legs / 29 / she/they / perpetually anxious queer nightmare / british / multi fandom pervert / sweet but bites back / big fan of bad jokes
ths is a !!MDNI!! zone. i am an actual adult and it's weird. do not feed my shit into ai. it's rude.
legs library (masterlist) / request guidelines (requests: open)
tags: #two legs writes (all writing) / #two legs thinks out loud (drabbles) / #two legs takes requests / #two legs answers / #two legs real life / #legs favs
wonderful nonnys: 🌟, 🪷, 🐀, 🎶, 🌷, ❤️
any dividers used are @/cafekitsune. headers are mine via the power of canva.
Could you do FTM reader without top surgery with TF141 or Simon?
pls pls?
-🍥
hello sweet 🍥 !!
honestly, i don't think i could do this idea justice, and i wouldn't want to try and write something and it not have any heart in it, y'know? i think different depictions of gender experiences deserve to be explored properly, and i'm probably not the right person for it. it's nothing against the prompt, it's a lovely prompt, hence why i've sat and marinated on it for a little while to see if i could come up with something.
HOWEVER both @rowsandrowsofnothing and @rawme-price would be more than happy for you to pop into their ask boxes with this! also if any writers want to tag themselves in the comments as someone who'd like this prompt to land in their ask box pls do!
A small prompt I was given ages ago by the lovely @soapsjockstrap
"Your next writing assignment - König who wants to try fucking standing so so bad but physically cannot remain upright if he’s all the way hard."
Konig x F!Reader || 1.3k
CW: P in V, Too Hard Can't Think
You'd caught wind of the rumors before - locker room talk, mostly, the kind that gets passed around like a bad hand of cards. Some of it was envy dressed up as a joke: that the reason König never left base was to keep the women from losing their minds entirely. You'd laughed it all off, of course; besides, massive cocks were only in booktok books and hentai.
At least that's what you thought.
The first time you got him in bed, König tried to break the tension with a joke so stupid you almost reconsidered the entire affair.
"You want to see why they call me König?" he asked like he was pulling off a Bond villain impression. You rolled your eyes but let him go on, because goddamn, he'd worked for it: ditching his tact-gear with one hand, sloughing off base regulations with the other, but never that mask. You watched his fingers hook beneath his waistband, watched him hesitate, like he was afraid you'd bolt, and then your jaw dropped.
‘Big’ was not a word you had ever underused in your life, but it failed here. It was more: thick, absurd in a way that made your nervous system light up. It twitched and bobbed from the force of him kicking off his shorts, and you closed your mouth only when you realized you were gaping. König, for his part, ran his thumb along his hip bone and gave a shy, embarrassed shrug.
"Ja? I warned you." Like he was apologizing for the weather, or the draft, or the biceps you'd begged him to flex once during PT.
"Maus, you look at me like I will break you..." He gave a nervous chuckle and you kind of wanted him to, which was fucked up, so you grinned and said, "I mean, you could."
He'd flushed at your bravado. "I do not want to... break you," he repeated, and you understood with a sudden and perverse fondness: this man genuinely thought he would.
So you'd reassured him in the language of hands, pulling him down to you, guiding him to your mouth, wanting to show you could take it. But when his cock brushed your thigh, your bravado faltered; the thing was intimidating, yes, but also weirdly charming in its own way, a dumb brute that twitched when you laughed and smacked his belly when you poked it. König, for his part, just hovered over you, looking more apologetic with every inch.
"I'm not made of glass," you told him, but his eyes darted like you were, and when the first attempt left you gasping and flinching, he went into a full retreat, hands in the air.
"Too much?" he'd said, and it was, though you'd die before saying so. Your body had never felt so traitorous, refusing to cooperate with your enthusiasm. So he came up with a solution.
"Ach, dummkopf." He facepalms like the answer had been obvious the whole time. "I pick you up and fuck you, ja? Gravity does the work." You'd heard dumber ideas. You weren't sure you'd heard smarter ones. Not that your brain was the organ doing the evaluating.
"Right, sounds easy enough. Alright then big guy, up I go." And up you went. He carried you to the wall like it was nothing, like you were nothing, and pinned you there with one arm while the other hand wrapped around himself to line up. He caught your eye and held it. That was the smug part - not a word, not a smirk, just the eye contact, steady and unbothered, while he rolled his hips and dragged himself against you and said something so filthy in such a low voice that you had to remind yourself this was the same man who’d been apologizing to you five minutes ago.
"Kleines ding, maybe I will break you, ja? You want that, Mausi? Want to be broken on my fat cock, mm?"
There it was - that same ego you'd clocked a dozen times on the field. A man built like that only ever got good at one thing. And then his hips rolled again, and you felt it… the difference, the shift, the thing that made your breath catch and your fingers dig into his shoulder: he wasn't even fully hard before.
“K-König wait-” You tried to say something, but his knee dipped and your back dragged against the wall and his eyes snapped up to yours.
“Scheiße- not now..” His next thrust buckled his other knee, and he cursed under his breath. "Nein, nein nein nein..!"
His hands grasped at you, and he attempted a third time to thrust into you, this time with a little more luck. However, his frustration was evident considering there was no easing and the gravity he'd mentioned surely played no part in his attempt to claim the newfound land between your legs.
"Fick, ja, fuck - finally- Maus, es tut mir leid." He apologized, mouthing at your neck, his breath warm and contrite against your skin, while you tried to remember how lungs worked. Breathing as if he wasn't literally impaling you like some homemade porn featuring Vlad the Impaler. You weren't even sure there was enough oxygen in the room for both of you.
His hands clamped around your ass hard enough to bruise, his body shearing you up the wall in short, brutal shoves that made something in your brain white out. It should have been ridiculous, almost cartoonish, to be manhandled like this, but instead, here was your reality: you were being absolutely railed by the largest Austrian you'd ever met, and every thrust ratcheted your spine another inch up the plaster.
He was saying things in between breaths, words chewed up by his accent and mangled further by the rasp in his throat. "Fuck- good - so good, scheiße-" One hand splintered off to palm your jaw, thumb not gentle but not cruel, pinning your face so you had to look at him.
"You take it so... fuck." He let out a laugh that was more a growl, dark and self-mocking as he pounded past every little feint and flinch you gave him, as if brute force could translate to tenderness if it just persisted enough.
Then somewhere in the periphery, you realized you'd nearly gone cross-eyed. Was this how people died? Was this how buildings collapsed? König fucked like controlled demolition; he went deeper, meaner, until your legs kicked uselessly in the air.
Then just like that, the cadence faltered.
König's knees wobbled, the trembling overt at first, then insistent, and with a grunt that bordered on dismay, he pitched forward, plastering you even harder to the wall, his arms bunching and shaking at either side of your hips. His forehead thunked gently to your shoulder as he took two, three gaping breaths, the rhythm of his hips stuttering so completely it almost made you laugh.
Almost.
And for a split second you thought it was stamina, thought maybe the hard fucking just winded him, maybe the man was as human as the rest of you. But then you caught the glassy, unfocused wobble to his eyes, how his hands fumbled against your legs, clumsy, like he'd never had access to his own body before. You craned to catch his face and— Oh. Oh. This dude was literally so hard he had no blood left in his brain and could not even string a full thought together. You were letting a fucking himbo into your bed on a technicality - and goddamn if it didn't suit you. "Oh my fucking god," you managed, voice hitching, and then "Wait, König, you-"
At first he didn't seem to hear you, but then his cheek rutted against you and he managed to grunt, "Mm?"
"Are you okay?" You tried to get your arms around him, but he was just so wide that you couldn’t do much but pat his shoulder between elbow-pinned breaths.
"Ich-" He rolled his head to one side, and there was something stunned and lost in the blue of his eyes. "Sorry. Es tut mir leid… It happens, sometimes. Is-" He blinked once, then his voice went a little muffled. "S'nice, though. You're so- so warm." His hips gave another jittery thrust, and he groaned.
"Maybe.. Maybe cowgirl would be better, ja?"
"Yeah König, that's fine, too."
living with simon riley is more like living with a large, slightly scary dog than a man.
he’s quiet, low-maintenance - as long as he gets his hour or two of exercise a day. skip it and he gets restless.
right before dinner he appears in the kitchen doorway like clockwork, staring at you with a hopeful, wide eyed look that says “feed me, please.”
when he’s home from ops, he follows you from room to room without a word - your silent, ever present shadow. if you leave for work, he’s waiting by the front door when you get back, like he’s been lurking there for hours.
and every morning when he wakes up hard, pressed right against your ass? he humps against you like a horny mutt who’s forgotten all his manners.
Oh hey! Yeah the horny time of the month ask was also me the ❤️ anon. Maybe I should swap it?
Anywho. Here are some of my omegaverse horny thoughts. Sorry for the rambling depravity of them.
So I keep thinking about poly!141 and f!reader getting stuck on each of their knots at an inopportune time.
Like….
Reader being a brat and getting herself knotted over Price’s desk in his office a few minutes before he’s due for a disciplinary meeting with some recruits.
The recruits don’t know where to look or what to think when they report to Price’s office and see the Captain sitting behind the desk with a pretty little omega sitting perched on his lap.
Maybe they can kind of smell what’s been going on but don’t quite believe it, because surely Captain Price is too professional and disciplined to be doing this in front of others.
Lucky for them the meeting is shorter than they expect and Price’s reprimand is surprising lenient.
Or…
Reader is in preheat and she’s desperately rubbing and grinding in Johnny’s lap in the back of a transport as they make their way back for exfil.
Gaz is rolling his eyes at them both, but Johnny can’t deny their omega anything, so he gives in, despite knowing they’re not too far off arriving from their destination.
Reader undoes his pants before sinking down on his cock and starting to ride him. Her plan is to pull off Johnny before he cums and his knot swells, but suddenly the road gets real bumpy and before you know it he’s stuck inside her as the truck is pulling up to the security checkpoint and Gaz is jumping out.
Maybe Price is driving the truck, and when he turns around or opens the back doors to see why Johnny and reader aren’t getting out, he just shakes his head.
AAAAAaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHhhhhh
i love this. SO MUCH. like tickles all the good bits of my brain.
i v much enjoy a demanding omega in heat/preheat. like no, idc that you're busy you're going to rail me RIGHT NOW for my health and sanity it is a need not a want.
the back of the car one is making me think all sort of thoughts. stealing it. my thoughts now. that's living in my brain all day.
legs xoxo
ps if you want to change ur nonny tag go for it! u can pick since i just like... assigned you one lol. or we stick with ❤️ and i get mildly confused which is my usual state of being anyway
❤️ anon here and I am feeling so loved that I have my own emoji!
Seriously in awe of the way you write the cod boys and capture their personalities and the way they would talk so well.
Thank you to Fish and I am indebted to you both for that cockwarming at the pub fic!
I think it’s awakened something in me and my gutter brain is wanting to ask if there might be any more cockwarming on the horizon? 😳
If there is, I would be grateful for whatever might catch your fancy! Whether it’s a bratty reader or a shy and inexperienced one. A shameless reader, or one who’s shy and inexperienced. One who is worried about being caught when she’s pulled onto her man’s lap in public, or some lucky lady enjoying being passed between them all in private…. I have decided that I am just a hornbag who is hopeful for any kind of more.
❤️
oh yeah there can definitely be more cockwarming on the horizon hehe
also yay for awakenings in the gutter brain!! may the gutter continue to find more things to be horny over
It’s the horny time of the month and my brain is in the gutter with all the filthy thinkings.
So… Can I ask your thoughts on omegaverse and tf141?
And can I share some of my nsfw thoughts? I didn’t want to be sending any explicit asks without your consent.
❤️
HEY!!
hehehe horny time of month
i don't have many omegaverse thoughts in general if i'm honest! i like reading it, i attempt to write it and I do find the concept really interesting. there's lots of different ways to play with it that i haven't yet.
and omgggg send them. send me ur horny thoughts! but also thank u for checking!!
i dunno what the title of the fic is but the first chapter was called camera ready and the next one will be sacrificial lamb i think? i really really enjoyed that one and was wondering if you’ve been working on the second chapter ? LOVE YOUR WORK !!
rotten work!
sacrificial lamb is just being polished. i sent it to my darling @konigs-lover and they didn't say "legs this is trash put it in the bin" so it should be up soon!
with this one i'm trying to draft most of the next chapter before i post the next one, so chapter three: redacted title is currently underway, so when i've at least got the bones of it i'll post chapter two. if that makes sense.
ALSO thank u this is really sweet. i'm really enjoying writing rotten work and i'm glad there are people that enjoy reading it 💘
i'm definitely gonna try and do some more little blurbs for him! not a proper series but maybe like little snapshots of how he's getting on with Operation: Love Reader From Afar
i literally just sent an ask 5seconds ago but YOUR THING MADE ME THINK. imagine simon instead of retiring eventually is actually KIA. but if there is an afterlife, he can't move on and is left haunting reader because they're the only part left of him still living, still tethered to earth, even before he died honestly. somehow, reader can still see and hear him. something something, reader saves him from an eternity alone and he saves reader from... an eternity alone.
it wasn't implied in the last fic that reader was super depressed/alone but in this little brain barf i imagine they weren't doing well. maybe hanging onto their memory of simon in the same way he was.
and you stabbed me right back!!! 😭😭 love your writing so much. need simon to slip up just once and have him catch your eye again, whether that goes well or horribly. they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder...
OMG!! will reader punch him in the face in the street? ignore him entirely? will they even recognise him? so many options to play with hehe
legs xoxo
ps sorry for the stab pls recover emotionally with one (1) cup of tea
even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt.
simon 'ghost' riley has loved you since before he knew love could exist without fists.
he’s loved you since you were ten and haphazardly pressed a plaster over his skinned knee with trembling hands.
he’s loved you since he was fifteen, standing on your mum’s doorstep with a black eye and a split lip, blood on his teeth, whispering, “can I stay?” like it was the only safe place he knew.
he’s loved you since seventeen - since the first time he sank inside you, clumsy, breathless. since your nails carved down his back and you whispered his name in his ear like it was something sacred and he believed for one perfect moment that he could be more than the violence he came from.
he’s loved you since the day he told you he was enlisting. since he promised he’d call, he’d visit, he’d write.
he's loved you every time he's broken every single one of those promises.
and he still loves you now - six months post discharge - perched on a rooftop across from your apartment, watching you through the scope of a rifle he no longer has use for.
he wouldn’t call himself a stalker. the word felt too dirty and impersonal for what he was doing to you. he was just… watching. observing. keeping you safe in a world that was more dangerous than you would ever know.
torturing himself in the only way that still made sense.
he knows your routine by heart. 07:12 every morning you leave your building - give or take a few minutes if the lift isn't working. he knows you order a flat white with oat milk and caramel syrup and that the barista smiles at you like you're a regular she actually likes. he knows you order a croissant on weekdays and a cinnamon bun on the weekends - that clearly your sweet tooth hasn't changed in over a decade.
he knows that you sometimes linger on your balcony at night when sleep won't come, smoking one cigarette after another, blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders whilst a cat peers at you through the glass door.
good, you got the cat then. you always wanted one.
every time the cherry of your cigarette glows orange in the night his chest pulls tight.
he should tell you he's back.
that he's been back for six months. six fucking months of being back in the same city, walking the same streets, observing you from afar instead of knocking on your door.
but how the fuck is he supposed to look you in the eyes now? how is he supposed to look at you as ghost when all you would see is simon, and simon got put away in a box in the back of his mind a long, long time ago. how was he supposed to tell you that the boy - the kid - that you loved is gone, replaced with someone who has blood on his hands that will never wash off. that the boy who used to sneak chips off your plate and once trembled when you touched him had grown up and become more monster than man.
he was terrified you’d look at him with pity.
worse - he was terrified you’d see him for what he really was.
so instead, he sits on this rooftop most nights in a black hoodie, scope pressed to his eye, telling himself he's keeping you safe. that this is all he can offer you anymore. that watching from a distance is better than letting you get close enough to see the rot.
he remembers the boy he used to be - the one that turned up at school with split lips and cigarette burns on the back of his hands, that held your hand in secret under your desk. the one that started fights on your behalf without hesitation. the one your mum started letting in without hesitation because she knew how bad things were for him at home.
but that boy? dead. buried. gone.
what replaced him doesn't deserve to be near you.
but still, he stays. he watches.
he mourns what he won't even let himself try to have from afar.
he watches the way your fingers pick at the edge of your blanket. he catalogues every sigh, every distant look in your eyes, every downturn of your lips. he hates whatever keeps you up at night. he hates even more that he isn't brave enough to find out what it is.
some nights, after your balcony light clicks off and you disappear inside, he stays longer than he should. lets himself imagine what would happen if you looked across the street and saw him. if instead of fear or disgust, you gave him that soft, lopsided smile you used to save just for him.
he always crushes the thought before it can take root.
he's taken more lives than a graveyard can hold. the idea that someone soft might still want him seems impossible to fathom.
so he keeps his distance even as the line between want and need grows thinner.
keeps you safe from the worst parts of the world.
and himself.
every night he sits there on that rooftop, scope pressed to his eye. chest cracking open for a person who has no idea that the spectre of the boy they used to love has come home - and knowing he's too much of a coward to tell you.
