[histarean]

“Everyone dies! I want to die when you die”

nova. twenty two years old. sometimes i read and write ♥︎ requests closed

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[devils-queen]

✞ 666 ✞

[sshirakumo-deactivated20260108]

"Let's go, Eren."

"...Okay."

[yutamayo]

"You were never supposed to sacrifice yourself for my sake."

[immanime]

Shingeki no Kyojin: The Final Season - Kanketsu-hen

[aengelren]

You can’t beat this

[halbravd]

people still calling armin weak really didn’t understand his character at all. unlike eren, he never made a fuss about being an orphan and losing his entire family. unlike mikasa he didn’t hesitate and did what had to be done to protect the survivors from eren. he was often laughed at and faced so many hardships when erwin named him as his successor yet he never complained about it one single time. he became a titan against his will and saw his lifespan being reduced to seven years, but never cried or showed any sign of remorse. armin is one of the strongest characters of attack on titan and if you don’t understand that, then you missed a very important point.

[aengelren]

I’ll always hold this panel close to my heart

[kneelingshadowsalome]

kind of angsty and maybe a bit too cruel but,,, vampire hunter könig with vampire engel who he only allows to feed when she does things the way he wants her to?

i feel like in a way he would pretend that he doesn't actually understand how much she needs blood and how strong the urge to feed is, how it's unlike food for humans and the effects of starving could be much worse for her

like she could be crying and shaking and telling him that it just feels so bad, it's borderline painful and könig is just like "well you were being bad, liebling :( you know i have to do this"

although when he does let her feed she's only allowed to drink his blood and not allowed to call him out on the fact that he very obviously enjoys it

Oh my god poor Engel?? Whatever has she done to deserve such a cruel master?

But of course she’s drawn to him, far more powerful than any vampire she has ever seen, which is simply an insult to the laws of nature because he’s a mortal… And yet he seems to possess the strength of a 400-year-old vampire and the will of an entire mountain, Engel is just smitten, watching him from afar night after night, playing around with the thought of having a taste of that mesmerizing, cruel man who seems to hunt her kind purely for sport.

He takes the villager's money and gets blessed by the priest, but he’s far from a holy warrior. Oh no, she knows that look: it’s the same piercing stare a vampire has just before he’s about to feed.

That man is not here to do God’s work, he’s not here to help, he’s here to feast. Still, the brutal knife strapped to his thigh never makes her shiver. Not even the wooden stakes he carves out of white oak strike fear in her cold, dead heart. No, she’s basically quivering with the need to sink her little teeth in his neck and see if this big alp of a man would moan.

-

And one night, König does wake up to the feeling of a woman’s cold mouth on his throat, a mouth that turns hot the minute she draws blood. He should be alarmed, realizing in an instant what’s going on but not being able to help the fact that he’s getting hard, that his arms slowly rise to lock around her waist. She gets scared – do Nachzehrers even get scared? – and withdraws, and Gott, she’s even more beautiful than in the picture they gave him…

He’s been hunting for over thirty years, leading a lonely life, a brutal life, the acts he’s done slowly distorting him into the crazed madman he’s called nowadays. And sometimes he feels he’s becoming the very thing he hunts, losing himself in the carnage, enjoying the killing – perhaps he has stared into the abyss for far too long...

But this is the most beautiful abyss he has ever seen: frightful eyes shot wide, mouth pretty and red with his blood, lips parted and revealing two pointy, perfect little canines, the prettiest he has ever had to pleasure to behold and, well… he has always wanted a pet.

-

“Don’t stop,” he rasps, and not out of weakness. The man doesn’t look at all like he’s about to faint even though she already took three long gulps from him. He should be getting pale by now, and she doesn’t want to kill him – no, she wants to return to him again and again, try other spots in his body, and then escape just before he can seize and destroy her.

Humans, even the big ones, should not be able to wrestle her down after she has drawn so much blood, but he’s holding her prisoner with ease: the hands around her waist are pure, warm muscle, the body under her is hard and strong and so, so very alive.

She was always told to avoid the hunters because they know much more than the others, she's been warned that they will eventually catch her if she kept playing with them.

She knows she shouldn’t be here but... she just can’t help herself sometimes. And perhaps she kind of did expect to be gripped in an iron hold… perhaps she even yearned to be held by him. But she didn’t expect him to ask for more.

-

Three weeks later, she still hasn’t had enough of him, quite the contrary.

They’re now travelling together, as sick as it sounds – she even has her own coffin, made out of oak too and hauled around in a carriage where König throws his bag of stakes. They make an odd pair, the impale tools and her lonely bed (oh, how she wishes she could sleep with him, or that he could join her in her coffin). The stakes still don't make her shiver, or if they do, then they do so only in the most endearing way.

She thought she would eventually wear him down, that he would become soft and pale and lethargic after being treated like blood cattle. But he doesn’t. If anything, it’s she who’s getting pale and weak. She’s slowly losing her powers from being around him for so long: her sight and hearing only catch König because he has the strongest heart of them all, and he never lets her feed when she wants to. Not even when she needs to.

He wants her frail and begging before she gives it to her, and not even his moans, the pure pristine sounds of pleasure she finally gets, not even the fact that he’s petting her hair while she uses him, not even the thrilling phenomenon that’s happening in his leather pants when she puts her mouth on him is able to satisfy her hunger.

It should be impossible for a vampire to love, but sometimes she catches herself wondering… is she in love with König?

Is she in love with a mortal man who lets out deprived groans and gets an erection from the softest graze of her fangs? Who hunts her kind with a bloodlust that surpasses even the passions of a vampire? Who’s clearly not only insane but also ostracized, hated and feared by his own people?

But the question that haunts her the most as she retreats to her cold coffin while König turns the carriage toward yet another mountain path is: does he even love her back…?

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

[chimamonbun]

"You can't kill me, 'cause I'm already inside you"

[histarean]

i just finished 5 hours of cod gameplay and i didn’t see konig once so my question is: where the fuck are you guys finding these clips of him for edits??? someone please explain

[histarean]

könig masterlist

one shots

barracks bunny

wc: 1.8k

summary: you’re known as the barracks bunny while you and könig are dating

[histarean]

literally the video version of my barracks bunny fic

https://x.com/amazlngnature/status/1691919007077617711?s=12

[histarean]

barracks bunny

könig x fem reader

summ: you're known as the barracks bunny while you and könig are dating

word count: 1.8k

content/warnings: angst, comfort

a/n: i love könig and writing angst so why not combine them? this is my first cod "fic" so i'm pretty excited! i know my account has been primarily aot but i hope this reaches the cod fandom. love you all

Rumors spread fast in the military. Everyone on the base knew that, especially you. 

König and you had been together for a while now and while all the guys knew you were his, there were still whispers floating around. Whispers soon turned to stares, stares to quiet laughing and eventually, the whole base knew you as the barracks bunny. 

Now, König’s not stupid, of course he heard what the other cadets were saying and to say he was not happy was an understatement. He knew he had to do something but with three warnings racked up (for beating up other soldiers who were talking shit about you) he couldn’t just fight everyone on the entire base. The next best option was to confront you about it.

His footsteps down the hall sounded like thunder and his breathing was lightning. Each step he took was filled with anger and everyone he passed could hear it. How could these people say those things about his schatz? 

“You know she’s slept with half of us already?”

“She’s such a slut”

“I wonder if I’ve ever got a chance with her”

It's so cruel. His precious lover being reduced to a “slut” a “whore” a “barracks bunny” it was all too much. König was trained to keep cool during battle, to withstand weeks of torture, to take stabs to the chest and bullets in the leg but this? No. This was unacceptable. 

He’s closer to your room now. Closer to finding out the truth and his thoughts are racing. What if it is true? Has this whole relationship been a sham? Rumors don't come from nowhere, there has to be some validity behind it. He hopes it’s not true. He really, really does because what would be left for him without you? What would he be fighting for? 

König stands outside your door. Just standing. His hand is on the doorknob but he can’t bring himself to open it. He can hear you laughing on the other side with someone else. So it was true. König could feel his heart break and shatter into a million pieces. The already faint talking started sounding like gibberish as he slowly let his hand fall from the door to his side. It felt like time had stopped and everything around him faded away into oblivion. Maybe he had been there for 30 seconds, a minute, 5 minutes, who could say. Nothing mattered anymore. 

Thoughts of leaving KorTac crossed his mind since..what was left for him here? You had lied to him. You promised it was all a joke and nothing happened. That you were his one and only. 

The trance was suddenly broken when the door opened and a hand pressed against his chest. 

“König, what are you doing?” your familiar voice brought him to his senses. 

He couldn’t look you in the eyes. His head bowed, eyes settling on the ground. 

You tried shaking his arm but he barely budged. 

So tense, you thought. 

“Hey talk to me big guy” you brought your fingers to his chin lifting his head. It’s a reach. “Please” 

König let you lift his head but averted his gaze to the room in front of him. It was Ghost. 

Ghost was the one in your room. Why him of all people? 

“You lied to me” , his accent thick. 

He felt betrayed. His only love had gone behind his back and stabbed him in the heart. This hurt more than any wound he’d ever had. Bullet holes were nothing compared to this. No knife could cut deep enough to produce the same pain he was feeling. 

“When were you going to tell me? That there were others in your life” he struggled to get the words out of his mouth. 

“What are you talking about?” you were audibly confused. “Is this about those rumors you’ve heard? I told you they were all fake” 

König mustered up the courage to look you in the face. You were so beautiful. Even though he was angry, he couldn’t get enough of you. He could look at you forever if he wanted. Your eyes seemed to suck him in like a black hole. Once you’re in, you can’t get back out. No matter how hard you try. No matter how hard he tried. 

But past all that, he couldn’t find a hint of deception in your face. You looked genuinely lost. 

“Why is Ghost in your room?” König glanced up to him. 

Ghost wasn’t doing anything. Not hurriedly pulling up his pants, not putting his shirt back on, nothing that would point to them being interrupted. He was calmly sitting on a chair, observing a rifle. Fully clothed, mask and all. You, on the other hand, were still dressed in cargo pants and a creme tank top that hugged your chest. So what the hell were you two doing? 

“He was showing me how to load ammo more efficiently” you turned back to Ghost, he was completely unbothered. Not even looking up.  

Everyone knew you had a hard time loading ammo quickly and were often stuck using knives and other weapons in place of guns. Price was even close to discharging you because of this.

Lovers quarrel, he thought. It was a ridiculous argument and Ghost wanted no part of it. He got up to leave, tossing your AUG on the bed. He casually walked out, ignoring a stare from König that could burn cities. 

“Good luck” he whispered to you, passing the door and disappearing into the hallway. 

Now you are alone. With König. This would usually be ideal but now it was scary. You know he would never ever lay a hand on you but maybe it was different this time? You hadn’t done anything but he didn’t know that. All he knew was another man was in your room while he wasn’t. This would make anyone angry. The whole situation was just a huge misunderstanding. 

“I don’t want to have this conversation in the doorway. Can you please come in?” you reached for his arm but he pulled away before you could touch him.

You were dirty to him. Tainted. He was aware you weren’t a virgin before you met him, but when you’re in a relationship, sex is sacred. At least to König. 

He walked in the room first, scanning it for any disturbances or abnormalities. None. There wasn’t anything out of place: sheets tucked tightly under the corners of the bed, clothes hung up in the small closet, everything was in order. 

He took a seat on the same chair Ghost was occupying minutes earlier. It was still warm. You sat on the bed facing across from him. König’s leg was bouncing so fast it made the chair shake and his hands were fidgeting with themselves. 

You slowly got up and kneeled down in front of him, taking his hands in yours. He looked down at your interlocked fingers then to your eyes. You looked sad. He never wanted to make you feel this way but what you did was unforgivable. 

“Believe me König, I would never do anything to hurt you” you had a slight smile on your face, trying to comfort him.

He didn’t smile back. What he needed was the truth. Where the rumors were coming from, why you got weird stares, and how long this has been going on. If you couldn't tell him, or if he thought you were lying, he might just have to end this. He doesn’t want to but how can he be with a liar, a cheater, someone unfaithful. 

“Tell me everything,” he said in a deep voice. Eyes fixated on you, unmoving. 

“There is no everything, König. Just stupid boys trying to start something out of nothing” you explained, “I promise” 

His leg had slowed down to a steady pace, still bouncing, but more controlled. You rubbed your thumb along his knuckles. Soothing. Like a mother’s touch. Except he could never remember his mother touching him like this. Like anything. You were the first one in his life to show any affection. Romantically or platonically. 

“Do you promise?” he squeezed your hands. 

Please don’t lie to me schatz. You’re all I have.

“I promise” 

That’s all König needed to hear. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. It was awkward. He wasn’t used to hugging people. It was suffocating but warm. His large frame surrounding your small body made you feel at home. He was your home. And you were his. 

“Ich liebe dich Engel. Bitte bleib für immer bei mir” he muttered into your neck. 

“Ich liebe dich auch” you replied through broken German.

He had taught you some of his native tongue when you had spare time. Simple phrases like “I love you” “cuddle me” “please” and so on. You wrote down all the things he taught you in a little notebook and often referred back to them when you had the chance. In your opinion, it was a pointless language with long words that made no sense and unnecessary diacritics, but you’d do anything for your king. 

You held each other for a while, slightly rocking back and forth. He breathed in the scent of your hair and you rubbed his back, stopping for a moment then continuing. 

You felt your body begin to lift, feet dangling in the air. You wrapped your legs around König’s waist for support as he carried you to the bed. He slowly lays you down, stepping back for a minute.

“Aren’t you coming?” you patted the space next to you. 

Of course König was coming, he just didn’t want to hurt you. Lying down directly on top you would surely suffocate you and he couldn’t do that to his little Maus. You were so small compared to him, so fragile. He’d seen you kill countless men, but in his eyes you were still his delicate Blume. 

“Yes my dear, I need to know you are comfortable though” he looked down at you.

Your safety and needs always came before his. In the bedroom, on the battlefield, and anywhere else you might be. You were his whole world and he wanted to make sure you knew that. You did. He told you everyday. Constantly showering you with compliments and praises. 

“I am” 

König’s gentle climbing in next to you, careful not to crush you. He lays on his side as you snuggle into him, face in his chest. So warm. You could hear his heartbeat, such a steady and comforting sound. A slight smile forms on his lips as he wraps you in his arms engulfing your torso. You stayed there for what felt like forever, savoring this sweet moment. Who knows how many more of these you would get. Your jobs were dangerous to say the least. Living to see another day was a gift, not a promise. But being with him made it all worth it. He’s the love of your life. You would never want to be with anyone else. Only him.

“You are everything to me, Meine Liebe” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

His Liebe. Forever and always.

[neptunes1nterweb-deactivated202]

Eren loves eating pussy!! + Fingering!

Clit kisses supremacy

Black + poc friendly! <3

(untitled, ageless, mdni)

Eren is one of those guys that when you huff & groan mentioning having a stressful day, he takes it as a sign to eat you out. Within seconds he has his thin tatted fingers thrusting inside your soft silk pussy, as your pink acrylic nails claws at the black leather couch.

Eren's not satisfied unless you're tugging his long dark brown hair ruining his messy bun. Shoving his head further deep in between your plush thighs, while his tongue slurped lapping at your clit eliciting airy whimpers from you.

Eren adored eating your pussy, he took any chance he could get.

He couldn't get enough of the way you clamped down on his fingers squealing when he curved his fingers into your sweet spots, leaving a gooey white mess, as Eren licked his fingers clean like a man starved for weeks not leaving a drop of cum left.

Afterwards, he always made sure to kiss your plump clit & pretty soft thighs endlessly as a lil 'thank you for letting me eat you out.'

If you enjoyed this work, check out my masterlist <33

[aonungspartner-deactivated20231]

MISS ME?

toxic!ex!eren x fem!reader smut

warnings: smut, fingering , p in v, riding

You and Eren have been broken up for about a month now. Well, you’ve had eren blocked for about a month now. The whole relationship wasn’t healthy and there were faults on both ends, after being on and off numerous times you took the initiative to block him in everything, including his burner accounts, emails, numbers, etc. This also meant pretending you weren’t home when he would come to your front door begging you to take him back, or yelling about how he was the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It depends on his mood.

You’re currently at a party at Armins with ur friends. Music blasting, people dancing, smoking, drinking, etc. You’re currently dancing with a few of your girlfriends when you look through the crowd of people and see him. Hazel green eyes looking directly at you. His hair was in a a bun with a strand hanging infront of his face. He was wearing a black hoodie with cargos and fresh air forces, rings on his hand. God he looked so sexy.

You suddenly feel uncovered with the way his eyes won’t leave yours, you know what he’s up to, and as fine as he looks, you refuse to give in. Shaking your head you walk over to the table filled with Alcohol, nerves calming down as you’re no longer in his eye sight. You’re picking up a red solo cup thinking of what to pour when a voice interrupts your thoughts. “So you ignoring me, huh?” He says in a low raspy voice, letting out an airy laugh. “And if I am? What’s so funny?” You say turning your head towards him, irritated that he thought this was a game.

He scans your body up and down before smirking. God you wanted to knock him out. “what’s funny is you thinking we’re done” he says nonchalantly. Your eyes widen and you’re visibly pissed. Eren notices too, his smirk grows realizing he’s gotten under your skin. “ren stfu. we’re done for good. Notice how you haven’t gotten a text back, I mean it.” you say clearly, looking him in the eyes. He rolls his eyes still smirking. “Yeah we’ll see about that” he pauses before taking in your figure again. “By the way you look sexy, wearing my favorite dress and shit. Just for me?” He says with a grin, before you can fight back he’s walking away. You take a deep breath before going back to dance with your friends, “that boy gets on my nerves” you thought.

-

You’re getting lost in the music, when you feel a body behind you. You turn your head and see Jean. You give him a little smile before dancing, this time with him behind you. Finesse by drake was now playing, music getting sensual and so did your movements. Your ass was pressed up against his front and his hands were on your sides, “I heard you and Eren broke up” he says whispering in your ear. You shudder, his breath fanning your neck. “Yeah… we’re over. I’m ready to move on.” You say, hoping he gets the hint. He smiles before placing light kisses on your neck, still moving with one another.

you feel someone staring, you look to your left and see Eren. He’s sitting down, bringing the blunt in his hand up to his mouth, inhaling and exhaling while looking straight at you. His eyes now hooded and red, his jaw clenched a bit. You smirk and keep dancing against Jean, who’s still leaving kisses on your neck, you don’t break eye contact with Eren. Jean kisses your neck again and you realize you aren’t reacting how you normally do to neck kisses. Eren knows all your spots, Jean doesn’t. As much as you can’t stand him, this boys dick game was top tier, something you haven’t had since you’ve blocked him.

Eren takes one more hit of his blunt before getting up, walking your way. Your eyes widen. “No way he’s coming over here” you think, a feeling of nervousness and excitement in your stomach rising. Eren walks up directly to Jean before speaking. “Imma need you to back the fuck up. She already got a man.” He says in a low tone, before you can interrupt Jean speaks. “I thought you two were broken up..?” He says, genuinely confused. “Nah.. she’s still with me” he says. “Eren can you go aw- I’ll get to you in a second.” You’re cut off by Eren with a sharp tone. Jean just backs away, the situation akward.

You and Eren left. “what is wrong with you. I said we’re done.” You say, clearly pissed. Eren lets out an airy laugh before getting behind you, taking jeans prior spot. He immediately latches his mouth on the side of your neck, you moan softy. He found your spot. “You keep saying that, but you know we’re not done. Nobody is gonna spoil you like I do. Put up with that bratty fuckin attitude like I do. Or fuck you like I do” he whispers, you can feel yourself getting turned on. Truth is you missed his touch. You wanted to feel good. Maybe one night wouldn’t hurt?

You turn around to face him, wrapping your hands around his neck, his hands go to your ass instantly. “Fine, just for tonight” you say, rolling your eyes. “Just tonight.” Eren says, trying to hold back his smirk.

-

you both are in the backseat of his car, erens tongue is down your throat and you’re in his lap. Dress now somewhere on the floor, along with your bra. One of erens hand is holding you by your waist and the other is pinching your nipple. You jolt when he does this. “ren… please” you whine out pulling away from the kiss, hands pulling on his hair. He lets out a groan, “use your words, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want” he says in a teasing tone. Pink lips puffy from making out.

“I want your fingers please. Please f..finger me” you get out, cheeks heating up. Eren smiles at this. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He helps you take off your panties, now fully exposed while he’s still dressed. You tug at his hoodie and he helps you, pulling his hoodie over his head and throwing it on the floor. His bare chest and toned body on display, you run your hands up and down. Eren brings up two fingers to your mouth “get them wet,angel” he says softly. You immediately open your mouth and coat the digits in your saliva. Eren swears he could cum at the scene in front of him. You sucking on his fingers in his lap, dripping on his lap.

He removes his fingers from your mouth and brings them down to your core. He runs them up and down your slit and you whine. He plunges them in without warning causing you to yelp. “Ren!” You let out. They were so long and thick, filling you up. He brings his mouth down to your breast and sucks on your bud, warm mouth and tongue suckling your hands find themselves back in his hair, tugging. He groans, picking up his pace with his fingers before bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion.

“F..faster please” you say in a breathless tone. He picks up his pace with his fingers and gently bites down on your nipple, pleasure overwhelming you. “c-cum…gonna cu..cum” you rambled, Eren finds this adorable. He unlatches from your breast, “yeah? You gonna cum all over my fingers? You’re so dirty..” he says in a condescending tone, it sends you over the edge. You bite his shoulder to stifle your moans, releasing on his fingers. Eren pulls out his fingers, you whine at the empty feeling, now clenching around nothing. “Ren..” you whine out. “Shh, shh I know baby.. I’m gonna put it in soon” he says. Lifting you up so he could pull down his pants. Not fast enough for your liking, you’re tugging at the waistband of his Calvin Kleins.

His boxers and pants are down, his cock springs free. Precum oozing from the tip. Your mouth starts to water, you can’t wait anymore, you lift yourself up and align yourself with him, sinking down on his cock. You and him both gasp at the feeling. “s..shit ren… so..so big” you moan out, feeling stuffed to the brim. Eren holds your hips, groaning. “Fuck.. you feel s-so warm and.. tight” he says, biting his bottom lip, holding back a moan. Once your ready you hold onto his shoulders for support. Bouncing up and down on his cock. Hitting new spots inside of you, both of you are moaning and whining.

After a few minutes of bouncing you get tired, falling in the crook of his neck. He wraps his hands on your thighs before fucking up into you at an insane pace. Your eyes are rolling “so big.. f-fuck ren! Keep going p..please!” You moan out. “Shit y-you’re squeezing me so tight Angel” he says with a low groan. You can feel him throbbing inside of you. He thrusts into you some more before pulling you by your hair to meet his eyes, kissing you sloppily while fucking you. Moaning into eachothers mouths.

The coil in your stomach is back, his thrusts start getting sloppy. “I m-missed you so much baby, s-so so much” he rambles out, pussydrunk at the feeling you’re giving him. “I missed y-you too ren.. missed you loving me.. a-and fucking me” you let out, moaning his name, cumming. This sends him over the edge and in a few more thrusts he cums inside of you, warm substance coating your walls. You’re both shaking, he brings you in for another sloppy kiss as you both come down from your highs. “I meant what I said… I swear I’ll change.” He says, not pulling out, now basically cockwarming. “Let’s see what happens, ren. I missed you too.” You say, both of you now letting out “I love yous” and holding eachothers sweaty figure.

he smiles to himself. Knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

[pennylanewrites]

princess [eren jaeger x f!reader]

a/n: this is very self indulgent sorry

smut under the cut mdni

it’s his favourite pet name for you. princess. he loves saying it almost as much as you love hearing it, you think.

always in the morning, “good morning princess” as he nuzzles his face against your neck, and always at night, “good night princess, sweet dreams” as he leaves a kiss against your forehead.

but it’s at random times too. it’s at the grocery store, at the deli meats, and he says “which one do you like better, princess?”. it’s when he’s teaching you how to skate, and it’s the first time you don’t fall off “good job, princess. lemme kiss you.”

he never says it when you fight. he can’t bring himself to, afraid it will ruin, afraid he won’t be able to say it again. he does say it when tears stream down your face after a hard day, when you crawl in his lap and let everything out, “i’m here, princess. i’m here, you’re okay.”

your favourite, though, is when he plows into you, shoves your head into the pillow and you can’t breathe. but you feel all of him, every inch of his cock inside your tight little hole, every slap on the bare skin of your ass, every stammering breath on your neck as he brings his lips against your ear, and bites.

“can you feel it princess? yeah, feel my cock.” he whispers and now somehow, he’s even deeper.

“god, eren, please!” the only words you can scramble out as he grips your hair and lifts you, your back against his sweaty torso. his hands are on your tits, rolling your nipples until you let out those sounds he loves.

“yeah, you love it. say it.” he says against your neck, before biting down and sucking all those unmarked spots.

“i-i-”

“say. it. now.” he accentuates every word with a hard thrust, each one throwing you even more over the edge.

“i love your cock eren! god, i love it! want it all, please!”

“cum for me, princess. think you can do that? cream on my cock?” he’s so filthy, but how can you not cum when you can feel him in your stomach? when he’s hitting that g-spot repeatedly as he tugs your hair to bring you closer. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” he whines and you melt. you know he’s close and you make it your mission to milk his throbbing cock.

“eren, fill me up, fuck!” you’re cumming. hard. and you don’t have to say it because he knows. by the way your hips and thighs stutter, and your hole tightens up around his cock. his eyes are stuck on that pearly white ring around his cock, the one he spots every time he slips out of your messy cunt. his eyes roll to the back of his head, his grip on your hips now tighter than ever.

“eren, give it all to your princess, please.” you whine and that’s enough to send him over the edge. he’s coming hard, and you can feel every time he shoots a load deep inside you. as you turn to look at him, his eyes are filled with lust. you know what’s coming.

he flips you over, sets you on the bed and spreads your sore legs open. he’s entranced by the trail of cum that stains the bed cover, even more entranced by you. heaving, trying to catch your breath, you reach down with a finger and catch whatever falls, before licking that finger clean.

“god. look at you, filled with my cum.” two fingers enter your slit, and he watches as all of his seed pours out onto the bed. he could cum again right then and there, but he instead pushes up and gets on top of you.

he kisses your lips softly, they’re salty and bitter. he makes sure to trail his hands over every mark on your body, your bruised neck, your hips, the insides of your thighs. “you’re so filthy, princess.”