#bloodhounds masterlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ovaryacted · 4 months

Text

FORGOTTEN DREAMS

PAIRING: DI!Leon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: Coming back from his mission to Alcatraz, Leon wasn't expecting to have old desires from his past haunt him at his current age. Being his partner, you comfort him and try to fulfill his hidden wishes.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Smut. Porn with some plot. Angsty at the beginning. Brief talks of trauma. Established relationship (Leon & Reader are engaged/married). Assumed ages (Leon is 38, Reader is an adult so 25+). Breeding Kink (reciprocated both ways). Mating Press. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p/v). Oral Sex (f receiving). Dirty Talk. Multiple Orgasms. Domesticity. Intimacy. Relationship conversations.

WC: 3.6k

NOTES: Hey, surprise surprise. I don't know where this came from, but I just started thinking about older Leon as a dad, and paired with me ovulating, I came up with this. Wanted to get something out before the end of the year, so I hope you like it. Happy New Year from wherever you are! Comments & reblogs are always appreciated!

✰ ── 《 Navigation ⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ AO3 》

Leon always believed he couldn’t have the things he’s always wanted, that he was destined for a life of misery.

Ever since that night in September all those years ago, he’d lost hope of the idea of the American Dream, a fantasy that was destroyed by the horrors of the same country he was forced to serve and protect. He once imagined his life would be different, living in the suburbs in a house with a white picket fence. Perhaps he’d have a pretty spouse, a few kids, maybe even a dog, he was always fond of bloodhounds and golden retrievers.

But of course, that wasn’t his reality.

So he accepted his fate the moment he miraculously made it out alive from Raccoon City, letting go of any control he had to change his life. He didn’t expect to live this long in the first place, foregoing any extensive plans for a future that remained uncertain with every mission he was sent on. No matter what he did, he remained stuck in a never-ending loop of dread, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop to be released from the torment of a life he did not choose to have.

That was, until he met you. He didn’t know how he managed to get so lucky to experience a sense of normalcy in his life, albeit it felt like he was always dreaming, waiting for the moment he’d wake up and see you slip away in his arms.

But you didn’t, you never left.

Leon wakes up every morning with the opportunity to take a glimpse at your sleeping face, taking every feature you had into memory. You granted him the chance to experience domesticity, something that was foreign to him at first, but he got adjusted to it and quickly began to crave it. You were what he wanted, a chance at peace in the hellscape that was his life. And over time, he didn’t have a doubt in his mind when he popped the question and happily slipped a ring on your finger when you told him yes.

Having someone waiting back at home was another added motivation for Leon to make it out alive, to return to you. All he ever wants is to be able to fall asleep in your arms after a long day, to have his head nuzzling into your neck and hear you giggling when his stubble tickled you too much. It was what he needed, and he silently thought that after all this time, as long as he had you he’d be happy.

That was why when he came back after his mission to Alcatraz, his new thoughts began to take him off guard. The same desires he had buried for so long slipped out of the crevices of his mind and began to plague him. The desire for more, for the things he never thought he could have. It was like his biological time clock was quickly turning into a ticking time bomb of anxiety ready to explode if it were suppressed any longer. He already had more than what he bargained for, he was alive, he had a home, and he had you. That should be enough, more than enough.

So why does he want more? Wanting anything else felt wrong and undeserving, so he never vocalized it. But you could tell something was on his mind and had been bothering him since he had returned.

It first started with the longing stares, where you’d often catch Leon looking your way a bit too fondly, as if he were taking you in for the last time before looking away. He was always an affectionate person, at least around you, but he was growing clingy. He was never that far away, usually holding your hand and caressing your fingers, cuddling up with you, and stroking your body whenever he could. Not to mention the sex, it was always passionate, always fun, and enjoyable, but recently it was as if Leon did it so frequently with so much vigor that you almost got worried.

No matter how calm he seemed, you knew him well enough to read him by now, and the small changes in his behavior showed you that something else was going on, that he was acting differently.

“You’re thinking again”, you stated matter-of-factly, watching Leon stare off in the distance as he rubbed his bottom lip over and over again. Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present as he glanced at you.

“I’m getting old”, he said with a sigh, rubbing your legs that were currently propped up on his thighs from where you lay on the bed with him.

“You’re not getting old, you’re getting older. Big difference”, you commented, hearing him chuckle under his breath. That wasn’t entirely what he meant, but he didn’t know how to say what he wanted without possibly scaring you away or jinxing himself.

“Are you happy? With me I mean?”, he asked you the question in a soft tone, not to signal that he was unhappy with your relationship, but rather he was thinking about something regarding you being together.

“Of course I am. You make me happy. I wouldn’t have said yes if that wasn’t the case”, you told him reassuringly, moving closer to him to hold him by the cheek.

“I guess what I’m asking is are you happy with just me, just us”, Leon said the question as if he were afraid, and you raised an eyebrow to gauge his reaction.

“Leon, if you want to get a pet or something we can. I think a cat would be kinda nice”, you said to him, and he looked at you with a wide grin before he laughed, actually laughed. For a second you’re assuming you said something wrong, but when he regains his bearings, he grabs a hold of your hand and runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Although a pet sounds good, that’s not exactly what I’m talking about”, he offered you a smile, giving you a second to think harder about his suggestion when he could see the lightbulb going off at the top of your head.

Kids?

“You’ve been thinking about kids?”

“Is it bad that I am?”

In a way, the revelation that Leon was thinking of having a family was surprising and took you off guard. When you met him, he initially struck you as a family man or someone who would want that down the line. So when he told you that wasn’t on his mind nor a goal of his, you took his word for it and stayed with him because that didn’t bother you, you loved him anyway. Now, it seems that he’s had a change of heart, and it sparked your interest.

“Well no…I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Thought you told me you never wanted them?”, you asked him, leaning into him closer and putting a warm hand on his chest.

“I said that because I didn’t think I could have them. But since coming back from Alcatraz…I don’t know, I keep thinking about it”, he shrugged under you, not meeting your gaze and looking down to the floor.

“I wanted a family when I was younger, but with all the shit I went through I just didn’t think it was possible, or that I could have it. So I simply forgot about it. But now..it popped back into my head and I’ve been thinking about it for a while”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, seeing the gears turning in his mind.

“It’s probably the old man hormones or something, I must be having a mid-life crisis”, he was joking, trying to use his humor to downplay how he felt, the way he usually did when he was dealing with something that made him uneasy.

“Babe, if you’re thinking about having kids you should’ve told me. I don’t mind you know, I think it’s endearing”, you whispered to him, now holding his face in your hands and offering him your warm gaze.

“So you don’t think I’m crazy for wanting them? Now of all times? I don’t think I should be wanting more than I already have”, you shook your head at that, knowing that Leon would feel guilty for having desires, that he had no room to be selfish.

“I think you deserve to have everything you want, regardless of what they may be. And if kids are on the list, then that’s okay, it’s what you want”, you were speaking to him in a confident voice, the one you used when you were trying to gently knock some sense into him.

“I don’t even know if you want them, with me anyway”, his eyebrows furrowed, hellbent on the assumption that you wouldn’t think twice about avoiding having children, much less have them with him.

“You aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about them you know”, his eyes widened at your confession, and your smile turned a bit sheepish.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Guess the hormones are also working overtime for me”

Leon blinked once, then twice. You fixated on the way the blues of his irises shifted, reminiscent of the clear sky after a storm had passed. But in reality, what you were looking at was hope interwoven in his eyes, a rare emotion that you’ve only seen a handful of times.

“Is that a yes then?”, you could see the way his lips began to curl up, an optimistic grin plastered on his face now, looking for an answer that would calm the excited beating of his heart.

“If you want to try, then we can try. And whatever happens, happens”, you reassured him once more, feeling him sit up straighter on the bed to kiss you on the lips.

“I love you, you know that?”

“You’ve told me a few times, but I don’t mind reminders”, you grinned at him, finding yourself tackled to the bed the next moment with laughs filling the room.

The next few days felt like a blur, basking in the domestic bliss that otherwise would’ve been a rarity for Leon, he found ways to keep you occupied.

Just like he did now.

Currently with your back on the bed, Leon’s head was between your plush thighs, lapping away at your cunt sometime at noon. It was Sunday, a day of rest meant to hide away from all of your responsibilities and chores. But of course, Leon had different plans when it came to keeping you busy.

“Fuck Leon”, you said with a loud moan, a light layer of sweat covering your body as your fingers yanked at his head, bringing him closer to where you wanted him. Leon groaned against you, tongue curling around your pulsing clit and forcing an arch in your back.

He already pulled one release out of you earlier, right after he found you on the couch wearing nothing but a worn-out T-shirt of his you stole years ago. He couldn’t help but fall in between your legs, head against your chest so he could listen to your heart beating in his ear. The comforting rhythm put Leon at ease, his hands running down the length of your thighs and kneading at your skin while you watched whatever show was currently on the screen. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, already seeing the mischievousness he had written all over his face.

“What are you doing?”, your attention moved from the TV screen to the top of his head, focused on the movement of his hands on your body.

“Nothing”, he told you playfully, his hands were already slipping under the edge of where your shirt covered the top of your hips. He shifted higher up to place a kiss on your lips, moving to your neck and nipping at you gently.

“Just keep watching your show”

It was the last thing he told you before his fingers found refuge in the welcoming warmth of your pussy, rubbing at your clit as you quickly forgot about the plot twist happening in front of you. He was a distraction, as he always was, but you’d never turn him away, you couldn’t even if you tried. And now, you were willingly paying the price of his affection.

Heat started to build up in your lower spine the more you felt Leon’s mouth on you, his needy tongue flicking against every sensitive spot you had before burrowing inside you. It was muscle memory for him, knowing exactly what to do and how to make you fall apart with skill. With every moan you gave, every twitch and shake of your body, Leon drank it all, trying to drown himself in the intensity of your pleasure whenever he had you like this. In between your legs, sucking away at where you needed him most, it was where he belonged.

Your hips were against his face, grinding into him and having his nose press into your clit again, pulling another airy whimper out of you. His hair was wrapped around your fingers, trying to listen in to the shameless sounds Leon made when more of your slick entered his mouth. To him, you tasted like honey, sweet on his tongue like molasses. It was something that curbed his sweet tooth, completely addicted to a taste that only you created when he made you feel good.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck f-fuck”, you didn’t need to announce it, Leon already knew from the way your walls were pulsating around his tongue that you were getting close.

Slipping away from your clenching hole, his tongue went up to run circles against your nub, sucking at it in pulses and snapping the rope of tension in your gut. Your breathing remained stuck in your throat as your second release ran through you, your shaky thighs pinned to his broad shoulders and his mouth continued to prolong your climax. He didn’t stop until the waves of your orgasm calmed down and ebbed away, where only a light pleasurable numbness remained and a dumb smile was left on your face.

No longer feeling you convulsing around him, Leon gave your clit one last kiss before coming back up from between your legs, matching your smile with one of his own. Plush lips covered in your essence, his charm radiated off of him every time he achieved the feat of making you cum.

“Feel good?”, he said teasingly, meshing his lips with yours with a pleasant hum. His tongue curled around your own, giving you a taste of yourself that you graciously took and reveled in.

“I feel good, but I can feel better”, you drew away from his face, giving him a smirk and tugging him closer to you by the waistband of his briefs. With a sneaky hand, you slipped your fingers underneath the soft cotton, gripping his hard length to touch him properly. You heard him grunt again, his breath hitching when you took his earlobe between your teeth and whispered at him.

“I want you inside me already”, you practically purred at him, a shiver running through him followed by another chuckle. Your vulgarity wasn’t new, but it was always something Leon found amusing.

“Yeah? You need me to fuck you sweetheart?”, he wasn’t asking you necessarily, more so reiterating facts that didn’t need your confirmation. Because you did want him to fuck you, you needed it and he knew it. Your hazy eyes watched as he stripped off his briefs, instinctively opening your legs for him, a silent invitation that you craved more.

“Want you to fuck a baby into me”

For a second Leon froze, his eyes widening at your words as they rang in his head. The phrase alone did something to him, brought out a new primal instinct he didn’t know existed until now. It festered carnal lust deep in his gut that shot in two directions, up towards his chest with his heart beating rapidly, and in the opposite way where all of his blood began rushing down south. He blinked at you, the blues of his eyes darkening to a sharp cobalt, and in the next second, he was on you so quickly it almost gave you whiplash.

The tip of his cock teased your entrance with two rubs before being sheathed deep inside in one easy thrust. Your body gave no resistance, welcoming the feeling of Leon stretching you out just the way you liked. Strong hands digging into the back of your thighs, he pushed your knees down against the mattress and closer to your chest, letting him slip that much deeper into you and leaving you gasping underneath him.

Dragging his hips back once before slamming back into you with intention, Leon fucked you without restraint, pinning you down against the mattress and ruining you for any other person, past, present, and future. He didn’t change his pace, filling in every possible gap, his dick hitting your deepest spots and kissing your cervix with every push and pull of his body. You swear you could feel him trying to breach your womb, the thought alone turning your head to mush. The urge of wanting him to leave his mark inside you grew like never before, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with another broken sob coming from your lips.

“Gonna fill you up. Is that what you want?”, he muttered, huffing out a breath and pounding his hips into you harshly to where the room filled with an audible skin-slapping sound.

“Yes, yes, I need it so bad!”, you felt him shift, forcing your knees down until they were parallel to your ears and effectively putting you into a mating press. His torso leaned more into you, caging you in and taking in your fucked out face with pride.

“Need me to breed you? Fuck a baby into you, huh?”, letting go of one of your legs to press his thumb against your clit, he rubbed against it and felt you clench around his cock. Your grip on the bedsheets tightened, bleary eyes looking up into him as he fucked you with determination.

“Yeah, I’ll make you a momma don’t you worry”

He said it like it was a promise, a sacred vow he didn’t plan on breaking. It was harsh fucking that was usually reserved for whenever you were both stressed and pent up. But now he was on a mission, making it his personal goal to not stop until he gave you what you both desired.

In the back of his mind, he was imagining what you would look like pregnant. The soft expanse of your stretched-out tummy that continues to grow as your child develops along with you. He pictured the way your body will start to fill in a bit more, becoming more soft and curvy in spots you didn’t consider previously. The heaviness of your breasts and the changes in sensitivity when they filled up with milk, something that he can’t wait to see and taste for himself. Every image that filled his head only made his cock throb and his thrusting intensify.

“Gonna look so pretty, all round for me”, he was lost in his thoughts, mumbling to himself and driving into you so good he hit that soft spot tucked inside. Your mind had turned to static, his words only bringing you that much closer to the edge and your legs shaking from how they were bent.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, make sure it catches, right here”, he placed a finger right underneath your belly button and pressed into your skin, the friction of his touch rapidly sending you into your next orgasm unexpectedly.

Throwing your head back against the pillow, you couldn’t warn Leon when you felt yourself coming again for him, your walls flexing around him and a wail filling the room. His thumb continued to stroke tight circles on your clit as he fucked you through your release, thrusting sloppily against you before cumming inside with a resounding grumble of your name. His hips were flushed with yours, grinding into you until he had nothing left to give, panting against your neck and kissing your nape.

You felt Leon slip out of you, gently putting your legs down back on the bed and his spend starting to drip down your thighs. With two of his fingers, he collected some of his release that spilled out of you and pushed it back inside your body, plugging you up with his digits to make sure none of it would dribble out.

“Can’t waste it, hold it there for me”, he said, making you keen and grip him tighter. Drawing out his fingers, he brought them to your lips, grinning when you wrapped your tongue around them to lick off the remnants of his taste.

“You think this one did it?”, you asked him tiredly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to give him soft pecks, growing clingy and wanting more of his affection.

“Hopefully, but there’s nothing wrong with a little more practice”, Leon smirked at you, giving you a wet passionate kiss and rekindling the flame of desire once more.

You knew that he wasn’t going to stop until he gave you what you both wanted, a happy family in a happy home. Of course, you had zero complaints, you’d do anything to make him happy and give him what he deserves.

Maybe just maybe, Leon will get his dream after all.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

996 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 7 months

Text

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty.

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension.

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees.

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said –

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen.

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him.

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part.

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all.

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine.

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?”

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin.

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.”

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed.

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.”

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?”

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has.

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.”

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.”

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat.

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod.

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places.

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway.

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him – running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night.

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense.

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips.

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win.

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest.

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet.

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest.

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates.

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper.

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you.

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.”

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass.

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command.

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you.

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall.

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing.

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need.

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks.

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him.

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?”

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh.

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.”

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs.

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!”

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles.

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life.

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.”

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more.

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.”

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing.

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all.

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in.

If you just –

“Come for me.”

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot.

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck.

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again.

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down.

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely.

But that is something he is not capable of right now.

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse.

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them.

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days.

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open.

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off.

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest.

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.”

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission.

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands.

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again.

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you.

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to.

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you.

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.”

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end.

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him.

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips.

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick.

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you.

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,”

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.”

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips.

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb.

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls.

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning.

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs.

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth.

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth.

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?”

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.”

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.”

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s.

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted.

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open.

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week.

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you.

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release.

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.”

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking.

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted.

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his.

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken.

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels.

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake.

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away.

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek.

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change.

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs.

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles.

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock.

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.”

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you.

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession.

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?”

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck.

“Not at all.”

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while.

Noonan is annoyed.

Murphy is not.

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.”

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.”

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix #this is my first time writing sex pollen did i do okay?

591 notes · View notes

sluttywoozi · 1 month

Text

Buy A Boyfriend (Complete)

Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~16.5k

Buy A Boyfriend | Buy A Boyfriend 2 | Bang A Boyfriend | Be A Boyfriend

Risk It All

Vernon's got a crush on his tutor, and everything gets harder when you start wearing thigh high socks. Everything.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: ~4.0k

On My Worst Behavior

Vernon's learned that you like him rough.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: ~0.6k

Bloodhound (ongoing)

All Vernon wants is some blood and a friend, and he thought he'd found both in you. Unfortunately, you smell like ambrosia and look like a goddess, and Vernon is down so astronomically bad.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~7.3k

Part I | Part II

Kinktober Day 27 - Degradation kink with Vernon

Rating: M (18+) | WC: 411

Chubby!Reader Headcanons

Soft!Vernon Headcanons

Seventeen Masterlist

Main Masterlist

212 notes · View notes

chicken-fifi · 8 months

Text

Promises for the Future | Kim Geonwoo (Bloodhounds)

Pairing: Kim Geonwoo x Hong Woojin Sister!Pregnant!Fem!Reader

Requested by anon: i am really relieved, someone write bloodhounds 😭😭 could you please write kim geonwoo x f!preganant!reader (woojin's little sister) in 6 months later please? thank you ^^

Genre: fluff laced with angst because this show is just a rollercoaster of emotions

Warnings: mentions of violence from previous episodes, mentions of character deaths, Bloodhounds spoilers, pregnant reader, pregnancy, fetal movement, sibling banter

Word Count: 1,257 words

A/n: i love this show so much, but it breaks my heart. pregnant reader here reminds me of everything that Dooyoung could've had if he hadn't come back. he could still be alive, with his wife and baby 😭😭😭 i'm not crying you are! also, reader's last name is Hong. this is not a continuation of "hang in there."

Hand pressed to your lower back, you waddled out into the yard after having heard both your brother and boyfriend come back from their morning run. Mr. Oh had just stepped out to buy some groceries to make breakfast, having refused your offer to join him for the short trip.

It’d been five months since you’d moved out to the countryside with him after everything had happened. The first month after Mr. Choi’s murder you’d been at the orphanage with Geonwoo’s mother helping out as best as you could with all the kids wherever the staff needed you.

However, just as your luck throughout this whole ordeal would have it, within your first week of being there you suspected you were pregnant after having missed your period and the sudden morning sickness that succeeded that. His mother had been the first to suggest the possibility, having been aware that you and Geonwoo had most definitely shared at least one night together in the time you’d been dating (curse the thin walls of the apartment when he snuck you in). She was the reason why, after you’d taken the pregnancy test and gotten a positive, you had taken the first bus back to the city then a cab to the residence. You can imagine your shock at seeing the burned remains of the house you’d spent countless weeks in.

Neighbors had fortunately been able to direct you to a nearby hospital where one of the victims of the sudden fire had been hospitalized for nearly a month due to “severe burns” - although they all claimed the young man hadn’t been burned but stabbed to an inch of his life. You’d immediately thought it had been Geonwoo who’d been stabbed. Woojin, your brother, could surely handle his own - even with a knife’s sharp edge pointed in his direction. But either way, you would be losing, hurting, and worried for whichever one of the two it was that was hospitalized. When you’d found Geonwoo sitting in a waiting room after visiting hours, your heart had a brief relief before panic filled your entire being as you rushed at him needing to know how your brother was.

It was clear your boyfriend had been expecting anyone but you to be the person who grabbed his shoulders late that night based on the immediate tense and fighting stance his body took on reflex. He’d relaxed as soon as he registered that it was you, only to get worried himself because you being back in the city only put you in danger. But eventually he relented, not seeing it the time nor logical to argue with you then and there. You were already back in the city and getting you back to the orphanage now would be more difficult than ever - even if he didn’t know why you were back.

Woojin, while still under heavy observation by doctors, was better than you had expected him to be. He was wide awake and visible well other than the grimaces and winces whenever he sat up, turned, or stretched. And one never would’ve known that he’d nearly bled to death from how quickly he’d lunged himself at Geonwoo after you’d come clean about your reason for being there. He’d been pretty upset about it for a while - who wouldn’t be if their best friend slept with their little sister? Not to mention the current situation they were in - but eventually came around after seeing how happy the two of you were and the thought of being able to (hopefully) spoil his future niece or nephew with the money won during his matches.

Upon his discharge from the hospital, Mr. Oh brought the three - or four, depending on how you look at it - of you to his home in the countryside. Much to both of your dismay, Geonwoo and Woojin were both dead set on avenging Mr. Choi’s, Yangjung, and Dooyoung’s murders and bring down Smile Capital once and for all. With roughly two months left of your pregnancy, it was more and more worrisome seeing the training the boys were putting themselves through for the sake of their planned justice. That mixed with the possibility of them getting hurt was even more worrying.

You hadn’t actually seen what those cowards could do, but Woojin had already nearly died during their last encounter, Geonwoo’s facial scar, Mr. Choi, Yangjun, and Dooyoung - along with his family - murders were enough evidence to prove the lengths to which they would go to. And you couldn’t help but think that maybe it was best to back off.

At the beginning, before the last six months happened, you’d been onboard with snuffing them out. It wasn’t fair to the innocent people being hunted down for the deadly loan they’d been tricked into taking. But now with a new life inside of you and close to arriving, you worried about your own family. Godforbid something were to happen, but if it did, and if you were to lose both Woojin and Geonwoo - or just one and not the other - would it really have been worth it?

“Hey,” Geonwoo’s voice announced his presence pulling you from your thoughts. “Did you sleep well?”

“About as well as I can when needing to pee every three seconds,” you joked hoping it would lift your spirit a little bit and maybe have him forget about the dull look that was on your face when he walked in. No luck.

“You’re worried again aren’t you.”

He could always read you like a book. Your hands cradled your belly, smoothing out your shirt over the sore flesh feeling small movements from your baby as you nodded avoiding his gaze. It had been a constant topic of debate between the four of you. Mr. Oh and you completely against their persistent plan of justice; Geonwoo and Woojin seeing nothing wrong with said plan.

“Geon,” you sighed. “It’s not safe.”

“With them still out there it’ll never be safe.”

“You heard what they did to Dooyoung and his wife - even when he gave in trusting they would let her and the baby live. You saw what they did to Woojin - to you! I’d rather live the rest of my life always looking over my shoulder with you than without you or Woojin. Please, just - just think it over.”

Geonwoo sighed deeply as he took your hand in his, his knuckles grazing over you bump as he looked down at it lovingly before returning his gaze to your eyes. He knew it was a bit selfish of him to ask for you to trust him, to believe in his plan, to believe him when he promised that he’d come back to you and make sure Woojin did as well. It was incredibly selfish of him, but he couldn’t help it. When it came to you, he would always end up being selfish.

He whispered your name softly and you closed your eyes feeling the tears well, “I promise we’ll handle it and everything will go back to normal. We’ll get to start a new life us, the baby, my mom, Woojin. We’ll all get a new life with not debt and nothing to worry about. I promise. Just, please understand.”

So you nodded, because you knew that no matter how much you pleaded his heart of gold would always win. He would stand with his decision. And he would not back down from it.

“Okay. But you have to come back in one piece. Both of you.”

“We will. I promise.”

#kdrama imagines #kdrama scenarios #bloodhounds #bloodhounds masterlist #bloodhounds imagines #bloodhounds scenarios #bloodhounds kim geonwoo #kim geonwoo #kim geonwoo imagines #kim geonwoo scenarios #bloodhounds geonwoo #geonwoo #geonwoo imagines #geonwoo scenarios

113 notes · View notes

waltermis · 7 months

Text

Imagine You Joining The Avengers And Natasha Having A Huge Crush On You

MASTERLIST ↠ NATASHA ROMANOFF MASTERLIST

Summary: Basically the title 🤪

Warnings: swearing, implied sex

↠↠↠

EARLY STAGES

- When you first join the avengers, Natasha would be apprehensive around you

- You think that it's because you're the new girl

- You try to be as nice as possible to her

- Leaving her a protein shake after her workouts

- Making sure that her peanut butter sandwiches didn't have any crusts

- and that every single part of the bread was smeared with peanut butter

- Bringing her favorite snacks & drinks to her door when she had a huge workload

- You didn't know why you wanted to do those things

- but you saw how her eyes lit up whenever she found something you left for her

- and it made you feel happy

- Whenever you smiled at her, Natasha could feel her entire body heat up as she blushed bright red

- The team OBVIOUSLY took note of that and would tease her constantly

- One very terrible teasing session caused someone from the team to go the med bay

- Not gonna name who...

- *cough* Tony *cough*

- It was after a huge party that Tony threw did Natasha finally open up to you

- You had inadvertently saved her from a very drunk and extremely creepy douchebag who couldn't take no for an answer

- After you pulled her away, the two of you stayed at the bar while you threw every pick up line imaginable at her

- and each time, she would throw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut as she laughed

- "Excuse me.... But did you come from the vending machine? 'Cause you are a snack!" ~Y/N

- "Oh god! That's terrible!!" ~ Nat

- "Right?! I don't get how guys think that'll work?!" ~Y/N

- "Did you just come out of the oven? 'Cause you're hot!" ~Y/N

- *gagging noises* ~ Nat

- "You're definitely on my To-Do list tonight..." ~Y/N

- "Ew..... Do another one..." ~ Nat

- and by the end of the night, the two of you were wheezing al the laughing

- After that, the two of you became attached to the hip

- Whenever someone from the team couldn't find you, they would look for Natasha and vice versa

- One time, Steve had found both you and Nat hanging upside down from a tree while you taught her how to play 'Patty Cake'

- Another time, Wanda found the two of you reading each other's' favorite stories just so you could fully understand what the other was talking about

REALIZING

- It wasn't until much later on in your friendship –8 months– with Natasha, did she finally understand why her heart would beat faster whenever you were in the same room as her

- Or why she felt angry whenever you went out with someone that wasn't her

- Or why sometimes she would have to physically restrain herself from wanting to kiss your pout when she rejected watching a rom-com

- It finally dawned on her after she spoke with Clint

- *cough* more like Clint slapped some sense into her *cough*

- "Clint! I think I might be sick..." ~ Nat

- "What?! Why?" ~ Clint

- "I dunno... My stomach gets twisted into knots and my heart beats really fast sometimes..." ~ Nat

- "Lemme ask you, does this all happen when Y/N is around?" ~ Clint

- "Yeah why? *gasp* You don't think she's drugging me do you?!" ~ Nat

- "N-no... I don't think that our sweet little avenger would be drugging you...." ~ Clint

- "Then what is it??!!?!" ~ Nat

- "How are you such a good spy and yet so oblivious and naïve when it comes to feelings?" ~ Clint

- "Wha-?" ~ Nat

- "You have a crush on N/N, dumb dumb!!!" ~ Clint

- "What?! No I don't!!" ~ Nat

- "You said that she had the breasts of a Greek goddess!" ~ Clint

- "What!? When???"

*flashback*

- When the team first began discussing whether they should accept you into the avengers or not

- Natasha may have let something slip

- "C'mon!! She can't join us!!!" ~ Tony

- "Why not, Tony?" ~ Steve

- "Are you kidding me?! That woman has the nose of a bloodhound!" ~ Tony

- "And the breasts of a Greek goddess..." ~ Nat

- "...Nat...?" ~ Clint *end flashback*

- "Oh my god!!" ~ Nat

AVOIDANCE

- After finding out, Natasha avoids you as much as she can

- You're confused thinking you did something wrong

- Every time you would enter a room, Natasha would flee immediately

- the only thing convincing you that you didn't imagine her would whatever she had left behind when fleeing

CONFRONTATION

- It took weeks before you were able to corner Natasha

- She had been taking a shower when you quite literally barged into her bathroom

- You didn't care anymore

- You had waited long enough

- You pushed her against the wall, still fully clothed questioning her

- "Why are you avoiding me?!" ~Y/N

- "W-what the fuck are you doing in here?!?! I'm taking a shower!" ~ Nat

- "Well, you have been avoiding me for practically 2 months now!!! I wanna know what I did wrong!!" ~Y/N

- "You mean besides coming here while I'm showering?!?!" ~ Nat

- "Nat please! I miss cuddling together under a fort we made during movie nights!! I miss 3am baking!! I miss complaining about every dumb move the Kardashians make! I miss our friendship!" ~Y/N

- "That's just it!! I don't want to be just friends!!" ~ Nat

- "W-what?" ~Y/N

- "I lo- like you!!! A lot... and I can't stand being just friends with you!!!" ~ Nat

- "I love you too, Nat...." ~Y/N

- "You do...?" ~ Nat

- She would have the most vulnerable look in her eyes

- her eyes would be glassy with tears as her bottom lip trembled slightly

- "Yeah... I was terrified that I was the only one..." ~Y/N

- You would lean in slightly when you'd stop

- "Can I kiss you?" ~Y/N

- "Yeah..." ~ Nat

- Consent = 🥵🥵

- The two of you would spend hours in the shower...

- 😉😉😏😏

AFTERMATH

- Natasha would be the best girlfriend

- Peppering your face with kisses every morning to wake you up

- Bringing you, your favorite flowers whenever you two had a date

- which was every week

- Reading you stories like 'Little Women' when you couldn't sleep

- Her calling you Russian pet names will never fail to make you blush

- "Morning, moya lyubov'! Did you sleep well?" ~ Nat

- "Thank you, detka!" ~ Nat

- "Ya tebya lyublyu, dorogoy..." ~ Nat

- And in turn you were just as good as a girlfriend to her

- Comforting her whenever she would have a nightmare about her past

- Sitting next to her in the shower, the both of you fully clothed, when a mission goes sideways and agents had died

- "It's all my fault..." ~ Nat

- "No it's not" ~Y/N

- "It is!! I was in charge! And I let them die..." ~ Nat

- "Babe, you did everything you could. The intel you got from the mission was clearly altered and it was a trap! You brought back as many people as you could and you saved over 20 kids from getting trafficked! That's a huge win. And yeah, it sucks that agents died, but I know that they would be proud that they sacrificed their lives so that those kids will have a better life! You're not gonna feel better sitting here feeling sorry, you have to honor what those agents did and thank them." ~Y/N

- "I love you so much, detka. Thank you for being here." ~ Nat

- "'Course... where else would I be? And I love you so much too." ~Y/N

- Reassuring her that she had wiped her ledger squeaky clean

- Of course she still had her moments of doubt but you were always there guiding her through it

- Learning Russian so the two of you could have full on conversations without the team understanding a single word

MEETING THE WIDOW FAM

- Meeting Yelena for the first and getting along amazingly

- the two of you would be working together to prank everybody

- like one time, the two of you painted all of Tony's Iron Man suits Captain America colors

- Or another time where you wrapped Sam's room in saran wrap

- took him nearly 4 hours just to cut through everything you guys wrapped

- When you met Melina and Alexei, the two were cautious around you

- but they soon opened up to you when they realized that you weren't gonna harm them

- Exchanging recipes with Melina

- Drinking contests with Alexei which left you drunk as hell and regretting your life decision the next morning

- It was safe to say that Natasha was head over heels for you

- and you for her

- And that was all that mattered to anybody

↠↠↠

1411 words

615 notes · View notes

turtletaubwrites · 13 days

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 11

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 4176

Ao3 Link

Summary: Another night with the Cross Guild reminds you of all the reasons why you should feel afraid, and all the reasons why you don't. Mihawk and Crocodile discuss your professional responsibilities.

Author's Note: I don't think my brain is attached to my body when I write about these bad men 🤷🏼‍♀️

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Blood and Violence, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Dom Mihawk, Teasing, Threats, Arguing, Daddy Kink, PIV Sex, Unprotected Sex (be safe out there!), Creampie, Overstimulation, Hair-Pulling, Degradation, Orgasm Control, Choking

The smile that broke across your face sent chills over your skin, even under the dangerous hands that gripped you on either side.

Buggy’s smile grew impossibly wide, his eyes flaring when he saw how he’d affected you. He looked truly happy for the first time in days as he leaned closer, reaching a gloved hand toward yours. Faded red lips parted, but his words died in his throat when a golden hook wrapped around it.

“I said we’ll try not to hurt you,” Crocodile rasped, yanking his hook just slightly until Buggy gulped, his wide eyes reflecting that menacing face. “Don’t get handsy with our girl when you smell like trash.”

“You got it, boss. I’ll go take a shower!”

Buggy’s head floated up while he nodded, freeing himself from the deadly hook. He flew toward the door, leaving a floating hand to wave for a moment before he was gone.

“That’s not what I– fucking clown,” Crocodile grumbled, his hand still gripped around your neck while you held your breath to keep from laughing.

“He really is a fool, isn’t he,” Mihawk wondered aloud, swirling the wine in his glass while his free hand released your fingers. He touched your knee, the gesture innocent, until the pads of his fingers teased circles around your skin. “How’s my little bloodhound, hm?”

“Blood–”

“Yes, darling,” he hurried, handing you your own glass to sip. “You did well with our wine tasting the other night, and today you told me that I smell like– what was it… dirt, but sour?”

You coughed as wine burned down your throat, and Crocodile patted your back a bit too hard while he chuckled softly.

“I’m not offended,” the swordsman teased, grabbing your chin to pull you his way. Those piercing eyes scraped your skin until he gave a small smile. “I surveyed the local soil this morning to determine the best crops for the area. It’s decent, but a bit acidic, hence the sour smell.”

Unable to comprehend anything he’d said, you couldn’t stop your lips from parting, your brows from creasing, or your whole face from looking stupid while you tried to translate his words.

“You like to garden,” Crocodile asked, that deep voice soft with surprise.

“I took up farming during my stay on Kuraigana,” Mihawk cleared his throat, releasing your flustered face while he took a sip of that potent wine. “It's a very productive hobby.”

“I’m sure it is. I bet that blade of yours works wonders on those stubborn weeds.”

The larger man’s taunt sped your pulse. You wanted to be as far away as possible if these two ex-warlords ever fought.

“I am capable of killing plenty of things without dirtying Yoru. Just be sure to keep your dry skin away from my vegetables,” Mihawk scoffed, taking another long sip as Crocodile let out a hearty laugh.

After a few moments of what couldn't be sulking, Mihawk sighed, returning his attention to you.

“How are you feeling, pet? Did mean ol’ Crocodile rough you up too much earlier? Did he ruin that sweet, little cunt of yours?”

His fingers slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress higher while he checked in.

“Go easy on her.”

That warning growl stilled Mihawk's hand for just a moment before he let out a piercing laugh.

“Says the man I had to rein in earlier. Did you end up tearing her pretty pussy to shreds anyway? Before our little treasure even picks a safe word?”

“Watch your—“

“I have a safe word,” you chirped, interrupting Crocodile for the second time today. They were both quiet, the silence making you itch.

“Why didn’t you tell us,” he questioned, those large fingers kneading your neck and shoulders.

“Well, you didn’t ask, and I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think what, exactly,” Mihawk cut in, a dangerous tease in his words. “Didn’t think that two ex-warlords would care at all if their favorite toy got broken beyond repair?”

He kissed your cheek then, squeezing your thigh while he poured more of that wicked voice in your ear.

“Don’t worry, pet, I’ll break you as many times as I please. But if you don’t take good care of my things, we’ll have a very different kind of punishment.”

“You know we’ll take care of you,” Crocodile rasped, the cold metal of his hook smoothing over your cheek. “Tell us your word, but promise you’ll only use it when you need it, sweetheart. You know how I feel about liars.”

“I p-promise. It’s ‘hopscotch.”

“Perfect,” Mihawk nibbled on your ear before pulling away. “Now we can have some real fun.”

A cheerful tune came whistling through the door before it burst open. Buggy gleamed under the light in a set of red pajamas, his long blue hair braided over his shoulder leaving a damp stain against that clean fabric.

He’d donned a light version of his circus makeup, and it hurt your heart to think of how long it might be before you saw him without it again.

“This clown is as clean as a whistle,” Buggy announced, winking at you while he dragged the velvet chair as close as possible. He plopped himself down, laying his legs across the coffee table to wiggle his blue-painted toes in front of your knees.

You shoved a knuckle between your teeth after a snort slipped out of you, and Buggy sent a floating hand to tug gently on your earlobe. Your cheeks burned, and you had to close your eyes.

The past few days had ripped you away, and you’d been feeling frustrated before then.

But Buggy could always make you laugh.

“It's been a long day,” Mihawk drawled, ignoring the barefoot clown as he looked over your head at Crocodile. “I think I’ll help our little rabbit tuck in for the night. Come along, pet.”

He stood gracefully, and you took his offered hand, not knowing what he was truly offering.

“I’ll join you shortly,” Crocodile said after a pause, eyeing the swordsman as he carried you toward the door.

“I’ll come–”

Glancing back, you saw that golden hook catch Buggy’s braid, forcing him to turn away from you.

“We don’t need you waiting by the door tonight,” the larger man chuckled, his deep voice following you through the air into the hallway.

Mihawk’s hands felt electric as he held you, the chaste touch somehow tearing through your body.

How can he make every little thing feel so fucking filthy?

He hummed to himself as if he’d heard your thought, carrying you into Crocodile’s suite. You spun while he hung up his fancy coat, noting all the changes the suite had gone through since this morning, only stopping to watch Mihawk pull a few items from a wardrobe that hadn’t been there before.

“Join me for a shower,” he asked lightly, tapping your nose. “I couldn’t bear to make my pet sleep with the scent of sour dirt tonight.”

“Okay,” you coughed to hide a laugh, still not sure how to act around this stoic man who didn’t seem so stoic around you.

Deadly hands undressed you, tracing your skin softly, just enough to make you sigh. Standing on that fluffy bath mat again with his nude body so close had you curling your toes, and you couldn't look away while he started the water.

“Here, darling,” he ordered, handing you a shower cap before brushing a few strands from your face. “It would be a shame to dull this pretty hair by overwashing it. Do you think those high society clients would still respect my little rabbit if she’s not as shiny as she was?”

“I don’t–”

Cruel fingers fisted into your hair, stretching your neck to the side while his tongue teased along that vulnerable flesh. You moaned as you clung to his sides, trying to stay on your feet while he guided toward the shower. He released you, his harsh grip followed with a gentle touch as he helped you put the cap on, tucking stray strands inside.

Mihawk pulled you under that perfectly hot water, making your eyes roll back as he began to wash your skin. No touch was overtly sexual, but each one was sensual, leaving your body tingling, muscles relaxing under his attention.

You’d almost forgotten what he’d been talking about.

“What will they think of their perfect numbers girl now that she’s my filthy pet? The Cross Guild’s pretty little slut?”

Blinking a few times to get your heavy lidded eyes to work, you found him waiting for you. Watching him spread suds across his unreal body almost took your mind away again.

“Some of them will judge me,” you started, meeting his searing gaze through the steam. “They’ll think I’m stupid, or crazy, or a whore.”

“Maybe all three,” he mused. You cut him off before the next words could leave his lips.

“Most of them will be jealous.”

His lips quirked just slightly, and he pulled you under the water again, leaving a wet kiss on your lips as the soap rinsed away.

“Why would they be jealous of you, Y/N,” he rasped when he wrapped a warm towel around you. Your name on his lips sent fear through your veins, making you question your answer, but you knew you could never lie to him.

“I think they’re just as bored as I was, if not more. That’s why it’s so easy to convince them to throw money at ridiculous things. Why they all have stupid, petty skeletons in their closets. They’re boring people with boring lives, and they would kill for a little adventure, if they weren’t such fucking cowards. So instead of living, they just pay an obscene amount of berry to rub shoulders with little danger now and then.”

You ended your rant with a shrug, hanging the towel up to dry while the swordsman studied your every movement.

He left you in silence again, handing you a white linen top while you tried not to burn to ash under his molten gaze. Thankfully, you got you got distracted by watching him pull on burgundy pajama pants, the silky fabric doing nothing to dull the gleam of his still bare chest.

“Is this yours,” you asked, finally pulling the white fabric over your head. It felt very piratey, and you tugged at the laces to close the wide gap over your chest, bouncing on your toes while you looked at your reflection. He wrapped himself around your back, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“It is. Let’s–”

“I didn’t think you owned any shirts.”

Your eyes went wide as the words left your lips, adrenaline buzzing through you at the feel of his fingers pressing into your skin.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“You are a brave little rabbit, aren’t you,” he whispered, kissing your temple before leading you by the hand. “Let’s get some rest. You’ve got a party to plan tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you nodded, watching him pull the blankets aside for you to climb onto the massive bed. He smirked as he joined you, his heat giving you chills when he pulled your back against his chest. His breath tickled your neck, and you melted into him as his deep hum vibrated through you.

Each touch was gentle, almost lazy, as if those strong fingers were writing a lullaby on your skin. There was no push, just a soft pull toward relaxation, a call to join him in sleep.

Yet whimpers fell from your lips, your body writhing against his until he let out a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Is there something you need, rabbit?”

That voice sent your eyes rolling back, the hidden promise and threat in his words adding to the need dripping between your legs. He traced his nails along your thigh, and you moaned just from the feel of him that close.

“Mm, what’s this,” he taunted as his fingers dragged through all that slick. Your back arched, his featherlight touch over where you ached for him forcing a whine from you. “So desperate for me. And I thought you’d be too sore. Or are you that much of a cockslut, Y/N?”

He blocked your greedy hand from reaching back for him, digging those just-gentle fingers into your arm while you whined.

“Use your words,” he chided, clicking his tongue. “Does my precious little whore want to get fucked?”

Legs shaking as you whimpered, your needy “yes” was barely audible. Your next breath came in a gasp as Mihawk shifted, wrapping his arm underneath you. It curled around you until his fingers gripped your throat, forcing you back against his chest.

“I didn’t fucking hear you, slut,” he growled as he pressed his silk covered cock against your ass. “Be a good pet, and beg for what you want.”

“Please, fuck me, sir–”

Your strained plea ended with a moan, Mihawk’s free hand pushing that silk out of the way. He choked you harder when he entered you, before wrapping his free hand around your hip to attack your clit.

“Mihawk…”

“Such a lovely whore, screaming my name so well.”

His vicious praise, his calculated thrusts, and his wicked fingers around your throat sent you into chaos, spasming in his arms. He loosened the pressure on your neck as you came down, but kept everything else going. You twitched as he played with your clit, the pleasure almost too much before he slowed all of his movements.

“I understand why you want Crocodile,” the swordsman drawled, giving you just enough pleasure to make you whimper. “I saw how quickly you gave in this morning. You enjoyed being punished.”

“Mhm,” you admitted, moaning when he rewarded you with another squeeze to your throat.

“And somehow, that fool clown makes you laugh so much that you keep putting yourself in harm's way for him. But if all you want is a floating cock, I’ve got plenty of toys you can fuck without all that risk,” he chuckled as your body tensed. Then he gave you what you needed, hitting against that perfect spot inside you over and over until you forgot everything but him.

“That’s alright, little rabbit. I intend to remain your favorite.”

“What…” you breathed out, almost lost again.

“Shh, darling, you know how well I can read you. Mm, how’s that, pet,” he checked in.

“You feel so good.”

“You know I can make you feel good. So good that your body will crave my touch, even when your other lovers make you scream.”

One more thrust, one more touch of those fingers, and you would be screaming for him again.

Instead, you almost sobbed as he went still.

“But you’ll have to earn it. Be a good little rabbit for me, or I might even keep the others from offering relief,” he threatened in your ear. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, and you fought the urge to fuck yourself onto him.

“How many hours… How many days could you take it, hm? Maybe we should test it out, just to be sure.”

“N-no, please, sir.”

“Mm, such a well-mannered pet you are. Keep begging.”

You did.

You kept begging, even as your voice struggled through his choking grasp, and through the next orgasm he ripped from you.

“My hungry, little vixen,” he purred, kicking off that burgundy silk as he rolled you onto your stomach. He forced a pillow beneath your hips before his thrusts went mean. Your fingers twisted into the sheets, the overwhelm still too delicious for you to care. His breath against your hair made your eyes roll white as he propped himself up over your back.

“Do you want to be a good pet for me,” he teased, his own voice finally straining.

“Yes,” you whined, almost there again, your body nearly done. A small part of you heard the door open, but the rest of you shattered at Mihawk's next words, and his harsh fingers ripping into your hair.

“Then take my come, you filthy slut… Mm, such a pretty whore, milking my cock on command. Fuck...”

Mihawk’s moans were just as intoxicating as his evil words, and you became nothing but pleasure with the pain. Your toes curled as hot ropes of come filled you, but he didn’t stop. He kept fucking his come into you, grunting softly while you whimpered beneath him, drool staining your lips.

“That’s enough.”

Your body tightened at Crocodile’s low voice, making the swordsman’s cock twitch inside you, until you were gasping and squirming again.

“You should be proud, Crocodile,” he teased, kissing down your back as he pulled out of you. He helped you roll over, smirking while he spread you open, showing off his work that was dripping slowly through your folds. “Our numbers girl is so obedient.”

“You’re not a whore, Y/N.”

Blinking up at that scarred face, you couldn’t fight the hazy fog of confusion while your body still twitched.

“Don’t be so pedantic,” Mihawk scoffed, kissing along your jaw. “She wanted to be our whore, didn’t you, Y/N? Go ahead and tell your daddy what a cockslut you–”

“Enough.”

The command stopped your breath, and the shift in Mihawk’s body made your blood run cold.

Fuck, please don’t fight.

Your golden-eyed lover sat up, but kept a possessive hand on your thigh, fingers smearing his pleasure down your skin.

“If I had known you weren’t good at sharing toys–”

“Y/N has other uses. If you can’t treat her as anything but a whore, then we should–”

Mihawk stood, his nude form facing off with Crocodile at the foot of the bed while you held your breath.

“We should what? Let the poor thing suffer all alone with her dainty fingers every night? I’m sure she'd prefer being our whore over that. And why the sudden morality, Crocodile,” Mihawk challenged, sauntering toward the wall to lean uncomfortably close to Yoru. “Did you find religion in that hungry cunt this morning?”

You sat up, clutching at the loose, linen shirt to cover your chest, ignoring the sticky mess between your thighs. Crocodile cracked his neck, pale eyes flicking toward your movement.

“We promised that she’d be our girl, and that we’d take care of her. She’s got more talents than that, and I won’t have you treating her like some cheap whore to toss out when you’re bored.”

Even naked, Mihawk was frightening, danger like lightning under his skin, ready to strike at any moment. He let out another sharp laugh, rolling his eyes.

“It’s just a word, Crocodile, I’d never toss out our little treasure. I’m surprised at what a prude you are,” he chuckled, moving toward you, but still not far enough from his sword for your liking. “Did you like it when I called you that, Y/N? Did you enjoy getting fucked like a whore?”

A tiny, pathetic sound left your throat, and his satisfied look made you shiver before you glanced up at Crocodile's unreadable face.

“Answer him, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice coaxed, nodding at your choked out “yes.” He turned back to the smug swordsman, taking a single step, his long legs bringing him too close.

“Y/N’s our numbers girl, our financial advisor, and she’ll need to be taken seriously if this guild is gonna make any berry. If you disrespect her in front of anyone besides me or the clown, we will have a problem.”

“There it is,” Mihawk smirked, his chin lifting even higher as he returned the larger man’s glare. “Our overgrown lizard didn’t fall in love after all. I wonder how many people you’d whore her out to if it’d net you more ber—”

Your scream felt quiet compared to the clash of hook against sword.

The ex-warlords seethed, sword cleaving through empty air as flesh turned to sand, their venomous words lost to your ears while you struggled to move.

You wanted to run, to hide, to beg them to stop fighting over you.

They’re not fighting over me. They’re fighting for control.

That thought slowed your breathing, fear growing sickly sweet in your gut. Even with all the danger, you had started to feel safe, a naïve part of you had believed all their promises.

But what if I stop being useful?

The door cracked open, panicked blue eyes watching the first slow tears fall down your frozen cheeks. Until warm fingers wiped them away.

The noise of the fight still echoed through the room, but your mind was gone from it as two disembodied hands held you under your arms, lifting you into the air. Buggy nodded reassuringly as he floated you toward him, shouldering the door open for you to fit through. His handless arms were outstretched, waiting to catch you, but his hands almost dropped you when the door slammed shut.

Sand had hit the door, shifting into that daunting form. Crocodile’s breathing was heavy as he scowled down at you.

“Where were you off to, little rabbit,” came Mihawk’s taunting voice, breathing against the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry," you stuttered, quivering in the air, "I wasn’t–”

“It’s my fault, I was taking her! She looked scared, that’s all, Y/N didn’t ask–”

Crocodile opened the door, dragging Buggy inside by his braid, bringing the clown within reach.

So you reached for him.

“Buggy…” you gave one quiet sob, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You breathed him in as he returned his hands, holding you close.

The embrace lasted longer than you thought it would, and you melted into him, until anxiety hit. Opening your eyes, you caught Crocodile watching you, touching your damp cheek with a finger while he shook his head.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart. I promised we’d take care of you, alright?”

You nodded over Buggy’s shoulder, his own breathing ragged as he pressed you against his chest. Your other lover came into view, standing close to his recent opponent while he trailed gentle fingers through your hair.

“Don’t fret, darling, I just like to play. You know I’ll protect what’s mine,” he promised, his head tilting when you nodded for him.

The four of you stayed like that, your heart the only thing that seemed to move. Buggy held you tight, while Mihawk and Crocodile stared down into your wide eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Mihawk finally broke the spell, guiding Buggy to carry you to the bathroom, cleaning up the mess between your thighs. He didn’t even tease you, just kissed your forehead when he checked in. “Will you feel safer if the clown stays with us tonight?”

It felt like a dangerous question, but you were too tired to lie.

“Yes.”

Buggy’s surprised hum made your eyes flutter closed, until you were set down on that huge bed. Crocodile kissed your temple while Buggy slid in on your other side, with Mihawk wrapping his arm around the clown to reach you. You were curled against Buggy’s chest, and with Crocodile wrapped around your back, you were embraced by three ex-warlords all at once.

The blanket was replaced with a sheet, but even then, you wondered if you’d wake up on fire from the heat of all their bodies.

The giggle that escaped your lips at that thought shocked you, and brought soft noises from your three lovers. Buggy kissed your hair, Mihawk’s fingers traced a few slow circles along your side, while Crocodile’s deep voice rolled over you.

“Feeling alright, sweet girl?”

That slowly shrinking part of your brain tried to convince you that you should be terrified. That tonight was more proof of the danger you’re in. That you should run for your life, run away from the Cross Guild at the first chance you got.

But being held like this, feeling their warmth, and melting into the intoxicating scent of all three of them made your fear fade into nothing.

“I feel good,” you confessed, letting yourself drift into dreams, with three living anchors to guide your way.

“Mm, pretty…”

“Bugs,” you sighed, shifting beneath the press of heat around you. Buggy groaned as he rutted against your thigh, but you couldn’t writhe under the weight of so many arms.

“I wonder what clowns dream of to get their dicks so hard. It has to be our little rabbit.”

Mihawk’s hand had trailed down your side, brushing against that hard length. You were wide awake now, but still trapped, Crocodile’s low chuckle sending shivers over your skin while Buggy woke with a yelp.

“Good morning! I’ll just–” Buggy choked out, body tensing as he looked back and forth between the other men. He tried to float away, but his head got yanked back, his braid caught beneath your shoulder, and Mihawk’s arm that was wrapped around him squeezed tighter until he stilled.

“I don’t believe this clown asked for permission to rub his cock all over our little rabbit, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: Lol, sorry about Buggy getting his braid caught 3 times in this chapter. I had super long hair for years (lower back to mid thigh), and used to get stuck everywhere 😅 Poor Buggy, our lil clown is trapped again

Part 12

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

170 notes · View notes

placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year

Text

How does it look? Ah, it’s an improvement

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Ok, so another gap between updates, but for everyone that's still here, I hope you guys enjoy it, your comments and asks give me life 💕

Part 6 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

In the days after your little run in with König at the gym, things had been tense with the guys. So much so that until you could find time for a ‘covert’ date, you’d tried to avoid him like the plague. Of course that meant that he was open to attack from the rest of your team, but you figured, what harm could they really do? Well as it turned out, after finally lifting your self imposed ban, he’d said they’d been on him like bloodhounds.

Apparently there was no limit they would reach to defend your honour, not that it needed defending in the first place (but you couldn’t tell them that). After a mixture of the guys trying to warn him, threaten him, jump out at him, knock his tea off of the counter and throw his food in the bin, they’d made it difficult for König to do much of anything around base. Your mind had buzzed in a near constant state of anxiety, waiting to see what they’d do next.

Luckily for your frayed nerves and König’s safety however, they stopped being as harsh to him as time went on. In only a couple weeks in fact, they’d stopped attempting to jump him and threaten him away from you, and instead took to glaring at him and giving him what you called the ‘school girl treatment’. Sure, bitching about him and saying they couldn’t wait to put Ex Nihilo in the ground once and for all so they could flush out KorTac wasn’t particularly helpful for team morale, but it meant that you didn’t need to worry about your lover getting shanked anymore.

If you were being honest, you couldn’t help but feel he deserved it a little given it had been his bright idea to rile you up in the first place. That’s what you get for trying to show off in front of Ghost. However that didn’t mean you didn’t still worry for him, far from it. You were practically biting your tongue off whenever König would happen across your path.

“Didn’t anyone tell you the love of your life aint in your chain of command Soap?”

“Oh shut the fuck up!”

You snorted as Soap shot you a glare. He’d momentarily distracted himself from pinning Ghost only to end up rolled over and under the heavy frame of the Lieutenant - who he’d only just managed to hold down himself. His body landed on the ground with a thundering crash, and at the very same time he let out a small ‘oof’ you held your hands at your mouth and tried to hold back on the stream of laughter threatening to burst out. Not that that was any use, you were breaking in no time, squealing like a kid. Served him right for getting cocky. He’d been leaning hard into Ghost, his eyes level and lips caught in a ridiculous smirk.

“Looks like the next rounds on you again, Johnny boy!” Ghost chuckled, releasing Soap before he snapped something.

“No! No, no, no, I call bullshit on that,” Soap huffed, jumping to his feet like a jack in the box. “The only reason you won was because that little dick couldn’t keep their mouth shut.”

Your fellow sergeant held an accusing finger up at you, his face going pink in anger. Sore loser. You gasped in mock offence then proceeded to shoot him your best puppy eyes and shrugged, perfecting a show of innocence that would make an angel weep.

“Me?”

“Yes you! Love of your life’s not in your chain of command’,” he echoed, pitching your words up like a little girl. “Fuck off!”

“I don’t sound like that,” you sniggered, watching as his face got redder. “Don’t be a sore loser Soap.”

Soap hit the mat just shy of his thigh, pounding it as if it were a way to wage revenge, working himself up as you and Ghost continued to laugh like hyenas.

Ghost eventually joined your side, he picked up the water bottle he’d abandoned by his workout gear and took a long gulp, huffing as he lowered the bottle back down. Ghost’s breathing was laboured and you could smell the sharp stench of sweat coming off of him in waves, apparently even with your intervention, that hadn’t been an easy victory. You knew that well enough yourself, you were only barely able to beat him sometimes, he’d earned his nickname just as much as you’d merited yours.

“I almost had the bastard this time!” Soap huffed, slumping. “If it hadn’t a’ been for you.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better I’ll pay for it,” you offered, rising to your feet. “Given you both go get a shower, you guys fuckin’ stink.”

Soap smirked at that, his eyes regaining their lost spark as if he’d been given a jumpstart. You didn’t care for it.

“Really? I don’t think I smell too bad,” Soap said, his voice taking on an edge again. “C’mere, let me make you really pay for it!”

“Wait, what are you- ew! No! Get away from me!”

You squealed as Soap made a dash for you and hopped out the way from his grabbing arms, jumping away like a scared cricket. Unfortunately he was blocking the exit, forcing you into the corner of the room, keeping you on the edge of your toes while he held his arms up, torturing you with the threat of a hug. It took everything in you to keep track of where the mats were and not to slip on the shiny wooden floors, squeaking with every step you took as you frantically traversed the hall.

“It’s just like you said Sneaky, can’t fraternise outside my rank. Guess that just leaves you!” He laughed, making another unsuccessful lunge at you.

“I’m sure Gaz…is around here somewhere,” you said, breathing hard as you continued to duck and dive from him.

Despite Mactavish’s best efforts, you still managed to elude him. When he leapt for you, you strafed away and even when he’d successfully grab your arm, you’d break his hold before he could wrap you in his stinking death grip.

You were so close to the exit now. You’d danced your way there, too busy walking backwards and throwing Soap off of your intentions that you were taken unawares when you backed into something solid where an empty doorway should’ve been. It was only when two familiar big hands drew round your frame to steady you, that you realised exactly who you’d bumped into.

“Careful Sergeant,” König said, his voice surely thick with a grin. “I see training in the 141 is as rigorous as ever.”

You sigh, taking a cautious look over at Ghost who has his eyes locked on the offensive figure behind you. Even as Ghost stood there smelling like week old laundry he’d acted as if König had dragged putrid roadkill into the room and asked him to take a bite.

“You wanna test how good our training is, König?” Soap barked, puffing his chest out like a cartoon gorilla.

You rolled your eyes.

“No thank you, I’m afraid I’d get terribly bored.”

“Funny,” Ghost said plainly, tilting his head. “Maybe we could find out how interesting you find us once you let go of Sneak. Could make sure those dirty mitts don’t linger too long again.”

You could feel his fingers dig into your skin, and with just a cursory glance up to the slits in König’s mask, you knew he hadn’t been meaning to clutch onto you for so long. Though, even in your haste to be subtle you didn’t miss the wink he gave you when he let you go, or the way his fingers brushed against you like falling silk. Clearly someone had been missing you. Probably as much as you’d missed him.

“Apologies,” he’d said, not able to resist whispering after, “lucky for him he doesn’t know where these ‘mitts’ were last weekend.”

You choked on your next breath and turned so that your back was to the others before they could see your haunted expression. König was becoming a master of landing you in the shit. Even as you tried to glare at him, your paranoid mind wondered if they could see your body buzzing with worry.

“Why are you here, König?” you asked, voice shaking with a hundred different emotions.

Even under the darkness of his full hood, König’s eyes sparkled with mischief and you didn’t miss the playful raise of his brows. He was continuing to wage war on you, even when you giving him the ‘stop fucking with me’ look. He was going to hear about that later.

“Curiously enough, Price sent me. He wanted me to tell you to come to his office.”

Everyone’s breaths were collectively stolen from the room.

“Price? Price asked you to talk to Sneak for him?” Soap said dubiously, first to ask before anyone else could.

You were too busy wondering if he’d figured something out.

“Funny isn’t it?” König said, his gaze squarely fixed on you. “He was in a rush to sort something and unfortunately for him, I was the only one around. I think you’re being sent off on a mission.”

You didn’t miss the way his voice dropped in disappointment. If you were going away with Price then it was anyone’s guess how long you’d be away for. Last time he’d spirited away with Gaz he’d disappeared for days, and come back afterwards sagging like a melted ice cream. Whatever you’d be doing, it’d likely tire you out just as much and even if you were to come back through the weekend you’d likely be beat just the same. With that in mind, you knew it was unlikely you’d get to carry out your fun weekend plans with König. That meant it’d be a whole week’s wait until you got to meet with him again.

Fuck.

“Oh…thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course. Can’t ignore an order from the Captain.”

The ‘unfortunately’ didn’t have to be said, it hung in the air between you two like black clouds of smoke. It took everything in you to ignore him from then on, turning instead to your things and stuffing them into your pockets. Your ears burned as they traced his footsteps fading from the doorway, and your chest grew heavy knowing you’d be missing him like hell until you could see him again.

“Fancy that, Price going against his own orders,” Ghost said, folding his bulging arms over his chest.

Always looking for a fight.

“Fuck, probably didn’t even ask that cunt. The thing probably ate the guy that was actually supposed to come get Sneak,” Soap sniggered, finally emerging from his huff.

Oh yeah, they’d taken to calling König names now as well. They particularly enjoyed comparing him to a horrific bug monster which, even as childish as that was, was a little entertaining to you given you knew how much he hated that particular film when you’d tried to show it to him. He didn’t care for monster flicks.

“I don’t think he’d lie,” you shrugged, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Really? I think he’d stab his own mother just to get a giggle,” Ghost snorted.

Clearly you don't know him very well. You laughed even in spite of knowing that what your Lieutenant said wasn’t remotely true, maybe even because you knew how ridiculous it was. They had a lot of fun making him out to be a raging sadist when as far as they were aware he’d done no worse than them on the field. König would stab himself before a hair on his mothers head came to harm, he practically gave half his wage just to make sure she ate well every month.

“Maybe. Even so, I better go see what Price wants. Must be deadly urgent if he was desperate enough to send König,” you said, heading back toward the exit.

“True. Sure you don’t want a reassuring hug before you go?” Soap asked, making a move like he’d come bounding up to you.

“Nope! Not even if this is the job I die on,” you called, speed walking down the corridor before he got any bright ideas.

-☠️-

Just as König had said, you ended up pulled away with Price on reconnaissance. Now, while you’d much rather have been curled up in a hotel room with König and living out your lazy weekend plans, it turned out being away wasn’t all that bad. For one thing, Price was practically his old self with you again and for another it was good to get away from the rest of the 141.

Constantly having to listen to them verbally disassemble the man that you were secretly in love with was a lot and it took everything not to sit there and defend him sometimes. Even then that would just result in an uproar about how you let people treat you. At that point you’d take Price’s steady quiet presence and occasional rumbles about coffee and football anyday.

“You seeing anything Sneaky?”

Price’s hushed voice crackled over your comms, the tiny earpiece was flooding with interference from the busy market. Crowds of people swarmed and overflowing stalls that were bursting with goods, with salesmen boasting about their produce and wares like it was the last day on earth to buy anything. The heat beat down on your back and your outfit did little to help with the glaring sun, one of the pitfalls of wearing baggy clothing to conceal weapons. Your scent mingled with the rest of the sweltering bodies that bumped your sides and moved around you, but most of all you scented the rich foods and the old antiques that filled the stalls. Your senses were going wild, overstimulated to the max.

“Not a fuckin’ thing,” you finally muttered.

You’d been sent out to intercept a meeting between two Ex Nihlio members, according to intel gathered from KorTac earlier in the week they were supposed to meet by one of the spice stalls. It was your job to route them out and figure out if they knew anything about Rousseau’s whereabouts. Only issue was that you were drowning in spice stalls. Both you and Price had taken turns dressing up like tourists with your big nikon cameras and neon bags and were playing a game of spot the terrorist cell with only a prayer that you hadn’t already missed them.

Price was taking his turn up on the roof, nestled conveniently in a skillion like a bird of prey about to strike, watching and waiting with his binoculars up and gun at the ready. You felt safe knowing he was with you, his mumbled words of reassurance kept you sane as you traversed the labyrinthian pathways over and over and had to pretend to take an interest in various trinkets.

However, you’d been on the streets for a couple hours now, you knew that soon enough you’d have to swap again and it’d be your turn to play sniper on the roof. That was - If your aching feet were anything to go by. You sighed and took a look around, deciding to do one last sweep around the stalls before you joined Price and relieved him of his position.

“Hold on Sneak, turn around - don’t be obvious,” Price said, voice coming in low and grizzled from disuse.

You froze in your spot and swallowed, committing yourself to your new task, taking a moment to look through your pockets before palming a warm penny. With a fake gasp, you sent it rolling behind you and leaned down, walking a few paces so that you could retrieve the penny off the ground while looking around for the source of Price’s interruption. When you looked up to the row of stalls across from you, you saw what he’d tipped you off on.

“Try to get in close.”

Situated next to an array of autumn coloured spice piles, were two men wearing dark shirts and trousers, talking hushedly to one another. While you couldn’t be absolutely sure that they were Ex Nihlio, you knew that it didn’t look like they were there to shop. You glanced away from them for a moment and set your sights on a curio stall next to them, stepping almost silently over the gritty path until you reached your target.

Their voices were low, coming in softer than a light breeze, but still you managed to catch a little of what they were saying and you knew the receiver would too. You tilted your head toward them, trying to give Price the best chance of hearing them too; all while you picked up a tiny bird figure barely bigger than one of your digits and held it to your eyes. You softly ran your fingers over the wood like you might bring it to life somehow and turned it this way and that, inspecting it carefully - it was important to make your fascination with the object look convincing.

“Your orders are clear, you are not allowed to move forward.”

“But we have everything in place, we’re ready! I don’t understand.”

The men were tense, their voices strained as they endeavoured to stay quiet.

“We have to be more reserved now. Ever since…he was taken and the tourists were found, things have been different. Plan’s changed.”

“What! because his-”

“Quiet! Not another word. This visit in itself was a courtesy only extended to you, we’ve had to stop everything we had planned, things have changed.”

“I don’t accept that. We have to keep the momentum going or we won’t be taken seriously.”

You breathed out quietly, watching as the stall owner started approaching you and you let a smile melt onto your face, trying to keep up the dumb tourist charade. The woman looked keen as she approached, face reminiscent of a fox’s with her eager golden eyes and high cheekbones. Her lips were curved into a grin and she hunched over the counter tactically surveying her eyes over your form. She was probably anticipating someone stupid, someone that could be easily fleeced.

“It’s a nice statue isn’t it? Are you interested in buying?”

“Uh, yeah I think so, it’s really cute,” you said with a short unsure laugh, trying to keep your voice low enough for Price to hear over. “How much is it though?”

Regrettably for her you weren’t going to be the easy mark that she’d assessed you as. Nevertheless, you still hoped to god she wasn’t going to ask for too much. You’d figured before setting out that you needed to buy some stuff so that you could blend in, but you hadn’t brought an awful lot and you’d already gotten some pastries and drink with the paltry change. Plus the little swallow, for all its tiny size, was very detailed, it’s little carved tail and wing feathers and dark wood would surely drive the cost up. Then there was also the fact that there was no way you’d be able to just accept the given price, you’d have to negotiate so that you had a reason for sticking around.

While you desperately strained to try and hear the argument ensuing between the two men next to you, you weakly haggled with the woman giving her numbers that her lips upturned like a direly unamused theatre mask. Eventually though you both reached an agreement and the little figure was yours, but now you had to work out your next move.

“‘We are from nothing, and we will fight each day until they can never reduce our names to the dirt again’- remember when that was our calling? Remember when we committed to a cause that day, does that mean nothing to you? We must act now!”

“It must mean nothing to you, if you are willing to risk everything just for a moment of glory.”

You didn’t have to struggle to blend in much longer.

A loud shot rang out above the swathes of people around you and suddenly the entire market descended into chaos and terror, people ran and screamed and hid; fleeing like pigeons. You looked over to where the two men had been and saw only one now as he rushed away into the crowd while the other lay dead and bloody on the ground. The man’s pupils were tiny pin pricks staring emptily into the glaring sun, all life torn from the deserted vessel of his body. He’d gone back to nothing after all.

“Price, I'm going after him.”

You tore your eyes from the dead man and chased after his killer, trying desperately to catch up as he faded into the crowds. You weaved and ducked, trying to remain discreet even still as you traced his path and took advantage of the wake he left in the crowd. He was like a speedboat tearing through choppy seas, disgruntled people were pushed to the side and made to move as he bulldozed through and gave you plenty of opportunity to follow.

“You need to stop, Sneak. We don’t know if he has friends hiding around the area! Do you hear me? Stop! Sneak, how copy?”

Price was too late. You’d collided with the man already, strategically shoving him into an alleyway and underneath your body. You both breathed hard, groaning as your knees and his back made contact with the hard ground, but neither of you could afford to feel it for long. He fought his way up, reaching for a knife he’d stowed in a thigh pocket and attempted to plunge it into you before you disarmed him, smashing his wrist against the wall and pounding it with your other.

“I got him pinned down, we’re in the alley a few streets up, he’s fighting back pretty hard,” you growled, thoroughly out of breath from trying to subdue the squirming screaming man.

“That’s not what I ordered!”

“Well what are my orders now?” you asked, gritting your teeth as you punched the man, narrowly missing being hit first.

Price didn’t speak for a beat, the silence was tense as you fought to subdue your target, filled with your gasping breaths and struggling bodies scraping against the grit like sandpaper. You could practically feel the steam that was pouring from Price’s ears coming in through the earpiece, sweat was pooling all over your body, exertion and heat were kicking in. After a moment, your captain finally responded through gritted teeth, his voice crackling all the more as you realised that he was on the move.

“Coming to you now. Hold him there.”

Easier said than done. You felt like a bull rider as you bucked around on top of the stranger trying to subdue his movements with as little force as possible. While it was important to make sure he was kept down and kept quiet, you couldn’t do too much damage or it was worthless even stopping him in the first place. Clearly this man was in contact with Rousseau or at least someone very close to him, so it was of the utmost importance that you brought him in lucid and ready to spill. Or rather spill after some convincing, the look in his eye was that of a man that wouldn’t give you any satisfaction for nothing.

His teeth were bared at you like an animal, one of them metallic and glinting in the sliver of light that emerged through the darkness. His eyes were wild like a feral lion. There was something about his face that terrified you in that moment, the sheer determination to kill you, the will of a man with conviction in his cause to tear you down. You had the upper hand though, finally you’d been able to reach the pistol you’d secreted away at your side and pulled it on him, holding it against him with a soundless ultimatum.

“Get the fuck off me! I’ll have your eyes for this, fucking scum!”

The man ranted and screamed, but even still you weren’t deterred from your task. You kept him pinned down with the gun snug at his temple, praying that Price would be there soon. Luck wasn’t on your side that day though, rarely ever was, suddenly you were sailing onto your back. Stars filled your vision, light melting as the sky faded far away. It was somewhat reminiscent of what you’d seen happen days before, Ghost on top of Soap after his failed victory, Soap stuck to the ground like a monkey under a tigers paw.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked.

Someone that you didn’t recognise, an accent you couldn’t place.

“I’ll be fine! Finish them off and let’s go,” your target responded.

You winced, expecting that to be your final moment, the last thing you ever heard was a dismissal of your efforts. Through the murky darkness two eyes flashed through your head, two crystalline pools that opened like planets in the empty space of your mind. In your mind, König looked back on you smiling, his watchful gaze always reminding you of an angel while he loomed over you, bare chested and warm just like he’d been at the hotel.

Had that been your last though you would’ve died happy, you decided.

Though you weren’t going to die that day, not yet. Another gunshot blasted through the atmosphere, ricocheting in your ears, but as you were still around to hear it and you weren't lying there in blinding pain - well not any more than you’d felt before the gun fired - you deduced the man had missed. Instead another man’s scream rang out and a flurry of footprints followed, scraping to get away.

You opened your eyes, finally able to see again, but felt blinding pain replace your stolen vision. It coursed through your skull and rattled through your back, making you hiss as you sat up and stradied yourself on your scraped up hands. Colours and shapes swelled and swirled before your eyes before condensing and becoming clear. Price took form in front of you seconds later, his hands tight on your shoulders as he grabbed you and gave you a look over, running his hand gently over your head as if you were his child.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” he muttered, eyes narrowing harshly as he realised you were ok. “You had no idea who else was there and wouldn’t you know it - who should show up, but one of his little friends”

“I…I already had him before you said to let him go,” you groaned, blinking furiously as you tried not to let the darkness at the edge of your vision take over.

“Is that right? Well, well done to you and your fucking initiative,” he groaned, “Look at you, you look like you’re going to fall apart. Are you ok, can you see?”

“Feels like it too,” you said, smiling weakly. “I can see, things just got hazy for a second there…Did you send the rest of the team after them?”

Price rolled his eyes, the bags under them looking pinched as he kept looking you over. Another group of soldiers had been kept on standby, ready to swoop in and drive you and whoever you might capture, but it didn’t look like Price was thinking of them then. He was focused on you, kneeling across from you and surveying for any changes. He let go of your shoulders, instead propping you up against an old crate that sat abandoned in the alley.

“Course I sent them,” he said eventually. “Don’t think they’ll catch up though.”

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling the full weight of the blow to your head.

“How bad’s the wound?” you asked, wincing as your fingers came away from it with blood.

“Not bad. Not good either though,” Price deadpanned. “I’ll walk you out of here in a minute. I just want to make sure you’re going to stay awake.”

“Walk? You mean we can’t call an Uber?”

Price didn’t see the funny side of your joke, he shook his head and ran a hand through his beard, taking extra time to scratch as he reached the thicker sides. He was deep in thought, trying to process what had happened, and work out where to go from there. There was a look in his eyes he always got when he was catastrophizing, and you could tell he was in full crisis mode. His steady hands and stiff posture only served to throw off people that didn’t know him well enough.

“What is it?”

“Two of em’ have seen your face now.”

You had already thought of that.

“I know,” you said quietly, finally looking away from him.

Neither of you said anything else for a second. You focused in on the crowd behind you instead, the people that still rushed through the streets trying to avoid a silent threat that had already run far from their paths. Their voices and scampering feet echoed and danced through the alleyway, distracting you from your pain for a moment. Thought still coursed through you in the background, remained swirling through your body like a snake constricting around your brain and back.

“We need to get you out of here and get you to a medic.”

You nodded, you wouldn’t fight him on that. A medic would have pain killers. You tried to rise on your own, gripping the rough wooden crate like a lifeline, but found yourself almost collapsing again until Price rushed to your side and held you up, grunting as he bore your weight. Through the vignette of your fading vision you could see the tight lipped grimace he was giving you and knew you were probably sporting a similar look of your own.

“Don’t try to move on your own, let me help you,” Price growled.

“You gonna carry me all the way back to car?” you asked sceptically, remembering how far you had to go.

“Can’t bloody well leave you. We don’t know if that bastard’s got more friends hanging around.”

“You could stick me in another alley and bring the car closer?” you asked, already knowing what his answer would be,

“Not a chance. C’mon, get moving those feet. That’s an order!”

Stubborn.

You grit your teeth and felt the pain shoot through your back and curl up in your stomach as you moved. You knew you hadn’t broken anything, but you were still feeling the effects of getting winded and the weeping head wound wasn’t helping matters either. Bile rose in your throat at the thought and even as Price kept his arm slung tightly round you, you felt your feet waver and drag across the ground, felt your mind struggling to keep going as your body began to give up.

“Talk to me. Don’t give out on me now,” Price demanded, his breaths coming out punchy like wind hitting a sail.

“Talk about what?” you laughed, wincing with the movement.

“Anything. Keep yourself focused, talk about anything.”

“Ok,” you conceded, thinking for a moment as you were dragged through an empty street. “Why’d you send König to come get me the other day?”

“Really? That’s all you could think of?” Price scoffed.

You were in too much pain to feel any shame or hesitation about pushing. In fact, it was the perfect time to bring up König because there weren’t going to be many other chances for you to leverage a head wound to discuss the subject. It was the perfect thing to direct your energy on and keep you upright.

“You’re the one that told me I wasn’t to speak to him again,” you said measuredly. “It made me wonder why you’d send him to speak to me.”

“He was the only one around and the General wanted us gone ASAP.”

“You could’ve messaged.”

“I needed to make sure you knew to come right away.”

“Are you saying I’m not reliable?” you grinned, almost tripping on a fallen basket because you were so pleased with yourself.

You and Price stopped just before your feet could stumble over the fallen produce and rerouted around it, huffing with exertion. Price’s back was sweating just as much as yours and once again you found yourself cursing at the sun, vowing that you would never spend another minute more in the heat if it meant you could be sent to a cold room with a full deck of meds ready at your disposal.

“If you really want to know, I figured I could trust you now,” Price said, readjusting his grip on you. “After all that's happened.”

“Oh really?”

“Well you wouldn’t want to go near him now after what happened would you?”

You had to hold back a bout of laughter, disguising it easily with a cough. If only he knew.

“Suppose not,” you answered.

“It’s better that way…associating with a man like that, you’d only end up at the top of someone’s shit list.”

“You think he’s got enemies?”

“Why else do men like Ghost and König wear masks?” he huffed. “You’d be vulnerable with him, even if he is a one man army. He couldn't protect you if the people he’d pissed off came after you.”

You pursed your lips and looked toward the end of the street, sighing as you remembered the car wasn’t that far away. The last thing you needed when you were trying not to go wobbly was Price making you doubt König. Instead you faced forward and kept on marching, narrowing your eyes as you fought off the darkness.

-☠️-

“Are you absolutely sure that you like wearing that shirt?”

You laughed as König hovered above you, pausing in his assault on your neck so that he could play with the hem at your neckline. His hemline rather.

“You said you wanted to look after me this week, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah, but not at the expense of my only clothing,” he said, smiling at you with narrowed eyes.

You rolled your eyes at him and kissed him, planting your lips firmly on his so as to silence his protests. All was right in the world again. You’d been dismissed for a week because of your head wound, something about you having suffered from a concussion before so you were being forced to take leave and had decided to spend your time wisely. In other words, telling Price you were going to visit family, when in actuality you were shacked up in an airbnb close to the base so that König could come visit you and stay the night.

Eventually he broke away from you and shook his head, rolling off the bed and causing an earthquake, causing the springs to groan and for the mattress to shake like jelly beneath you. You watched him as he stood and stretched. His body illuminated by the streetlamps outside the windows, the dull yellow contrasting harshly with the dark blue shadows that snaked over his taut muscles, meeting like intertwined fingers at his ribs.

“Is it because it's the Rammstein one?” you asked, sitting up to admire him easier. “Because I’m taking good care of it.”

He shook his head again and made his way to the door.

“I know you’re taking good care of it. I just don’t have a lot of shirts to wear,” he explained, disappearing for a moment.

You huffed and folded your arms, obscuring the blocky logo in the tangle of your intertwined limbs. The guilt trip wasn’t going to work, this was your shirt. You felt like you’d earned it after you’d forgotten home comforts and stayed in a stranger’s house all to be with him. Not that he wasn’t taking fantastic care of you.

You watched as he came back in with a couple glasses of water and set them down on each of your respective bedside tables and disappeared again so he could grab two bowls, walking in with steam obscuring his face. You unfolded your arms, forgetting all about your upset and took in what he’d brought you. He’d heated some soup for you both and ensured that you were propped up nicely before placing yours in your lap, joining you at your side so that he could eat his. The smell of parmesan and vegetables drifted into the air, forcing your stomach to growl in anticipation.

“Thank you, König,” you hummed.

The soup was delicious. It was unmistakably from the Italian deli that König knew you liked to frequent as a treat and you’d deduced he must’ve been earlier in the day to pick up a takeaway just for you. Even if he were being a stickler about his clothes, he still remained sweet and ensured you had every little comfort you could want for while you recovered.

Truth was, you hadn’t really felt that bad once you’d been patched up and given a few Codeine. The pain in your head had dulled to a low thud and more than anything it was background noise to the host of other complaints you could make about your battle torn body. Though König wouldn’t hear of it. He demanded that you stay in bed as he fussed around you and cuddled you like a sickly kitten. It was a wonder you were allowed to even roam the apartment by yourself with the way he coddled you, a miracle you weren’t wrapped in cotton wool and shrunk into his pocket for safe keeping.

“Why is it that you’d want to wear one of my dirty shirts anyway?” König asked, breaking the silence.

You snorted, only just swallowing the spoonful of soup you’d taken and shrugged, a coy smile weaving its way onto your face.

“It smells like you. Makes me feel safe,” you said finally, only a smidge embarrassed.

“And what do I smell like?”

“I dunno…just like you,” you shrugged. “Manly I guess, and I can smell that stupid cheap citrusy soap you use.”

“Don’t belittle my soap just because you like to buy the best,” he retorted.

“That’s right, practicality over frivolity…How German,” you said with a sly smile.

He froze mid spoonful, just about to eat another before he paused and shot you a withering side eye. You’d delighted in finding out another way to tease him, getting to play with him all you wanted while you recovered.

“You call me German one more time, I’m taking the shirt off your back and leaving you naked to fend for yourself,” he said simply

“Oh c’mon, you’d never do that.”

“I just might,” he smiled, taking his last spoonful and letting the cutlery clatter to the empty bowl. “You know the difference.”

“In fairness you did live there for quite a while until you moved back again.”

“Yeah, and that's an even better reason for me to enjoy being Austrian.”

“Such a mean man, poor Germany!”

You playfully shoved at his thigh with your foot and giggled when he caught it in his hand and threw it back. It sent you both laughing and soon you abandoned your soup bowl onto the table and took your little game to the next level, diving onto him before you were promptly flipped onto your back and pinned under König, resuming your usual position.

“Poor Sneak,” he laughed ominously. “Still hellbent on defending the Germans?”

“If I say yes are you gonna do that thing I hate?”

“Only one way to know for sure.”

You huffed out a breath and weighed up your options, deciding if it was really worth being tickled just to keep teasing him. In the end, you didn’t get to decide, you winced as you felt a firework of pain burst through your head and closed your eyes for a second, bunching them shut like you could forget about it behind the darkness of your closed lids. Suddenly you were grateful you were lying down surrounded by the soft topaz sheets.

“Are you ok? Did I hurt you?” König gasped, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

“I’m alright, it wasn’t anything you did,” you assured after a second, taking in a deep breath. “I think it’s time for me to take my meds actually. Is it after eight thirty?”

König leaned up from you and rooted around for his phone. You prayed you were right.

“Yeah, Eight forty. If you sit up, I’ll get them out for you.”

You followed through with his request, inching up the covers and seething with every little jarring shake the bed gave you. It felt like your head was going to burst into a confetti cloud with the amount of pressure that was building. You couldn’t wait till the headaches were done with.

“Here, take these,” König murmured, handing you the pills and your forgotten glass of water.

You threw them back and drank down a big gulp of water, focusing on not choking as you swallowed them as fast as you could. This was one of the worst pains you’d had with it since it’d happened. Stars twinkled at the edge of your vision until slowly, after a little breathing and König stroking your back, you were able to open your eyes and stare back him as he watched you those big doleful eyes of his.

“I’m alright now, it’s ok,” you smiled, trying to reassure him.

“Mm, it’s far from ok,” König hissed, staring harshly to his side for a moment. “If I ever get my hands on those who did this to you, they’ll be sorry.”

You widened your eyes a moment as his fury sunk in and both of you stared at each other for a tense minute. You sat hoping your understanding of the situation might be infectious, wishing he’d accept that they’d just gotten the upper hand. What happened wasn’t personal. He shook his head and let the heat escape him, the fire left his eyes and deflated him, leaving him staring down at the bed a moment until you spoke again.

“I know how I’d feel if it were the other way around,” you sighed, knowing he’d need a little reassurance you weren’t going to run terrified. “But you don’t need to be angry for me. I’m fine, this’ll all be better in a few days, ok?”

He didn’t speak for a second, not until he looked back up at you.

“Ok.”

“Good. Now, c’mere and give me a hug so I feel better.”

His smile returned, curving back onto his lips like magic. You smiled in turn and watched as he put your meds back in the drawer by your bedside, but frowned when he paused and stared inside. He chucked the foil packet back in its place but reached in and retrieved whatever had caught his attention, bringing it front of you in the palm of his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously.

You tilted your head and smiled as you realised it was the wooden swallow you’d unpacked from your bag earlier and shrugged.

“It was the bird I got from the market that day,” you explained. “I found it when I was going through my bag today and chucked it in the drawer.”

He raised his brows and brought the little figure closer to his face, admiring the fine details of it not dissimilarly to the way you’d stared at it in the market. You tilted your head as you watched him and bit your lip, watching the way his eyes took in the little bird with an intense fascination.

“Why don’t you keep it?” you offered. “And then you let me wear this for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your shoulders, showing that you wanted to keep the shirt. König chuckled, but after pretending to be deep in thought about it, sporting a deep frown and a pursed lip, he eventually nodded.

“I suppose I could allow that… we can have shared custody. I get the bird one week and then the shirt for the next,” he said, coming to rest by your side with his arm outstretched, making the bird fly in looping patterns in the air. “Deal?”

You laughed to yourself, but nodded, settling into his warm chest with a satisfied sigh.

“Sounds like a good deal to me.”

Next Part Here

#König #König x reader #konig x reader #konig #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction #mw2 #a rocky start

1K notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 8 months

Text

House of the Dragon masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are CLOSED where to watch: HBO

Sands of Time

before his Bronzed Bitch, all he had was her. amongst the smoke of salt, sea, and war, Daemon gambles with more than he ever wanted.

word count: 5.4k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst 🥊 depiction of (canon-typical) physical violence or aggression ⚠️⏳ show spoilers and AU timeline 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

The Battle Above the God's Eye [ Sands of Time part two ]

decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

word count: 5.5k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort ⏳ AU timeline ⚠️ spoilers 🙊 general language and warning content 🐍 toxic family 🥊 feuding families 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 🩸 depiction of injury and blood 🤍 fuck it - dragon!rider!reader [ not a Targaryen } 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Split in Two

the Targaryen Curse prevails.

word count: 2.8k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🍼 depictions of traumatic birth 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Blue Moon Wreckage

you don't consult your husband, Daemon, about taking in your orphaned baby brother and this causes conflict in your relationship.

word count: 4.3k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🥀 misogyny (old-fashion views on marriage) 🍼 talk of child abandonment ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🐍 toxic family 🍄 borderline toxic relationship 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Midnight Calls masterlist

( completed ) your Prince summons you, a married woman, to the Throne Room one evening. so ensues your lovestory.

total word count: 44,503 total story parts: 6

🍒 author's favorite 🙊 general language and content warning 💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🍄 toxic relationship(s) 🐍 toxic family...? 🔏 barely edited 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Tell Me Every Terrible Thing And Let Me Love You Anyway

you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

⚠️ mild show spoilers 🙊 general language and content warning 😵‍💫 wonky brain is wonky ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 angst 🔥 mild NSFW (brief female receiving oral) ⏳ technically AU timeline 1️⃣ written after season one

part one: read here word count: 5.6k+ part two: read here word count: 6.3k+

Not All That Glitters is Gold

during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. or finding out he calls you clingy behind your back.

word count: 3.1k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🎭 drama 💔 mild angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort ⏳ AU timeline 💣 relationship angst 🔏 not edited

read here

part of the Clingy Baby collection

Daddy Takes Care

in comparison, your first pregnancy was a cakewalk. this time around? not so much. good thing Daemon's there to help where he can.

word count: 6.4k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🍑 named character ( daughter named Visenya ) 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🍼 depiction of difficult pregnancy and symptoms by an author who's never been pregnant 🔏 not edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Bloodhounds

you and your husband have a different kind of foreplay that include disguises, sneaking out of the castle, and sometimes, fucking in an alleyway... Or two.

word count: 5.7k+

💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 🙊 general language and content warning 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Creepy Crawlies

Aemond and Helaena witness how deep your fear goes.

word count: 1.7k+

🕷 spiders 🙊 general language and content warning 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Mother Knows No Bounds

being Rhaenyra's daughter means taking on Alicent's generational anger, and one day, she takes it too far.

word count: 5.7k+

🙊 general language and content warning 💚 vilified!Alicent 💔 angst 🤮 depiction of physical illness 🐍 toxic family 🕊 depiction of lost pregnancy 💛 requires maturity and caution 1️⃣ written after season one

❗️ depictions of potentially triggering content - please read all warnings before continuing ❗️

read here

When Pride Married Prejudice masterlist

she is the (only) trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Laenor Velaryon. after her younger brother, Lucerys, slices out the eye of their uncle, Aemond Targaryen, her hand is offered as payment to keep the peace. though unexpected, she finds herself in a loving marriage, until devastating news forces her to make an impossible choice.

total word count: 97,184 total story parts: eight + two 2-part alternative endings

⚠️ book and show spoilers 🍒 author's favorite 🙊 general language and content warnings 💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst 🎭 drama 🐍 toxic family 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression ⏳ AU timeline 😵‍💫 wonky brain go WONKY ✅ completed series 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Dornish Wine, Weddings, and Bruised Knuckles

your best friend's getting married and you've got a thing for her brother. during the bachelorette party, you learn maybe your affection wasn't so one-sided after all.

modern AU

word count: 11.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff 🥰 romance 💦 smut 🦋 modern AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression 🧃 implied character age-up (legal to drink) 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

You Might Think It's Foolish

meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

word count: 3.1k+

modern AU

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💣 relationship angst 🐝 stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family 🍄 toxic relationship...? 🦋 modern AU 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here part of the Clingy Baby collection

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

soon to be merged into a developing series but will leave this version up. Lannister Reader will become Velaryon!

word count: 5.5k+

🎭 drama 🐑 filler ⚠️ spoilers ⏳ small AU timeline 🐝 stand-alone 🙊 general language and content warning ☠️ character death 💛 requires maturity and caution 🩸 deranged characters / blood lust 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Confection Invention

how Sansa Stark's favorite dessert, lemon cakes, came to be after discovering your husband's never had a nameday cake.

word count: 3.5k+

🧸 fluffy fluff fluff 🥰 small romance 💍 established relationship 🍒 author's favorite 🐝 stand alone

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

669 notes · View notes

elvisabutler · 7 months

Text

down home southern cookin'

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 3069 warnings: housewife kink. big daddy elvis. pregnant sex. minor pregnancy kink and breastfeeding kink. sex around food ( the food isn't harmed ). p in v sex ( unprotected ). minor praise kink. talk of sweat. bags thumping on floors making you feel things. author’s note: welcome to day 14 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breastfeeding kink with spark elvis and lilly. so, hi. i've been having a rough go around on actually finishing the main fic but i have made a bit more progress after moving past the block i've had formed for a while. that being said, enjoy this little one shot in the meantime. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. in addition, i truly do thrive on your comments and messages and love reading them.

"Is that meatloaf 'm smellin' darlin'?"

Lilly hears the door open before she ever hears Elvis's voice but at the sound of his voice, she can feel their children inside her move about, kicking and trying to roll around. It's been getting harder and harder to bend to reach the oven but she manages well enough, free hand on her belly as she opens the oven.

Elvis's thudding steps tell Lilly that he's heading to the kitchen to investigate not entirely unlike a bloodhound and she smiles softly to herself even as the twin she has taken to calling Gladys kicks her square in the rib. Her hand rubs at the spot as she stays bent over looking into the oven when she hears Elvis's whistle, low and appreciative.

"Wasn't expectin' that sorta greetin'. Ain't complainin', though." His voice is pitched low as she hears his bag thump on the floor. The thought of moving to a standing position enters Lilly's mind and yet she's just that slight bit curious as to what Elvis plans on doing.

After all, wasn't the proof of his appreciation for her backside growing healthy and strong within her? Wasn't his appreciation for a warm meal evident by the way so many of her dresses are slightly ruined? Wasn't he her husband not just in theory but in name?

It doesn't take long for her to feel the press of his front against her behind, the warmth of his body seeping through her dress. His hand moves to cup her stomach as he guides her into a standing position, nipping at her ear as she does. "They givin' ya trouble? Gotta get a lecture from Daddy?"

Lilly's laughter is always music to Elvis's ears and today is no exception. His lips curl into a soft smile as he kisses down her neck, hands wandering across her body. She makes no move to remove them. "They only started giving me trouble when they heard you."

"That so?" Elvis hums as one of his hands settles on her breast, squeezing it just light enough that Lilly's mouth falls open in a gasp. "They just missed their daddy as much as their mama did, didn't they? Jus' wanted to say hello."

He's not wrong, Lilly reasons. Jesse is the same way, trying to come crawling at the sound of his Daddy's voice as soon as he hears it if Elvis doesn't beat the boy to it. Still, there's nothing that says she has to boost her husband's ego any more than it already is tonight. It makes it easy to just hum quietly with a small grin on her face.

"They missed daddy, I don't know if mama did." Lilly teases even as she feels Elvis's hand tighten on her breast and feels the hand that had been cupping her lower stomach move ever so slightly lower. "I had the best company all day."

A huff of his warm breath tickles the hair on the back of her neck as he starts to use his hand to pull up her dress. "Jesse asleep?"

He knows it's too early for Jesse to be asleep, knows that Lilly keeps his son up just so that he can give him a kiss goodnight and help get him ready for bed even if he ran late arriving home. Yet, he feels the need to ask, to make sure Jesse isn't crawling around underfoot in a way that gets him into trouble. Elvis knows he should be a good husband and take a shower and make it so Lilly can rest her aching little sooties. Even with them not in heels he can see them a little swollen and he's sure if he touched them they'd be pounding. Elvis knows he should be a good husband like he always is and yet he can feel his cock swelling up in his jumpsuit. Seeing Lilly- seeing his *wife* bent over making food for him all while so *full* of him does something to him. It'd do something to any man worth his salt. Maybe he'd ask Charlie or Jerry how they feel about their wives when they've been pregnant. Though, Jerry's answer is damn nearly explained with his new niece or nephew Melly's got growing inside of her.

His cock had gotten them into this mess, first with her and him against the sink and even know their twins were merely the result of his cock seeing her backside as she bathed Jesse. If he were a different man, if he were the man he was almost two years ago he'd be embarrassed, mortified that his cock's acting like it's attached to a twenty year old. And yet, right now all he can think about is how thankful he is for it. Thankful it's proven its worth to satisfy Lilly in ways he knows now she had craved during her previous marriage. Thankful it's proven its worth by providing him with a healthy gift from God of a son and hopefully healthy strong little ones in a couple of months.

"You know he's awake," Lilly murmurs, moving closer to the sink for some leverage to lean on. "Wouldn't dream of putting our baby boy to sleep without letting him say goodnight to his Daddy." She pauses and leans back against Elvis, his body heat seeping through his jumpsuit and her dress. She can feel the sweat of the day on his skin and it should be nauseating and off putting but as she inhales deeply she merely smells the unique scent of her husband. A shiver passes through her. "What are you really trying to ask, Elvis?"

An idea of what he wants is on the tip of her tongue but she doesn't want to be too forward even after a child was born that was conceived in the strangest of ways or after he pleasured her with a garden hose. No, somehow asking him point blank if he was trying to enjoy what was between her legs was too much.

"If you'd let me- If ya'd mind bendin' over again. Or if ya'd mind if I put ya between the sink and me. Mindin' the yittle ones, course."

Lilly wonders if the way Elvis talks to her and the way Elvis seems to be completely and utterly in love with every part of her is ever going to get old. If it'll ever stop making her heart race and ever stop making her lose her breath. Maybe it's just because she had gotten so used to things with Nathan that it's still novel. The twins inside her do their own separate flips as she licks her lips.

"Minding them, of course." Her voice sounds airy, like it's floating into the air as she tries to remember how to breathe. "Facing you, right?"

Not looking out the window, pleasure crossing her face at every moment as she leaned against him, her legs too shaky to support the weight of her body. Not facing the window, watching the sun go down on another day, wishing this could be her afternoons forever more. No, she'd be able to face Elvis, see his face as it scrunched up when he grunted inside of her. She'd be able to see how he works up such a sweat that it drips down on her as they fuck. It's not that she hasn't since they've been married but this is another thing entirely. This is being able to see how Elvis's face looked like when he pleasured her against the sink almost two years ago. This is a reward for a hard day's work as she cooks their little buns inside of her and cooks a hearty filling meal for him.

His hands finally reach the destination he wants them to, her underwear. A hand slides against her clothed entrance, chuckling at how drenched has already made her. The pregnancy had heightened so many things and yet somehow she surprises him even with this. With a vagina that aches and yearns for him so much it cries out every second it's not filled. He finally speaks.

"Facin' me," his voice is a murmur and a growl as he shifts her underwear to the side just enough to slide his fingers where he knows she wants them. "Maybe I'll even lift ya up on the counter."

Lilly shakes her head, not trusting her mouth's ability to form words. Another time, she figures, when she wasn't carrying these precious little buns inside her. No, she wants to be pinned just as she was that first afternoon. Her hand reaches out to grab at Elvis's wrist, her hand trailing over her swollen stomach, an action watched with rapt attention by Elvis. A quiet but noticeable squelch is heard as he pulls his fingers from her. He opens up his mouth to speak only to watch as he realized something shifted inside of Lilly when she heard that squelch of his fingers. The look she has on her face is one he's gotten to know well both through her pregnancy with Jesse and now her pregnancy with the twins. She wants him and every second that she don't have him she'll get more and more frustrated. His hands move to undo and start to unzip his jumpsuit only to have her swat them away. Lilly's hand are deft little things, suited for sewing and domestic tasks even he struggles with despite his ample skills.

The rush of the cold air against his sweaty chest has him inhaling and has his overheated body shivering just a hair. Lilly's eyes watch the action and take it to mean that she needs to hurry, needs to reach down low enough to free his already swollen cock from the confines of his underwear. Elvis opens up his mouth to speak only to have Lilly's hand finally pull his zipper down low enough to yank down his underwear, his cock bobbing out of them not entirely unlike a goddamn Jack in the Box. Lilly isn't forceful except for these times when she's needy and he's already promised to give her what she needs. How's a man supposed to talk when he sees her hand around his cock, slathering the ample precum across his length.

"Just against it, Elvis. Please," Lily begs ever so softly, though she knows she doesn't need to. Any request she makes of Elvis he does and this would be no exception. She watches as he looks down at her with such a rush of love and clenches her thighs. Her nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and she whimpers at the mere feeling of his hand against her hip as he walks her back against the sink. She needs and wants every bit of him and he's determined to give it to her.

In bed, he would take his time undressing her, watching her dress fall to the floor and watching her ample milk filled breasts spill from her bra. He would suckle at her nipples until he saw her chest heave and her body shake with release. But right now? Right now against the sink he doesn't bother to even pull down her underwear. He should, and yet he can feel how aroused she is and just how she is craving him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's reminded this isn't proper, that she should insist he take his time and undress her and yet that voice is smothered by realizing no part of their relationship would be considered proper to her two years ago.

His actions make her happy so why should there be any shame attached to them. Her thoughts swirl in her mind with such force that she is caught off guard by Elvis removing her hand and entering her with very little preparation. A choked off sob of pleasure leaves her mouth as she looks up at him.

"Elvis," she whispers, her hands finding purchase on his chest and down his stomach. The hair on his body that rubs up against her skin every time they make love feels different in her hands in this moment, somehow softer while being just a little bit rougher. One of her hands plays with his chest, laughing breathlessly as one of his hands mirrors her, cupping her breast. "You can go— oh."

Elvis knows Lilly like he knows the back of his hand, he figures. Knows what makes his wife turn to pure putty in hands and knows how to have her pleasured in every way she had always deserved to be pleasured. It's easy to figure out just by watching her face and watching how it shifts when he thrusts just right and cups her breasts just right. "I can what, darlin'? Ya want it faster? Want your husband to move faster? Make it so ya comin' faster than anythin'?"

Lilly's eyes drift to the stove for a moment and then to the clock. She should tell him she wants him to take his time. That she wants to feel every thrust and feel his foreskin as it drags inside of her despite how aroused she is. She knows she doesn't have enough time though, knows that in about ten minutes she has to pull the meatloaf from the oven. Her vagina clenches and earns a slight curse from Elvis as he kisses her softly, waiting for an answer.

"We— the meatloaf. I don't want it to burn." As if she needs to explain why she needs him to go faster. "Tonight—If we can it can be slower."

Her skin is flushed and Elvis just takes a moment in between thrusts to marvel at the way it starts at her cheeks and how there's small splotches of it heading down to her chest. He's done that to her, not just the embarrassment she still holds on to about asking just what she would like him to do to her. His perfect wife, his lil darlin' is worried about meatloaf and can't always put into words what she desires. How had he gotten so lucky? How had God saw fit to put the nearest earthly thing to perfection in front of him? How had he found himself married with a son and young ones on the way to this woman?

"Even if 'm not. Ya— ya always know ya can get my engine revving," Elvis's voice is a murmur against Lilly's neck as he kisses and nips at it, his hips quickening their pace. "How long we got, Lil?"

"Nine," she answers, trying to buck against Elvis as best she can with her stomach and his own in the way. "I'll— I've been wanting—"

The words she wants to say are left in her head as his hand drifts down her chest and down her swollen belly to between her legs. Another time and another place she'd question what he's doing but she knows where his hand is headed. She knows before she feels the press of the calloused pads of his fingertips against her throbbing clit. It's been like that nearly all day and she knows better than to take care of it herself on days like this. Knows that what she needs is the warmth of his hands and the roughness of them to bring her to completion. So lost in her own pleasure she nearly misses the words leaving Elvis's lips.

"My perfect wife. My perfect lil darlin'. Takin' care of our yittle one and growing the other yittle buns. Could be like some of the other women and relax, sh—should be like 'em but here you are makin' me dinner and keepin' everythin' as it should be. Gonna show ya how much I love ya for this. How thankful I am for ya."

He pants it against her skin, one hand gripping at her hip while the other works against her clit as she's pinned against the skin. It should hurt, the way the counter digs into her back just a bit but any pain she feels is overtaken by the throbbing between her legs and the scrape of her nipples against her bra. Everything feels so warm and safe and loving that she feels herself starting to reach a crescendo, clawing at his chest before her hands slide to his lower back and down to his behind, pulling him somehow impossibly closer. An almost inhuman noise leaves his lips, a howl and a growl and a groan all mixed into one as he feels her clenching around him.

"That's it, Lilly. That's it my lil darlin'. God— Like a vice—" His words are lost in a haze of her orgasm and his own following closely after. Somehow both of their grips on each other get tighter as they try to catch their breath. Elvis makes sure to not lean too hard on Lilly, careful to protect their children inside of her. Time doesn't have a meaning for either of them until the shrill ring of a timer sounds signalling the fact that the meatloaf is finished.

"I— I need to get that, Elvis." Lilly whispers, still trying to remember how to breathe and walk properly. His only answer is a slow nod as he steps away. It's easy for him to watch Lilly's hips move as she walks the short distance between the sink and oven. A part of him thinks he should turn away when she starts to bend over but then he thinks of how she's leaking his release standing there and how she still likely has to finish one thing or another on the stove. He licks his lips and with a speed that surprises even him, he finds himself on his knees in front of her once she's pulled the meatloaf from the oven and set it down.

"Elvis, what are you— what are you doing?" Her voice is light and her eyes sparkle in a way they only do when she's amused at him and his antics.

In lieu of answering, his large hands grab at the edges of her dress and start to pull it up and up and up until her underwear is exposed to him. It's then and only then that he answers her, looking up through his eyelashes with a practically devilish smirk. "Felt like havin' dessert while you're doin' your work."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @doll-elvis, @vintageshanny, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons if you're missing from this list, you either changed your username or tumblr is tumblr.

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #elvis x lilly #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin #elvis presley x reader #spark universe #ally writes #ally's wet hot smut summer

272 notes · View notes