tell me that man’s worst fantasy i wanna know what he thinks about when he’s alone and horny (please!)
So, this one time you fully slapped Soap across the face. You were just play fighting, or sparring, generally horsing around really, and he’d been egging you on—“C’mon, hen, I bet it doesn’t even sting, look at those arms a’yours”—and you just went for it.
His face was throbbing for a few hours afterword. You were equal parts fervently smug and truly sorry about it, but the thing is, he was half mast for the rest of the day until he got back to his bunk that night.
It didn’t take him very long to work himself up to one of the hardest erections he’s ever had in his life, thinking over and over again about the slap of your hand to his cheek, the wrench of his face to the side, the lightning-quick impact blooming immediately into a sharp, aching burn. Thinking, too, about your laughter, giddy and victorious at putting him in his place.
Slap. Burn. Laughter. Slap. Burn. Laughter.
He finished so hard he actually shot cum onto his own chin.
And you can BET he thinks about it again, whenever he has the opportunity.
synopsis. simon comes home. he's too tired to fuck you right. eventually, he manages to find the energy.
warnings. 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving penetration, blonde simon lol, somnophilia, dry humping, pussy smacking, and crying during sex. i am not responsible for your media consumption.
an. :) life sucked so i found a new animated character to obsess over. please comment & reblog if u enjoyed !
When Simon comes back, he’s dog-tired.
As soon as his feet touch the welcome mat of your quaint little apartment, he feels all of his muscles relax – as if they’re unpinning themselves from his bones – and he has to give himself a pep talk to muster the energy to drag his hand up to ring the bell.
But he doesn’t have to, because you’re ripping the door open – shining like the sun – and pulling him into your body, rendering all 6,4 ft and 240 pounds of the super soldier to complete mush.
For five minutes, you don’t speak. Just hold him, as you gently rub the corner of his jaw, and brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He clutches you to him.
His fat, paw-like hands hold your upper back, and you hold him with the same vigour. His body – wrapped in his black compression shirt and army pants – is rock solid.
It’s a weaving of muscles that have been tensed for the last two months. It’s going to take a minute for them all to soften, but like he always does when he’s been away, Simon lets out a deep and resolute sigh.
The breath warms your neck, causing it to tingle, and you grasp him tighter, your body waking up.
It’s been a long two months.
He manages to push your intertwined bodies through the doorway, using his boot to kick the door shut. His house smells like home -- funny how you can’t smell it until you’ve been gone a while.
Vanilla and a citrus fruit, mixed with the savoury scent of his favourite meal. He hums again, and you scratch the back of his head, sending shivers down his locked spine.
He knows the route to your bedroom like the back of his hand, and he maneuvers the pair of you inside.
The curtains are closed and the bed is made. You know him. You know him so well.
You let him push you back onto the bed – a blur of familiar limbs and hair – and he settles lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Immediately, you drag your legs up and cross them over the curve of his ass.
You’re all warm and soft and pliable. Dressed in a pair of simple cotton shorts and a vest top, he wants to grab fistfuls of you and remind himself of how you feel in his palms. Wants to drag his lips over your skin, bully his way between your legs and remind himself of how you taste.
Fuck, he wants you, in a carnal, almost primal sort of way, and you the same. He can smell it. A sweet but sweaty longing that melts from you and causes his senses to wake.
But he’s so God damn tired.
You know. Know this routine. Know that he has to settle back in.
In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.
You fiddle with his hair. “There’s dinner if you want it,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, looping the strands between your fingers, committing the soft feel to memory.
Simon shuffles just an inch on top of you, but still, the slight movement of his clothes and hard, clenched body against yours makes you take your bottom lip between your teeth.
It’ll be chewed raw by the time he has enough energy to take you.
He grunts something into your skin, and after a second, you gather it’s, tired.
His scent clouds you.
When Simon comes back, he always smells the same.
The soap at the barracks is pine scented – shampoo a strict lemon.
But there’s always a leftover grit to him. A hidden layer the soap can’t clean off, and it makes you delirious. Makes you flex your ass up – just an inch, a sweet, gentle inch that has you feeling the hard lines of his thighs and the metal of his zipper, and Simon’s breathing hitches.
You freeze. With your hips pushed tight against his, you stare at the ceiling, hoping that your worn-out soldier hasn’t felt you move.
Simon stays quiet. His breathing settles. You go to apologise, but Simon doesn’t grumble or make a sly comment. Listening closer to his breathing, you gather that he’s asleep.
Jesus, you think, that’s a record. Barely in the door and he’s asleep, he must be burnt out. Figuring that you won’t be able to crawl from under his weight, you decide it’s your bedtime too.
Sleep comes fast.
Hours later, you blearily blink awake. Not much has changed – the room is still dark, Simon is still heavy on top of you, yet now, you’re sticking to him with sweat.
He’s usually a human furnace, but this is different.
Your skin prickles, vibrating at a frequency that has nothing to do with heat. No, this is…you feel a pulsating between your thighs, and wiggle, feeling your slick coating your underwear.
Fuck, why are you so wet? You clench, and the resulting ache forces you to hiss and push your head back against the pillows. What did you dream about? Thinking back, you come up short. Then why--
Simon shuffles on top of you. It’s a slight movement, but it continues, and all at once, your heart clenches.
Holy fuck, he’s—
“Simon?” you whisper, and your boyfriend whines into your neck.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, the words wet and desperate. The puzzle pieces lock into place.
He knocks his hips into your crotch once more, and you gasp, clenching, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Simon’s apology comes out again, except this time, it’s christened with a “s-shit – fuck.”
Blinking at the ceiling, you huff and try and glance down, and in the dark, you just about manage to see the outline of his burly body grinding into yours.
You take stock of the situation.
Feel his fat palm around your hip, and squinting, see that he’s got your shorts pulled down around your thighs, and has the band of your underwear looped around his fingers.
Jesus Christ. You fall back into the pillows. “How long have you?” you whisper.
“Five – fuck – minutes,” Simon grunts, continuing to roll his thick hips against you. His bulge knocks the edge of your throbbing clit, causing you to gasp again. There’s been no build-up to your want, it’s just there, humming electric, and spread tight over your thighs.
Simon meshes his wet mouth against your chest. He’s tugged your vest top down, too, and his lips close around the skin of your breast. Jesus. He was undressing you as you slept.
“Thought about fuckin’ you, but couldn’t get my pants down, so – shit -- tired. Jus’ woke up and you were just so fuckin’ soft. And wet, Christ, felt you through my trousers.”
Your whole body goes numb.
“You were gonna fuck me as I slept?” you whisper, belly flipping.
You’d told him – ages ago – that he could, but he hasn’t been here.
You’d forgotten.
The image of him pulling your underwear down as you slept streaks across your mind. Imagine waking up with him inside of you, so full and wet and just on the precipice of coming.
Simon grunts. He tugs at the band of your underwear, “I’ll fuck you right, at some point. Just –”
In your delirious state, you manage to finish his sentence, “Tired, I know – I know baby.”
You kiss the crown of his head and whimper into his hair. “Just use me until you’re ready.”
Simon groans out deep and loud. It rumbles against your chest. Echoes through your heart, and you’re so turned on that you begin fidgeting.
You try and squirm away from the stifling ache of your pussy, but Simon’s built like a brick shithouse, so you can’t run from it, just gotta take it and take it and take it, until you can’t anymore, and you break.
You’re so fucked that you don’t even announce that you’re coming, but Simon knows, shit, and as your pussy clenches up tight, he growls low and hard, mumbling, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, until his movements go sloppy, and his breathing goes laboured, and he’s coming into his pants and mewling your name.
When he finally does manage to get inside of you, he doesn’t last long. No, he pushes all the way to the hilt, and you tighten up.
“Stay” you gasp, clenching your pussy around his shaft, and Simon grunts deep and long into your throat.
“S-Stay there,” you moan, then, in case he didn’t hear you, “Stay,” you whisper, and push the ball of your palm into his thick, scarred shoulder.
You were teetering on a knives edge.
You’ve come once since Simon was home, and your second orgasm of his return was right there.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Simon groans into the shallow of your throat, “Did we do enough prep?”
“Yes,” you immediately whisper, not wanting him to pull out.
He’s thick and pulsing inside of you, hard and heavy on top, and God, he kisses at your throat — soft and gentle. You try to swallow down the ball that has swelled in your throat, but tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill.
No no no no, you think. Not now. Not now not now. You try to stifle the tears, but you unconsciously sniff, and despite Simon being perfectly still, he still manages to freeze.
“Sweetheart?”
You inhale, “Yeah?”
Simon looks up; and seeing tears on your cheeks, his face falls, “Did I hurt you?”
You furiously wipe the tears away, shaking your head.
“M’just overwhelmed,” you whisper, and he presses his forehead against yours, going to kiss you, but the movement causes his hips to flex against you, nudging his cock, and you whine, immediately gripping onto the back of his dirty blonde locks.
Simon drops his face into your chest and lets out a pained rasp, “Tightening around me, kid.”
You unclench, “m’sorry.”
“Gonna come quick.”
“S’okay.”
“I’ll fuck you right, just gotta…” he trails off and grabs fist fulls of your hips.
“Fuck,” he huffs wistfully, “This pussy. Missed this fucking pussy.”
You go dizzy with need. Shake your head, and bend to kiss him, tasting his wet and swollen lips.
Gently, you knock your hips up into his, and when he lets out a surprised grumble, you flex your hips higher, trying to stuff his cock deeper, further – till you can see it pressing into your belly.
Catching onto your plan, Simon grunts and pushes your hips with his fat palms, pinning your ass to the mattress.
“Stop,” he orders, and the demand goes straight to your cunt. Jesus. He hasn’t been very dominant since his return, and that little instruction has you chomping on the bit.
“Want you, Si.”
“One stroke and I’ll be fucked.”
“Just gotta practice.”
He chokes on a laugh, muttering, “Practice.”
You try another tactic. Clench around his cock and pout, “Want you to come inside me.”
“Fuck,” Simon cuts. You curl your legs back his back and push your foot into the dense muscle of his ass, at the same time rocking your hips up. Simon lets you. Let’s you try and fuck yourself on his cock.
With wet lips, you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering his name.
“Gonna fill me up, Si?”
“Fuckin’ filthy, you know that?”
Simon pulls back, and your heart stutters.
You think he’s going to pull out, until he uses your hips to pull you tight against his cock -- your ass nearly sitting on his thighs. His thick, scarred chest is puffed up.
Cheeks red, and he’s got that animal glint in his pretty eyes.
It knocks you for six.
“Where you want it?” he asks, and you’re confused, until he presses the heel of his palm into the middle of your tummy.
“Shoot my load here, huh?”
Your body goes numb. Eyes white out. It happens so suddenly that it scares you, and you’re a mixture of turned on and frightened, but the fear turns you on even more.
All you can do is blearily look up at him as he slides his paw to the other side of your tummy, “or shoot it here. Fuck it so deep that you can taste it.”
He pretends to think about it. Even hums, before he drags his palm up and stuffs his thumb into your mouth. “Or just directly here, huh?”
He snarls a smile, “know you like it when your mouth is full.”
You suck at his thumb, and tighten your cunt around his cock, causing his mouth to open, and eyes to flutter, and just like that, you’ve won.
He comes in record time.
But Simon keeps his promises.
A couple of days later – on the seventh day he’s back -- he fucks you so good, that when you wake up the next morning, you get shy just thinking about it.
Lay in bed, staring at the ceiling – your boyfriend fast asleep on your chest -- remembering the debauchery you’d gotten up to the night before.
The pair of you are a little tipsy, drunk on beer and wine, but all it’s done is heighten your senses, and made you fully aware of your desires, so much so, that they pulsate behind your eyelids like a migraine.
Simons got you face down, ass up, and as he pushes you face first into the mattress, he presses his thumb against the tight, fluttering hole of your pussy.
“Gonna let me inside, baby?”
You sink into your thighs and spread yourself wider for him, humming into your crossed arms. Simon watches your pussy spread further, and he can’t help himself, he has to slide his thumb deeper.
He presses, just barely pushing the tip of his thumb into your wet hole, and you gasp, trying to chase the feeling by inching back against his fat palm.
He laughs at you.
“Look at your pussy sucking my thumb in, baby. Wish you could see what I’m seeing. So fuckin’ sexy.”
You hum, the words making you wetter – dripping over his thumb.
“Been dreaming of fucking you right, gonna take you whenever I want.”
“Okay,” you whisper, so delirious that you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Simon raises a brow,
“Yeah?” he asks, tone breathless.
Thought he’d get some pushback on that one, but for a second, he forgot that you said the nastiest shit with his dick inside of you.
You nod into your crossed arms, and Simon laughs again, “Free use pussy,” he sounds, then lightly smacks your sodden folds, causing you to flinch, bucking forward.
“Oh fuck,” you choke, eyes rolling back. Heat ricochets through your crotch and swamps your belly, before settling back in your aching pussy. Once you manage to collect yourself – and it takes a second -- you huff.
“Bein’ mean.”
Simon snorts, grabs your hips, then rams the underside of his cock against your pussy, grinning so big that his scars stretch, “don’t know the half of it, babe.”
You sob, real tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Your desire is visceral, enough for you to taste it on your tongue. Simon pulls back, and your slick coats the length of his dick, earning yourself another light smack to your cunt.
“Soakin’ me,” he grunts, and you sob into the sheets.
“Please,” you whisper, then, please please please, and Simon hears your breathing hitch.
This time, instead of checking up on you, he chuckles, “Crying again, baby?”
You sniff and wipe your eyes on your wrist, face heating.
“No,” you mumble, and Simon sighs.
He reads you like a book. Always has. Always will.
“Lying to me,” he grumbles, then he steers the uncut head of his cock between your folds, whispering, “Lie to me again, and I’ll give you something to cry about,” before bottoming out in one thrust.
your dad!simon???? Omfg!!! I have been sucked into dilf!simon and your fics are so good!!
can I please request dad!simon with a boy? Like yeah he has all his girls and then there’s either the youngest or the oldest and it’s his only son?? I can just picture like the girls are jealous cause he gets new clothes not hand-me-downs, he gets to do his own sports with out his siblings, he gets to go shooting with the 141- just like totally sibling rivalry and fighting over who is dads favorite?!
please please please and many thanks
youngest.
simon is over the fucking moon when he finds out it’s a boy — he’s one of them dads in american gender reveals who says “i think you’re a girl but i need you to be a boy” 💀
instant attention all goes to this kid, because A) he actually knows how to do it now and B) that’s his boy. that’s his fuckin lad.
the kid looks like you. boys look like their mums, girls look like their dads n all that but christ does he have simon’s quietness.
a complete observer like his dad. will be in silence while the girls argue, quietly exchanging glances with simon who internally feels like fucking high-fiving himself for creating a kid who finally understands him.
however the clothes are admittedly down to you, you love buying shit. any excuse. and having a son instead of another girl gave you great reason. though you did go too far sometimes. credit card bills rocketed.
he gets his own room too. straight off the bat, fresh into this fucking world and he’s got it all. or that’s how your daughters seen it.
“how does he get everything.”
“give him a fucking chance.” mumbling something about how he’s only a week old. the dad sigh strikes again.
him and simon fuck off together a lot. they’ll be away camping somewhere, simon teaching this (probably half uninterested) kid how to do all the survival stuff since his girls were never interested.
and when he gets older, maybe around seventeen to eighteen he’s so game for that stuff. realistically, was probably in the school cadets n all 💀
when he’s able enough, he’ll maybe tag along on a run with 141 or summat. this is an incredibly humbling experience to say the least, though uncle soap is there to make everything a laugh n slow the run. “boys, boys, give the lad a chance eh?”
gets into his dads routine of the gym in mornings too, simon watching his workout from a distance before giving him pointers — hands on hips before stepping back to see if he’s doing it right or not.
although, simon does not let him apply to the army. all fun n games till it wants to happen isn’t it padre?
probably applies behind simon’s back ngl, resulting in a huge fuck off argument once a letter comes in stamped under british army branding under the kids name instead of his own. yikes.
dad!simon masterlist | taglist | masterlist | request info
dad!simon who will near fall asleep on the sofa, sat upright with wide legs and his arms crossed, only opening one eye to pretend he’s listening while one of his daughters rambles about school drama.
dad!simon who scoffs when another monthly subscription or amazon payment goes through his card, brows knitted together after asking just why the house has to be subscribed to four separate streaming services.
dad!simon who never remembers his kids’ friends names. it could be his daughters best friend of seven years and he still wouldn’t remember.
dad!simon who visually could not care less about the gossip his daughter waffles about, mumbling “mhm” every so often to appear engaged though shrugging when called out on his evident boredom.
dad!simon who tsks at all the parcels that come through the door day-to-day. living with three daughters and a wife, it’s constant. he detests being the only one home and having to sign for something — will actively ignore a knock on the door when there’s other people in the house.
dad!simon who (when drunk) is the height of amusement for his eldest. many snapchats exist of him being handed the phone already recording and goofily grinning into it while looking up at her “what am i supposed to be looking at?”
dad!simon who sticks post-it notes in bold handwriting to the fridge whenever anyone has an appointment due the following day. “don’t forget.” complete with a fullstop and a harsh underline of the time in military digits.
dad!simon who replies sarcastically to almost every obvious question with his natural glare, something each of his kids had genetically taken: “don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get stupid answers.” he loves them really.
dad!simon who silenced the family groupchat as soon as he had figured out how to, only replying every other day with a thumbs up reaction or more likely a thumbs down.
dad!simon who side eyes his kids. he doesn’t mean it, yet it happens. watching throw away tv? side eye. talking too loud on the phone? side eye. wearing a questionable outfit? side eye.
dad!simon who has a firm routine. he fucking detests being interrupted, and or spoken to from the hours of five till seven in the morning. he’ll get up, have food and go to the gym all in this time frame before anyone can dent his peace.
dad!simon who sighs avidly. a long and painful sigh after any merely simple question is asked or he’s to pick up one of his kids from a night out. “fucking well told ‘er not to expect me past twelve.” while accidentally slamming the door behind him, keys jingling around his finger.
dad!simon who struggles to show affection in any other way than a short pat of the shoulder or a one armed hug, pulling his kids into his chest for mere seconds before stepping back.
dad!simon who groans whenever anything gets moved in the house. his military mind in favour of keeping things in one position, untouched and moved for preferably ever unless he was told. though, having kids didn’t quite work like that.
dad!simon who: “do i ‘av to do fucking everything in this house? eh?”
˗ˏˋ university is still kicking my arse into next week. i joined the football team too, fuck knows why i’m making myself busier than i have to be. alas here we are, and i’m feeding the pigeons! aka sprinkling dad headcannons until i get traction again. pls love me, pls follow me, pls reblog, pls validate me.
the reason i tag this as ‘x reader’ as it’s ur fuckin family with him. no one bite my head off man i can’t be bothered tonight.
I wrote a little something for a friend :D 600 words (abouts)
Includes weed smoking, because who doesn't want to relax when they get time off work?
The two of you had fallen into a comfortable, soothing pattern in the mornings whenever your boyfriend stayed at your place for the night. Though, this morning was a little different, a hazy smell lurking in the stilled, heavy air as another puff of smoke polluted past Price's lips beside you.
The warm man had an arm wrapped around the back of your head with his thumb tenderly rubbing back and forth against your cheek, leaning up on the pillows propped against the wooden headboard. Your ear listened to his slow heartbeat as you laid on his chest, your arm resting over his waist while your fingers curiously tucked themselves into the band of his underwear. You were meandering your index finger, swirling it around the curls of his body hair your eyes peered at while he comfortably hummed out while taking a deep inhale of the cigarette held between two fingers and letting his mind fall further under the influence of weed with you by his side.
It was on rare occasions he would indulge in such drugs. The captain had time off from his work and it would be out of his system by the time he returned from his break so there were no worries. His red-stained eyes dragged to look down at you while he exhaled slowly through his nose, fanning smoke over you to watch where your fingers lay.
"Might want to watch where they go, love," John mumbled out quietly, smoke still in his lungs deepening his usual voice as he blew the rest past his lips. He moved his legs to prop one up while the leg closest to you remained flat on the bed, adjusting his hips and you against him.
Your fingers remained in the band of his underwear, cheek against his hairy chest, looking down at his legs with half-asleep eyes. Eventually, your head was manoeuvred with a steady, firm hand to get you to look toward Price's face as his lips eagerly pressed a sensually slow kiss to share between you, his half-lidded eyes creased lightly at the sides as his gaze flitted down to your hand while he pulled from the gentle kiss with a soft smirk teasing his mouth, returning his pupils to your own.
Your hand slowly wandered underneath his boxers, fingers and palm cupped at his warm manhood that slowly grew under your touch as if you were answering his earlier words. Your eyes remained on his face, watching his expression shift and breath grow deeper with a pleased hum passing his throat as he drew another inhale from the cigarette, leaning to the side of the bed to tap off any ash that dared to fall in an ashtray before turning back.
The same hand that held around your back didn't need to move, your lips gravitated back up to your beloved boyfriend, wanting the bliss behind his lips as you shared a moment again with your eyes closing along with his. You teased his bottom lip with your tongue slowly, your fingers delicately tracing along the veins that became more prominent on his cock as he grew harder under your touch, the heavy weight pushing into the fabric of his boxers as your fingers wrapped around his tip.
The man groaning sluggishly into your mouth let you access to any weed as you inhaled greedily, starting to drag his heavy meat out from the confines of his boxers, your hand helping his underwear off as he kicked them, out of the bed and mind before your fingers met his throbbing member once again. Squeezing lightly to pull at his foreskin and pleasure the man, his balls feeling a little too heavy at the sight of his girlfriend stoned and beside him in a bed, the sun's rays helping your pleasant features meet his eyes.
It was a genuine accident; it's what he kept telling himself.
The horrors of the battlefield plagued his already-abused mind repeatedly, and that night was no exception. Usually, they didn't get too drastic as only temporary blips in his slumber were dredged horribly with nightmares of blood in his hands, regrets and horrors plaguing him with a heavy cloud until he woke up with a deep breath. Alive from the water he regularly drowned under, rapidly gasping for air as his heart slowly calmed down in the dead of night. No noise escaped to the thick air except for his painfully throbbing heart that rushed blood in the back of his rasping throat as it grasped at the air, his ears ringing and filled with the rapid thudding.
Most nights, it was rinse and repeat. PTSD sadly took its toll on many soldiers, and Konig wasn't an exception. It was generally manageable while he was alone, his nights going with quick breaths turning to calm, sedated ones as slumber peacefully lulled his head back to the pillow, finally being able to rest with heavy eyelids giving in to the trance of sleep.
That was until it wasn't.
It was after an all-too-realistic nightmare that made him want to tear his skin off, Konig's adrenaline already surged lightning bolts through his veins with slick-sweaty skin clinging to any fabric near him that felt utterly suffocating in the humidity of the night. His arm flew out an instinct when someone's hands landed on him, the confines of his room being a safe wall from any intruders now infiltrated, the drapings of sleep still poisoning his mind and thoughts as the nightmare still played out an enemy was trying to kill him.
His eyes hadn't opened fast enough, his mind not exactly clicking into place as all muddled thoughts were slurried into a thick slop as his arm moved to defend himself with a blow going to who was trying to kill him. All too familiar with the experience of people trying to assassinate him while he slept, his body moved swiftly.
What wrenched him out of his heavy nightmare was a cry of pain that sounded too similar, eyes snapping open a delayed second after his arm swung, horror ravaging his gut with a painful squeeze as his knuckles made contact with something.
You.
Konig's legs already moved from their original position, making a conscious effort to unfurl the tight fist that met its mark while the Colonel's gaze met your pain-filled expression, the darkness of his room gently illuminated by the moon's grace revealed where his fist had met your face and words already had spilt from his dry, chapped lips the instant he recognised he was in his room once more.
Genuine remorse thrummed his soul as his legs swung off the bed with a heavy creak, thumping the soles of his feet on the cold floor at the same time your body fell back and met the ground with an even harder thud that bounced off the walls of his bedroom. Konig winced with a tightly clenched jaw while quickly moving over to you with sweaty, open palms, trying to show surrender despite the darkness and the intimidating sight of him, then edging his feet closer as he attempted to pick you up from the floor.
His eyes creased at the corners behind the holes of his mask, hardened eyebrows softening in a wince of sympathy as you choked out a quiet, heart-wrenched sob that would stain his ears for weeks. Your hand flew to cover your painful, throbbing eye as you curled up from the mighty punch you had just faced; groaning passed through your lips as heavy, blabbed tears leaked over your red-flared cheeks. The soldier felt even worse as he heard your words clearer through your clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry- sorry!" The Austrian's movements flinched as you pressed your feet along the floor to budge away from him as concern grew about what to do with panic boiling over all rational, lungs seized with a bated breath at that moment.
Large, calloused fingers softly curled around your wrist, prying your shaky palm away from your eye socket while he hooked his left arm carefully and wrapped it around your back. Not letting you remain laid on the uncomfortable floor in ebbing pain, your head felt swimmingly light. You couldn't even open up your eyes comfortably without more pain throttling through as you blinked them closed once again from your attempt.
Konig read all your mannerisms while shaking his head quickly at your words, his thick accent rumbling through a half-sleep-filled voice as he spoke to try to soothe you. "Nein, no. It's not your fault. How did you even get in?"
He immediately threw that question out of the window when a whimper passed from your throat. He shook his head again at himself with a 'tsk' and a click sounding from his dry throat as he swallowed heavily. He leaned up while carefully lifting you from the floor with a soft grunt that passed through the fabric of his mask, strong arms around your body in a firm hold that carried you to his bed with slow steps, not wanting to cause more of a headache.
It only took a few steps, a few seconds to get you toward his bed and as soon as he held, you felt his skin clung to your clothes from the sweat that remained from his nightmare.
"Scheiße, I'm sorry, I'm going to grab some ice, okay?"
He cursed out with a gruff hiss through his teeth while he laid your back onto the bed as he heard no verbal response, now wide awake from the noises of your choked-out pains before he quickly pulled a shirt over his masked head once your head landed on his pillow. His eyes glanced back to you, seeing as you pressed your palm back over your injured eye, the free, unpunished pupil watching Konig as he swiftly scrambled around the room to pull appropriate clothing on before violently wrenching the door open, slipping from your view with silence surrounding your soft, pitiful sniffles.
ough.. 300 words about a nice little idea of you and price passing time.
The atmosphere around you was a warm haze of comfort, streaks of orange-hued sunlight flooding through the blinds hung upon the few windows built into the walls, illuminating any shadows that might have remained in the cabin that the two of you were staying in for the meantime as you waited for a flight out.
Murmurs occasionally whispered into the still air, all noise remaining within the homely wooden walls with gentle music playing from an old radio that sat on a small mahogany table to the side of the room, a whisky glass half-filled placed in the shadows of the radio, away from any rays of the light that might spoil the liquid. Footsteps lightly stepped around upon the rug-covered floor as two bodies mingled in the gracing beams.
A large, worn hand was resting against your waist as the two of you gently swayed, his fingers dipped into the curves of your body as his other hand pressed against the back of your head, his digits lacing in your hair as your cheek rested against his warm, broad chest. You could hear the heartbeat that escaped from the confines of his ribs, helping you keep to the tempo of the music and Price's steps.
The two of your bodies were comfortably close, your hips and the tops of your thighs softly brushing against one another as you waltzed around the room with your Captain in the afternoon sun, your step following his as the gentleman led you around in slow circles. His gravelled voice deeply hummed along with the classical music lingering in the room, his eyes looking down to your head as you learnt how to waltz with him.
It had come to this after a few drinks shared from the long-forgotten whisky that lay in the shade; the conversation of dancing came up of having never learnt how to; Price had offered to teach you, filling over the boredom that would have loomed over the two of you for the rest of the day.
TLDR: my könig fanfics from here on out will be focused on discovering his character rather than porn
rant below the cut
before you read this, just look into his eyes for a moment. are you seeing what i'm seeing? the pain and hardships he went through? the years of training and going to bed with broken bones and bruises and a bloody nose? the tears he cried alone because he had no one? can you see how many times he had to pick himself up because he was the only one he had? can you see the man who didn't get to live his dream, who couldn't be the one thing he wanted to be?
i have been thinking a lot about könig's character, story, personality, etc., and i've decided that i want to dedicate my fanfictions moving forward (for the most part) to things that only really make sense for his character. so, this means no porn without plot from me anymore.
there is so much porn without plot out there for könig, and i'm far from the best smut writer. there is an abundance of porn for könig, but far, far less fanfictions (even fewer halfway good ones) that actually have to do with his character. i don't mean disrespect to any fanfic writer, but i'm just very tired of the mischaracterization of könig. the same thing happens to ghost's character too, and several blogs have also posted about these mischaracterization issues.
yeah, some people might say this take is "too deep" or "it's not that serious", but i feel very connected to könig since i am similar to him in a lot of ways (obviously not in terms of being a killer lol). i have spent a lot of time lately just thinking about his character, and the more i think about him, the more i realize that there is so fucking much that most fanfic writers are missing about könig.
yes, we all love könig's accent, height, cock, and everything else that makes him sexually attractive. but what about the little boy who was bullied his whole life, who never had any friends, the one who dropped out of high school to join the army? the one who worked his way up from nothing to become a fierce and respected soldier? after all the porn without plot is said and done, what thoughts go through könig's mind at the end of the day? how does he interact with others? my point being, i want to dedicate my blog more to understanding his character. if you want könig porn without plot, there are many other blogs to find that from. I AM NOT SAYING PORN WITHOUT PLOT IS INHERENTLY BAD! Just that I don’t want to contribute to it.
this doesn't mean that i won't post könig porn. oh fuck no, i will have könig porn, but it will be in the context of a story and his character overall than just porn without plot. now, i might break this rule here and there if i have a really good idea, but i'd like to stick as close to my new personal rule as possible. i'm still going to finish the death's angel AU, and i will still be taking requests for butcher!könig cuz that AU is just so good.
but other than that, i seriously want to dedicate this blog to truly understanding könig: to getting under his skin and picking his brain and figuring out who he is behind the hood, who he is other than an austrian military sex symbol many of us - myself included - have made him out to be
if you disagree or don't like this, just don't interact. no need to be hateful. you'll get blocked if you're rude :)
dededos
areudirty
jbbartram-illu
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
izzy806
ellievsbear
