'all's angst! 😌🤌🏼💖 #i am but a gentle soul here to cause heartache #RIP to the Joelix stans #angst my beloved #hurt with no comfort today lol #Today i have chosen Violence #Even the 3 Musketeers can't save this one #sorry y'all #The cute lil him catching her moment being a throwback to when they first met 🤭 #Teehee #heartbreak #angst #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott #Band of Brothers #HBO Band of Brothers #HBO War #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #Band of Brothers OC #Skip Muck #Warren Muck #Don Malarkey #Donald Malarkey #Will I let anyone in this fic be happy? No never #Espionage fic #multichapter fic

[trek-tracks]

After the Mirror Universe, Bones wonders if Jim's brother and his wife are still alive there, or even exist. He thinks about the fact that there might be a universe where he was able to save Sam and Aurelan.

He also thinks about the fact that, if there are infinite universes, there's one out there where he couldn't save Peter either, and Jim hated him at least a little for that for the rest of their lives.

#star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #jim kirk #operation: annihilate! #mirror mirror #mckirk #bones mccoy #captain kirk #star trek snw #mirror universe #hi my name is bev and today i have chosen violence #you're welcome

[astromechs]

you know what would be awesome? if, like, a comic or a movie actually gave a fuck about gamora as a person and actually explored her character instead of tying her to her relationships with people around her ❤️

#ohhh i have chosen violence today lol #i'm not gonna tag this i'm just. i'm so cumulatively tired

[therelentless]

ooc;; I don't believe that man has been to the moon, but in the chances that it is true, it's so upsetting to think that these dudes went up there to stick their flag up.

#{ house meeting! } ;; ooc #like wtf #who gave you the right #it's not yours #i have chosen violence today

[tal-vez-o-quizas]

Adding to @ifonlyicouldrun post about how people don't like Noah's acting:

I’m so confused… Do people not pay attention to the show?

Noah has not changed his performance from S1 or how Will walks at all. Will walks the same in S2 (I mention S2 because he was not that much in S1), in S3 and in S4. His clothes are more fitting to his body because Noah grew up, duh. That’s the only difference. I'm sure making him wear baggy clothing would not fit the character, as he never wore oversized things in earlier seasons. Oh, and his hair changed to a shorter bowlcut. That’s it. I see his acting and it’s no different or exaggerated or over the top from what he was already doing.

People act as if Will being gay, which is displayed more openly in S4, changed him to a whole new person when his sexuality was already a part of him as character since S1.

He is not the stereotypical gay represented in media. There’s nothing wrong with that stereotype but Will is so many things: his voice is deeper than before, he has more muscle, he uses his hips to walk the same way he did since he beginning of the show, he’s brave, he’s petty, he gets mad, he’s loyal and more, but most of all, he’s human. And that is the difference. He’s portrayed as such: a human and then the rest follows (his sexuality, his supernatural trauma, his feelings of isolation, etc.) and to me that is a great way to portray him.

In my opinion, there will never be a “perfect” representation of a gay/queer character because that is not possible. The show has not changed how he is as a character for the sake of “representation” because EVERY EXPERIENCE IS DIFFERENT AND NOT THE SAME AS OTHERS.

Besides, how is he “always crying and being sassy” as if all the other characters don’t do the same, but notice how Will is the “whiny crying one”? Because he cried TWICE on S4? He’s the only character sans superpowers that has suffered the most throughout the entire show; doesn’t he deserve some crying? How is crying two times a synonym of “crybaby” as if he were throwing tantrums or being a brat? The absurdity is insane.

Lastly, it’s impossible for Will to act as if he were, for example, in American Horror Story NYC, where AIDS was a palpable issue, in a major big city, and queer people were being ignored/abused by the cops and more. Such issues where part of the main plot of that season of AHS. Addressing that type of queer reality bitterness for The Duffers equals to tapping more deeply into Lucas racism and how he’s dating a white girl, Max’s abuse from Billy, Will’s abusive father and other topics that were very real but not explored in depth in the show and Stranger Things is mainly a TV show about monsters, a parallel universe, a group of nerdy kids, a girl with superpowers and how the characters revolve around those things.

#my post #i'm mad #like #ugh #will byers #st analysis #will byers analysis #have i chosen violence today? #maybe #my take #my opinion

[sohyuki]

i know people always hc that diluc doesn't grow a goatee/beard because he's scared of seeing crepus' face in the mirror but i am a firm believer that diluc is more his mother than his father. if anything, crepus couldn't look at diluc for the first few weeks after his wife passed because all he could see was her. and diluc looks at the portrait of his mother in his father's study and doesn't know what to feel because that's his nose and eyes and smile but this is a stranger to him.

#mint.txt #diluc ragnvindr #man now i feel like writing a bunch of diluc #good morning everyone !! i have chosen violence today and i'm about to make it EVERYONE'S problem

[slashingdisneypasta]

Ahhhhh going to work is the last thing I want to do today... My body is so achy and I have been full-on training a new newbie every single shift for like 2 weeks and I swear if my manager comes up to me again today and gives me that same schpeel about 'just show this new girl how it all works today okay?' like it's easy, I'm going to leave early. I am so tired..

On the bright side, it is stormy today so that's nice.

#i am going to embody sheriff hoyt today #which means i am have chosen VIOLENCE #and possibly CANNIBALISM

[104thsquadfam]

     -Feeling so damn lazy but also want to wreak some havoc on my friends but I’m nice so I’ll only torture some of them.

#ooc #i wanna cause problems today #i have chosen violence #can't stop me now

[lexa-griffins]

Here's another fun couples question for your clexa's. Who's the spender and the saver in their relationship?

For the most part, neither are big spenders. Lexa has a bunch of savings accounts and while Clarke isn't that organized, she does like to save too.

There some exceptions tho!

Cam Girls AU clexa are spenders. They are college kids with extra income from their cam shows, so they do go a little crazy on sex toys and lingerie and outfits, mood lighting and a good camera at the start. They do settle down a little when they get bigger and they realize they have serious money they could use for their future.

Both DES Lexa and Mobster baby Lexa do not care about spending money while their respective detectives can't really afford to spend much on anything. The main difference is that DES Lexa likes the finer things in life but she isn't wasteful. Mob princess Lexa tho, she's a spoiled brat who will buy a sports car just to kill someone inside and then wreck it, will buy a 5k dress knowing it'll get dirty after she blows someone's head off and use it especially for it... my little psycho 🥰

Milf!Lexa is the save every penny she can type. She teaches at a private school that allows her kids to go there on an insane discount but she's still made to pay for most her of classroom decor and activities and even with child support she isn't swimming in disposable income so every cent counts. On the flip side, Clarke is a late 20's art therapist, no spouse and no kids - and really no plans to have any - with a really good income she can spend as she pleases so she tends to just buy whatever she wants and doesn't really think about it. And despise Lexa's protests a lot of Clarke's spending start focusing on Delilah and Alex, including some fancier art supplies for Lexa's artist little 11 year old and video games for the nerdiest jock around that is Alex and she justifies it all by saying she's teaching Delilah different ways of painting or that she buys the video games so she can play them with Alex... she just wants to have things to do with her step kids because she truly enjoys spending time with them since their other mother doesn't seem to do it. 🥺

#letter opened #today i have chosen milf!lexa violence #au: des #au: mobster daughter #au: cam girls #au: milf!lexa

[voidfragments]

tragically i am going to be too busy today to engage in halloween rp shenanigans

#ooc #doing a 6hr halloween stream today! which will be fun but also will eat up my whole day basically #well. that's the plan anyways. my uterus has chosen violence today so i might have to cancel but i hope not

[silvrdeath]

CHRIS' SOUL IS BEING CLAIMED.

pre series. after years of avoiding her father, allison finally seeks him out when she realises his time is running out. the hellhounds are right behind them, and chris is tired of running away. they have come to claim his soul that he traded for allison's to bring her back, except allison wasn't brought back with a full soul. when chris is saying his goodbyes to her, she breaks down and confesses that the trade was a trick, and that she's not even human. she can't explain it further, watching her father being torn to pieces by the hounds.

#° ❛ thoughts sharper than a bolthead . ╯ introspective . #chris tbt. #° ❛ it all began here . ╯ pre series . #i have chosen violence today hehehe #hehe #imma go cry #edits. #timeline events.

[rafesaddiction]

It's not cheating when he’s your enemy – Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

see here for part 2 and here for part 2.5

Summary: Rafe Cameron is the reason why you fought with your boyfriend. Rafe Cameron is the reason why you lost your job. Rafe Cameron is the reason why you moan and whimper shamelessly.

Concept: enemies, hate sex

Warnings: mdni! – smut, hate sex, rough sex, p in v, violence, choking, spitting (on rafe), cursing, name calling (rafe calls reader whore), cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), mean!rafe

Word count: 3.9k

“How about a smile with that, hm?” Rafe Cameron grinned at you as you placed the glass in front of him on the table. Your eyes narrowed and you glared at him, but that smug grin of his only grew wider, and his kook friends sitting at the table with him snickered and watched the scene with amusement.

It was bad enough that you had to work today, not being in the best of moods after a fight with your boyfriend earlier – or more exactly, a fight with your boyfriend and his best friend. But you had to take the evening shift at the Wreck, because your landlord had assured you, he'd kick you out if you were late on the rent again. You needed the money and your cleaning job just didn't pay enough. And usually working at the Wreck was fine. Mike was a fair boss and Anna always had a nice word for you. The tips weren't as generous as at the country club, but the customers were usually much nicer. Well, usually. Not so much tonight.

You had seen – or actually heard them, the moment they had come into the restaurant; the kook prince and his cronies. Not waiting to be seated, they just chose a table and sat down, as if they had a right to do so, as if they were entitled to do anything they wanted. You frowned, when you saw them, having just written down the order from much nicer guests – a tourist couple, who must have been puzzled at your sudden change of attitude. You usually had no problem with keeping a friendly face to customers, or at least look at them in a neutral way, but the moment you saw Rafe Cameron walk in like he owned the place, you just couldn't hide your anger.

And of course, Rafe and his friends had chosen one of your tables. If it hadn't been so busy that night, you might have asked your colleague to swap tables. But as it was, you clenched your teeth and walked over to their table, placing the pitcher with fresh water and glasses on the table, ready to take their order – avoiding looking at them, especially at Rafe.

But his words made you look up from the water jug you held in your hand.

“C’mon, y/n, show us that pretty smile of yours, and I might even give you a nice tip”, the asshole had the audacity to wink at you.

You glared at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. You were fuming. Your hand clenching around the handle of the pitcher. And the blond kook just kept smiling at you his arrogant smile that others might have found charming, which only drove you mad.

So instead of pouring the water into the glasses on the table, you poured the pitcher's whole content onto Rafe Cameron's lap, drenching his expensive pants. – A pity actually that it was only water and not some boiling hot coffee.

Rafe quickly moved back, the chair making a screeching sound on the wooden floor, as he jumped to his feet. Now looking anything but amused, he looked down at himself.

“The fuck?”

And it was your turn to smirk, just a little triumphant smirk, while you glared at him and extended your arm, flipping him the bird, right at his stupid face.

You turned on your heels and walked back to the bar, hearing one of the kook boys say, “dude, she really hates you.” And Rafe replied, “nah, she wants me bad,” which resulted in all of them laughing.

And you growled. You hated those bastards. You hated them so damn much.

Behind the counter, you put down the empty pitcher with a loud thud – even though you felt more like throwing that thing at Rafe.

You tried to compose yourself, you really did, but, of course, Mike had seen what happened. And instead of being on your side and kicking those arrogant kooks out, he came at you, told you to go and apologize.

“I won’t! He’s a fucking asshole, acting like he owns half the island!” You glared at your boss.

“Well, his father does,” Mike said, “now go and apologize and tell him, whatever they order is on the house.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking at Mike as if he was talking in a different language.

“You apologize or you can leave. For good.” The features on the man's face had become stern.

You should do the reasonable thing, you needed this job. But your temper got the best of you. You were so angry, so damn furious, and Mike taking their side was just too much to take. You literally had enough.

“Screw you,” you snapped, crumpled the cloth you used for cleaning tables and threw it at Mike.

He frowned at you and pointed at the door.

And you walked out, walked out of that damn restaurant in which those fucking kooks were surely laughing at the scene they just witnessed. You were a joke to them. You pogues always were nothing more than a joke to them. It made you furious.

Outside you kicked a random car parked in front of the restaurant, wishing it was Rafe's – but it looked more like some old folks' family car than anything Rafe would drive.

“Fuck ‘em, fuck ‘em all,” you cursed, and your foot hurt, but you kept on walking, stomping actually, blinking angry tears away.

You just had lost your job because of Rafe-fucking-Cameron! The same guy that had been the reason for your fight with your boyfriend earlier that day.

You hated that guy. You had always hated Rafe, but now you hated him more than ever.

This morning, on his usual delivery run for Heyward, your boyfriend had been jumped by Rafe and one of his friends. And they had beaten him up so bad, he had gotten home with a limp, his left eye swollen, his nose bleeding. Seeing him like that hurt so much, you almost cried. His best friend, who was there with you, looked at your boyfriend shocked, and worried, before his quick temper took over. That boy was always short-tempered and would rather act than think. He was furious. While you were attending your boyfriend's wounds, his best friend was pacing the small place, raising his fists, clenching them, rambling on about how he would make Rafe pay for that. He also seemed mad at himself for not having been there for his best friend, not having been able to defend him. So he was more determined now to make it right, as he called it.

He swore revenge and was forming a plan. Usually, they would just try and fight Rafe and his friends at the next opportunity. But this seemed different. And your boyfriend seemed to be hurt more than just by the wounds you could see. You weren't sure, but you had a feeling that something else must have happened with Rafe, something more serious, something hurting not just his body, but his pride too. Because otherwise, your boyfriend would have never agreed to the stupid plan his best friend came up with. Stealing Rafe's dirt bike and sinking it to the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't even a real plan, it was just stupid.

“He'll know that it was you! And he'll have you arrested for it.”

“So what?”

“So what? You can go to jail! Don't be so dumb! You can both go to jail for this and you'll ruin your future just because of some stupid fight!” You yelled at your boyfriend's best friend, but there was no reasoning with him.

But what was worse, your own boyfriend didn't want to see that you were right. He was so infuriated. He had jumped to his feet and was ready to take Rafe and any cop. And he wanted to hurt him, hurt him so bad.

When you tried to talk to him, tried to calm him down, tried to make him see reason, he just shoved you away, and he suddenly seemed angry at you, accusing you of not understanding him. And his best friend accused you of not caring about your own boyfriend. And that fucking hurt. The two of them had always been close, very close, and you sometimes felt a pang of jealousy, because even though you were his girlfriend, it seemed as if there was some part of him you would never fully get.

So you had left the two of them planning their revenge, coming up with some stupid plan that would not make anything right that had been done to your boyfriend or to any of you pogues.

And the thought of that made you furious right now.

You balled your hands into fists, clenching so hard, you felt your nails digging into your palms.

You hadn't paid attention to where you were going when you had stormed out of the Wreck and you had been walking for some time now, anger driving you onwards, as you found yourself close to the Cameron's pier.

Rage was clouding your judgement, but you knew you had to do something, anything. It just couldn't go on like this. Rafe Cameron hurting everyone and destroying everything and just getting away with it.

You didn't have a plan what to do when you broke into the shack where they stored boat stuff and other things. It wasn't the first time you had broken into somewhere, but it was the first time you were on your own. Usually the other pogues would be with you. But you could do this on your own. And you did care about your boyfriend, no matter what his best friend said. You were a pogue just like them.

Inside it was dark and you had to feel your way round, careful not to bump into anything. You used your phone's flashlight to see, but you weren't really sure what you were looking for. Maybe you could find boat keys and take his boat? Stupid plan, but whatever. You had to do something, anything. Goddamn, you hated that guy.

“Anything I can help you with?”

You froze when you heard that dark voice. The lights had suddenly turned on, blinding you for a second. You blinked and saw him. Fuck. Rafe Cameron standing at the door, blocking the only exit. Tilting his head to the side, he looked right at you.

“What you doing here?” You couldn't help but ask, even though you knew it was a dumb question, but you were genuinely puzzled. He had just been at the Wreck with his friends – getting you fired – and now he was here of all places?

“This is MY property. What the hell are you doing here?”

Fuck, he was right. You wouldn't admit it, but he had a point. And suddenly you were questioning your own reason. It was such a stupid idea, breaking in here. All you wanted now was to get out, get away as fast as possible before Rafe would call the cops. So instead of answering, you darted for the exit as he moved a few steps into the room. But he was quicker, stepped to the side, so you almost crashed right into him.

He caught you, his big hand wrapping around your arm. You flinched at how tight his grip was.

“Fuck, let me go!” You tried to wriggle out of his grip, and hit his chest with your free hand.

Rafe grabbed your other arm too, pulling you closer to his much larger body.

“Let go, asshole!” You yelled at him, not giving up your fighting yet, though it seemed impossible to free yourself from his grip.

“Won't do. You broke into my property and stole something from me.” He glared down at you, his eyes narrowed – the blue in them reminded you of the sky on the day before the hurricane hit the island a few weeks ago.

“I didn't take anything!” Your voice strained and you were panting from your struggling.

He raised his eyebrows as he glared at you.

“A liar and a thief. I'll check for myself what you took.”

He let go off one of your arms, just to use his free hand to grip your waist, pulling you against his body, his broad chest pressing against your upper body, so close, you could hardly move your free arm between the bodies.

But his hand didn't rest, he was touching, grabbing, tugging, actually patting you down.

His large hand found your ass and that intimate touch caused a different kind of sensation. Something much hotter.

You wriggled in his arms, making your bodies only rub harder against each other.

“Fuck, let go!” You hissed, as breathing became harder.

You tried to kick him, but couldn't really lift your leg, you were too close to his overpowering body.

“Fucking asshole!” You spat at him.

And Rafe's hand gripped your jaws, so hard, you winced. Your mouth opening as you gasped.

Instead of tasting the air, you felt his lips crushing down on yours as he had suddenly closed the space and was kissing you, kissing you fiercely and hard.

Your eyes fluttered close. For a moment you were completely taken aback, overwhelmed by this unexpected intimate touch, a kiss so fierce and rough you had never tasted before.

It only lasted a second, and you pushed him away, pushed yourself away from him enough, so you could move your arm, and you smacked his cheek so hard, his head whipped to the side.

Obviously surprising him, he let go off you, rubbing his cheek, and looking at you as if in disbelief. His mouth opened, those lips you had just felt on yours.

And you stood there two steps away, chest heaving, panting, glaring, fuming, feeling that tingling on your lips, feeling that throbbing pain from his touch on your arms, feeling his presence so strongly, feeling this incredible heat in your own body, something hotter than rage coursing through your veins, feeling that sudden pull.

You lunged forward, and he just gazed at you, and your hands gripped around his neck as you pulled yourself up, legs wrapping around his waist, and your mouth meeting his in an angry kiss.

Rafe reacted in an instant, kissing you back, even fiercer than before. It felt like he was devouring you. And you couldn't help but moan into the kiss, as you rocked your hips against his. But the friction you caused with your fervent movements wasn't enough to make that throbbing between your legs stop. Both his hands grabbed your ass, gripped it like it was something that belonged to him, only to him. It made you furious, and clenching with need.

Your hands grabbed his hair, pulling at it. He growled in response, right into your open mouth. Pushing his tongue in, he claimed that too.

The heels of your feet dug into his back, as you pulled yourself closer to him. Feeling his hard cock pressing against you made you mutter the most embarrassing sounds, hardly muffled by his greedy kiss.

Suddenly he moved and you felt how your ass hit something.

The kiss broke and you hissed as you found yourself on a workbench, cluttered with all kinds of tools, which Rafe shoved away with his arm, making them clatter on the floor, before setting you down on the surface.

You braced yourself with your elbows on the bench, looking up at Rafe, who impatiently tugged down your shorts and panties. Your sandals dropped to the floor as well.

You tried to get up and grab his shirt to pull it off of him, but he pushed you back down on the bench, making you flinch at his roughness and at the same time you felt your legs opening for him, as you saw him take that shirt off himself. You couldn't help but gaze at his muscles. His body was so well-shaped, it was ridiculous how he could be real.

Your attention was directed further down, as you heard him unzip his pants.

You were only able to catch a glimpse of his cock, but it was enough to make you gasp – he was huge – before he pushed into you.

The sudden pain made you cry out. Your eyes going back into your head as you felt so incredibly full. You didn't even try to suppress your shameless moans as he ruthlessly thrust into you. Your walls clamping, the feeling became so intense, your body was shivering while you were burning up.

You heard Rafe's animalistic growl and that sound drove your own lust even further.

His hand at the back of your neck, he pulled you up, his lips hovering over yours, his hot breath mingling with yours.

Rafe pulled you closer, and as he fucked you, your ass was pressed against the edge of the bench, surely leaving bruises.

But you left bruises and marks on his body too. Your hands grabbing, your nails scratching his back. When he kissed you, you bit him, feeling how he tensed up and go harder on you. You felt your climax approaching, felt your body burning up with need, clenching so hard around him.

And he must have felt it too, because you could sense something shift. But instead of giving you what you wanted, giving you what your body so desperately needed, he grinned into the messy kiss and suddenly pulled out. You gazed at him, your face flushed, your lips sore from those biting kisses, and you were so surprised that it was easy for him to unwrap himself off your legs.

Your naked feet touched the cold floor and you could hardly stand. But you didn't have too.

Before you could question what the hell he was doing, he grabbed you, turned you around and bent you over the workbench.

You exhaled an angry breath and your hands clawed at the surface of the bench, while he turned your head sideways and pressed down on it, your cheek on the rough wood. You tried to look up at him, but couldn't move your head to see properly. But you didn't need to see what he was doing, you could feel it a few seconds later.

Your legs were spread and a rough hand rubbed between them. You were soaking wet. You had been wet from the moment his lips had claimed yours. You had no time to get annoyed at how that must have amused him, because the next moment, he was taking your breath away as his thick cock thrust into you. Harder and deeper now. You wouldn't have believed that to be possible, but he was fucking you now with even more of that rough and ruthless vigor. He was quite literally using you, as his cock was hammering into you. Your body trembled and shuddered and you moaned and whimpered and you were so far gone.

Rafe took you as if you were his, as if he could use you as he pleased – and you wanted nothing else than to be used by him in that moment.

Your walls clenching so hard around him, you felt fuller than possible.

But despite being at his mercy, despite having turned into his fucktoy, despite your traitorous body enjoying being used like that, you couldn't help yourself.

One hand reached back, touching his hip.

“Harder,” you urged him, panting. “Harder,” you repeated, breathlessly, as if you didn't already feel like you might pass out any minute, because it was too much, because your body couldn't possible take anymore.

He growled. And the sound made you shudder.

And you almost regretted your words, but at the same time, you felt your clit throbbing, your whole body buzzing with a need you had never felt before.

His arm wrapped around your neck from behind and he pulled you up, pulled you up standing on your toes, your back arching. The back of your head against his shoulder. His arm pressed against your throat, making it hard to breathe and impossible to speak. You could only whine as he slammed into from behind. Your fingernails digging into his arm's hard muscle, while your eyes fluttered shut.

You lost it all, all sense of reason and self control, as he fucked you through your earth-shattering orgasm. Fucked you relentlessly. Fucked you without restrained. Fucked you into oblivion.

You were undone and he kept going. Taking you without mercy, using you. And when he gasped and you felt him push so deep inside you, hitting a spot yet untouched, another wave rolled over you. You hadn't felt it building up, but it was like your body was synced with his, and the moment he came inside you, spilling his load deep into you, your walls clenched around him, as if trying to hold him there, and you came, harder this time, with him.

When he pulled out and let go off you, you just collapsed forward onto the workbench. Coughing, finally able to breathe, you tried to regain your senses.

Your legs were trembling and you could already feel his cum dripping out of you, running down your thigh.

You weren't sure if your eyes were closed or open, as you still just saw stars dancing in front of your eyes.

The sound of a low chuckle behind you made you finally able to return to reality – and realize your exposed position, bent over the workbench, your legs spread, your ass up, cum dripping out of your throbbing pussy.

You groaned as you pushed yourself up and turned. Every fucking muscle in your body hurt. You knew you would be sore for days. And when you caught that smirk on Rafe's face as he put on his shirt watching you with that glint in his eyes, you knew he was thinking the same.

You smoothed your rumpled top, crouched down to pick up your shorts. Somehow you couldn't find your panties between all those tools scattered on the floor, so you pulled on your shorts without panties. You flinched at the friction the rough fabric caused. You'd definitely be sore for days.

Frowning, you slipped into your sandals.

Your eyes moved over to Rafe. He was fully dressed and despite his somewhat heavy breathing and the sweat glistening on his forehead, he seemed all composed as he was leaning against another workbench opposite of you, just a few feet away. His hair a mess though, you noted with a certain kind of satisfaction.

A smirk danced around his lips as he watched you trying to comb your own hair with your fingers.

“What?” You frowned at him.

He shrugged, pushed himself off the bench and slowly came closer.

“Just realized, it's true what they say.”

Your frown deepened as you glared at him questioningly.

“The filthiest whores come from the Cut.”

You spat right at his face.

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed and turned to leave. From the corner of your eyes you could see how he wiped away your spit from his cheek, and looked at it, chuckling in amusement.

You didn't turn when you walked through the door. You tried not to show it, but each step hurt like hell. And what was worse, your core was aching with need.

a/n: thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Comments, reblogs, likes, and any kind of feedback are very welcome. You may also have a guess who the reader's boyfriend might be. And his best friend...

This is the start of a concept series of oneshots.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe cameron #obx #outer banks #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #toxic relationship #smut fic #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe x y/n

[tra-le-patatine-a-fuoco]

I knew I would end up there lol

#I woke up today and chose violence #I would have chosen another clap back though there are so many things you can say about Switzerland

[jackals-horny-jail-archive]

also it's lotor pov which is fun to write and also it's lotor going I JUST WANT TO HAVE A NORMAL MEETING BUT MY SPOUSE IS SENDING ME PICS OF THEM IN LINGERIE IN MY BED SEND HELP

#barks #nsft #caps #jackal voice i have chosen Violence today :3c

[anexperimentallife]

The Gaza genocide is going exactly according to the US Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian agenda, with which they hope to wipe out all Jews and Muslims

To anyone raised in the US Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian Dominionist movement in the US, the horror and inhumanity, the genocide Israel is engaged in against Palestinians right now is not a surprise. We all KNEW this was coming, and those of us who got out of the movement we were raised in have been trying to raise the alarm for decades, mostly to either deaf ears, or accusation of antisemitism.

(Because, they would say, "if you don't support Zionism, and stand behind everything Israel does, you must hate all Jews!" Ignoring that many Jews all over the world--yes, including many Israeli Jews--do not support Israel's foreign policy.)

Because everything in the orbit of Israel is going exactly to the Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian Doomsday plan--a plan that has been OPENLY talked about in Fundie circles since I was a little kid being indoctrinated into it.

In case you're not familiar, let me break down the Fundie thinking here:

Their support of Israel and embrace of Zionism is based around their beliefs that:

a) the return of Jews to Israel, and then Israel/all "unconverted" Jews being completely wiped out in an apocalyptic war, is essential to Jesus' return.

b) but that any nation that DIRECTLY opposes Israel will fall even if they defeat Israel. So that in order to fulfill prophecy, they must

c) set someone ELSE up to wipe out Israel/the Jews.

(To go into more detail: They believe that "the Jews were God's original chosen people until Christians took their place in God's favor when the Jews denied Jesus." But that God is still attached to his former faves and will punish anyone who wipes them out--thus the entire fundie idea is to get someone ELSE to do it, then serve as "the instrument of God's vengeance" by genociding the genociders.)

So they support Israel's increasing violence intentionally to create greater and greater conflict and turn more of Israel's neighbor states against them, meanwhile fostering the idea that with the power of the US backing them, they cannot fail.

And here's their next planned phase--maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually

Once things reach a tipping point, the Fundies (currently the single most powerful force in US politics, thanks to ANOTHER multi-generational plan openly talked about in Fundie circles, which was specifically designed to put Fundies amd their allies in powerful positions) will force the US to pull support from Israel so that its neighbors can destroy it, then use that destruction as a pretext for their own genocide against remaining Muslim/Arab (there is little distinction between the two in their minds) peoples.

Christian Fundamentalist support of Zionism has always been about the elimination of both Jews and Muslims, and bringing about a Christian/Capitalist (aka fascist) world.

They emphasize that they LOVE Jews, and maybe don't even entirely HATE the "evil Muslims," but that this is "God's will," and that they have no choice but to obey. They'll even shed crocodile tears about how sad all this is, but believe me--they are CELEBRATING inside. They are OVERJOYED, because they think this will bring about the Rapture, the end of the world, the Thousand Year Reign, and all the other crap in their shitty Doomsday prophecy.

(This is also their excuse for every other group they are trying to destroy. "Oh, I personally have nothing against the gays, but I have to follow God's will. Plus our children need to be protected from their recruitment efforts." During slavery, then segregation, Black folks were often said to have "the mark of Ham, meaning God said they were DESTINED to be slaves because of Ham's sin. Oh, WE'RE not saying it; GOD is!" See also: child marriage, and lots of other talking points.)

Don't believe me? Ask around on the EXvangelical tags. Listen in at some of the more conservative churches in your area. There are a lot of us who were raised being brainwashed with these ideas and had to deprogram ourselves.

#exvangelical

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader