First impressions were everything and if you wanted to secure another old man as a paypig, you had to look the part. The uniforms for the bottle service were basically lingerie and it took a minute for you to get comfortable parading around in something you imagined you’d only ever wear in the comfort of your home. Every employee’s measurements were taken for outfits tailored to their bodies so that everyone looked like they came out of a Playboy magazine. At this club, less clothing meant more money. And to you, that was all that mattered.

You tugged your top a little lower, sweetening your smile into something saccharine as you approached his table. “Hey—”

“You– you do that for all your customers?” He cut you off, barely sparing a glance.

Thrown off by his interruption but nowhere near off-balance, you laughed softly and glanced down at your exposed chest. “Only the good looking ones. What can I get for you?”

His eyes were trained on the jungle of bodies dancing in front of the DJ’s booth. “Vodka. As– as much as you c—uuurp— as much as you can give me.”

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He didn’t respond so you took your leave, putting in his request at the bar. Your gaze trailed back to him frequently. Now that you’d seen him up close, you felt as if… you felt like you’ve seen him before. Did he have a twin, maybe? Resemble someone you saw on TV?

You weren’t lying either. He was good looking, at least in that old man kinda way. A little rough around the edges, maybe carrying some heavy baggage, looking straight up miserable. He looked like he just came from the end of the world, actively dissociating with an all-too-familiar absent stare boring into the ceiling. His lab coat was especially out of place in this hovel for drunks and druggies, but it was cute that he had a mad scientist thing going on.

The bartender dropped the glass of vodka in front of you, jostling you out of your thought process. You took it back to his table, setting it down with the customary napkin. He took one look and screwed up his face. You didn’t waver under his hard glare and had a good enough idea of what he was about to say—-

“This is all you can get me?” With narrowed eyes, he picked you apart.

We have portions to follow. Can’t just give you the equivalent of a bottle in one go. But that answer never went down well. You put your hands on your hip, hoping to seem like you were sympathizing. “Just looking out for you, that’s all. How about when you finish that glass, wave me down and—”

He snatched the glass from its place on the surface and chugged it. He slammed it down, burping unceremoniously.

“...and I’ll grab you another…” You blinked, impressed at how easily he downed the hard liquor. Your smile grew despite yourself. You quickly reigned in your expression when you noticed the minute confusion lingering in his gaze, clearing your throat and grabbing his glass. “Damn.” You said before leaving to get his refill.

The next few weeks unfolded just like that.

He singled you out for whatever reason just to bitch and groan when you actually tried to serve him. No matter what you did, there was always a problem: the glass wasn’t properly filled, you took too long to get to him, he saw you laughing with your coworkers instead of bringing his drink… He was the epitome of mixed signals because regardless of how many times he said you were bad at your job, he made sure to leave a fat stack of cash behind just for you. You remember counting those bills and doing laps around your dingy apartment because his tips matched three customers’ worth.

There was one shift when the bar was so busy. You were in the process of managing multiple tables when he walked in. Lacking the bandwidth to put up with him, you tried to pass him to another coworker which did not go down well. That stubborn son of a bitch tracked you through the crowd and snatched the drinks off your carry tray.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You hissed. It would take a miracle for him to hear you over the deafening thump of the speakers, and part of you hoped he hadn’t. You didn’t mean to snap, especially not at a high paying customer.

He smiled like he knew something you didn’t. Of course he heard you. “Look at you, haha. Breaking character? Finally. Y– You think you can just pawn me off? Me? Don’t pull that shit again, or I’ll— I’ll let ‘em take you.”

What?

You watched him in horror as he nonchalantly downed all of the drinks, coughing and hacking up a storm after they blended together in the back of his throat, no doubt mixing into something unpleasant. You’ve had your fair share of threats while working here, but something about him was unsettling. That quiet, unnamed recognition you had in the depths of your mind said, believe him...

Let them take me?

Until you made sense of your situation and how to go about it, you refrained from sending others in your place when he called on you. It became easier and somewhere along the line. Call it naivety or obliviousness, if you want—it’s probably both. You even went so far as to hang around when he got blackout drunk because that was the only time he was amenable to your questions.

And one night, it worked a little too well.

As closing time approached, rules relaxed around standard protocol. You took rounds on rounds of shots with your coworkers til you felt a buzz and stumbled your way over to his table with two glasses of … something. You didn’t even know.

He groaned as you dragged a chair up to his booth but happily accepted the tall glass of whatever when you slid it to him.

You hiccuped, gulping down a good bit of your drink. You needed the liquid courage. After a deep breath, you slurred, “How… how many drinks ’re you at now?”

His eyes slowly find yours over the top of his glass, unfocused and glassy. “Don’t count. I don’t ever count.”

Your lips pursed. “Yeah… fair.” You snorted as giggles bubbled out of you unprovoked, earning a glance from him. “S’funny, I just— I dunno, I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

He slurped the last of the glass in another go. “Well, d—uuuurp— duh. I’ve been coming here for weeks. Fuck— are you a fucking lightweight?”

“Nuh-uh,” you insisted. “Before then. Before you first showed up here. I know you, I swear. You got a… you got an evil twin or something?”

“Haha… y– yeah, yeah, somethin’ like that.” He toyed with the glass, sliding it back and forth between his hands.

“Mm.” You rubbed your eyes, feeling the drowsiness kicking in hard and fast. You already clocked out of the conversation—you’d be lucky if you remembered this in the morning. Without another word you rose from your seat, bumping into the table before walking off.

He caught you before you got too far. His calloused palm snagged against the skin of your wrist, holding you in place.

“Hey, hey, wait.” He tugged you back, letting you fall into the booth beside him. He was tall; even seated, your head knocked against his shoulder before drifting to his chest. He propped you up in your drunken stupor, holding you firmly by the shoulders. If you were sober, you would have definitely been freaked out by the crazed look in his eyes. “You– you ever feel like you’re being watched?”

“Huh?” you said dumbly. When your brain realized that he was waiting for an answer, you continued. “Oh, uh… I mean, only ever by you…?”

His grip tightened, the madness in his eyes spreading into his smile. “Exactly. Exactly. Lemme tell you, I kinda have twins— or, uh… I have thousands of versions of me, all patrolling around the multiverse. You following me so– so far?”

“Uh—”

“Yeah, you are.” He dismissed your answer, or lack thereof. “Thousands of versions of me! All watching us because I had to choose the dimension where you exist after the last one went to shit. F– Fuck me, right? It’s too late to move to another reality. I– I– I’d hate to have to do that to Morty again after—”

“Morty?”

“My grandson. It– It doesn’t matter. Just–” He hiccuped, his eyes crossing as he shook off the effects of the alcohol, his weight dropping on you for a moment. “Just trust me, okay? You do know me. Not me, actually, but those other versions of me. They like you, and I mean really like you. The Rick that died here was supposed to watch you until you were gifted to one of the ‘good’ ones. I’m the Rick that took his place, so I’m– I’m here to warn you. Still following?”

Rick. You tucked his name in your memory. “I—”

“Good,” He cooed, his voice drenched with superiority. “Oh, man, maybe watching you isn’t so bad after all. I get a—uuuuurp— I get a you without having to go through all that– all that bureaucratic holier-than-thou bullshit the Citadel’s on.” He laughed, the sound worming its way under your skin and warming your insides despite the bizarre conversation.

You blinked once. Twice.

What was good about anything he just said? He just said that you would be gifted to someone. Delusions or not, did he really consider that situation to be good?

You slowly guided his hands off of you, a sliver of panic-induced clarity breaking through the drunken haze. He was obviously hammered beyond belief and spewing some fucked up fantasy.

“Yeah…” Your lips smacked together before spreading into a polite smile. “How about I get you a glass of water? Sober you up a bit?”

“What? No—”

“I think you’ve met your limit.”

His lips twisted in a deep frown, his glare unmistakable. His eye twitched; you’d obviously hit a nerve. “I don’t have limits.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” You cooed, mimicking his condescending tone from earlier. “Let’s get some water in you and see how you feel then, hm?”

“Fuck water!” He scowled, crossing his arms and slumping into the seat. “H– How d’you think you’d feel, huh? When you’re snatched from that shitty little apartment of yours in the middle of the night by a couple hundred assholes who look exactly like me?”

Now he was implying he knows where you live. That’s so great. You shook your head, standing up with your arms thrown in exasperation. “Oookay, I’m out.” Your eyes scanned the floor for security.

He rolled his eyes, throwing aside the small table blocking his path when he got fed up with his lack of coordination, floundering after you. “Oh– oh, you’re out? I’m telling you your life’s in danger and you’re walking away? You’d be stupid not to trust me, sweetie. Like– like actually the biggest idiot in the whole fucking universe—”

“Can you do something? Please?” You called the nearest bouncer. He gave you a look, eyes ping-ponging between you and the drunk old man on your heels before rolling his eyes and waving you off with the excuse of I’m off the clock or something.

“Bitch,” you muttered, pushing into the back rooms to grab your belongings. All the while, Grandpa was yapping your ear off about some bullshit you didn’t care to acknowledge any longer.

“Your best chance at freedom is me. I can’t believe I’m– that I’m wasting this much effort on an ungrateful little brat, but I’m drunk as fuck. Fuck, I’m so drunk,” he groaned, digging his palms into his eyes.

You hummed non-committedly, taking the opportunity to pass him. You almost made it to the exit before you heard him again—

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he emerged from the back and limped his way back to you. “These few weeks, I always leave this cheap joint before you. You– you think there’s a reason for that?”

“You’re so crazy,” you whispered before pushing through the doors and hopefully, away from him. “Seriously, drink some fucking water—”

You stepped out of the club’s darkness into the soft light of the breaking dawn, the soft sunrise doing little to soothe you. This was just another aggressive weird customer, you told yourself. You glanced back to see him stuck at the doors, drool leaking from his open mouth and coating the glass.

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone to see when the next bus would arrive. The screen flared to life, too bright after being inside for so long, disorienting you to the point of bumping into someone.

“Sorry…” you mumbled, your eyes lifting as your vision recalibrated. You blinked rapidly as you looked up.

You paused, eyes squinting. You swore you were seeing double… triple… what was the word for five?

You peered confusedly at the group in front of you. Crazy enough, it was the guy from the club—at least, the versions of him he was talking about. These ones were dressed in some sort of military uniforms, but they shared the exact same face.

The one in a captain hat smiled, approaching you as if you were a wild animal. “Heeey, how’s it going?”

You stumbled backwards, tripping over your heels to the ground. Your ass hit the unforgiving gravel with an oof, your stuff spilling out of your purse. You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before the captain grabbed your arm and yanked you to a seated position.

“Hey—!” you yelped, kicking against the pavement, against the hands gripping you.

The club doors flew open and Rick’s silhouette leaned lazily into the light. You stared at him incredulously, your chest heaving in panic; was this another Tuesday to him? Can’t he pick up the pace?

“C-137,” the captain snapped distastefully, yanking you closer. “Of course it’s you.” You winced as his gloved fingers dug into your skin.

“Now we’ve got more work to er– erase her fucking memories. It’s not that hard to get these ones to like us, that’s– that’s the whole fucking point of this program! And somehow you managed to spook one, you big dumb piece of shit. Fucking asshole,” he muttered, pulling out a device from his pocket.

“What the fuck is happening?!” You tried to pull yourself from your captor’s grip, to no avail.

“Shh shh shh, baby, it’ll be over soon. Pr– Promise.” The captain hushed you, shooting the gun and tugging you towards the swirling green portal.

“No, let me go!” You kicked and screamed until your throat burned, but all your protests fell upon deaf ears. You put up enough of a resistance to annoy them, though, because they paused their argument to glare down at you. The captain cursed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed you up from the ground and threw you over his shoulder. You grunted as his bony shoulder stabbed your stomach, your nose smushing against the small of his back. “Stop—!”

“Shhh…”

“Is that your only line?” You grumbled before propping yourself up on the captain’s back, desperately trying to get your Rick’s attention. “Okay, I’m sorry for calling you crazy, please—can you help me!?”

Rick whipped out a flask and gulped away. “I can.”

You stared at him expectantly, glaring when he didn’t move. A slow smile spread on his lips and you realized he was probably still drunk out of his mind. You deflated, heart sinking along with your hopes. You got the message loud and clear: I can… but I won’t.

“...you’re fucking kidding.”

The last thing you saw was him shrugging.

[ ]

Your chest seized as the portal closed around you, transporting you to who-knows-where. You couldn’t even take in your surroundings from your vantage point—for a slim guy, he had strength on him. You couldn’t even wriggle with his firm grip around your legs and hips.

Passing through another portal, you were thrown into an examination chair. Your back hit the cold metal, the ache spreading through your body.

The soldier’s hands were on you immediately, pinning you down and cuffing you to the chair. “That’s it, stay niiiice and still for us, yeah? We’re gonna take care of you—”

You shook them off, using your legs to push them away. “You just—where am I?!”

“N—uuuurp—-ot important, princess. You won’t remember a thing.”

“What?” You spluttered breathlessly.

Captain Rick grabbed your chin, forcing you to stay still and face him. He squished your cheeks as he clumsily booted up a two-pronged device, pointing it right between your eyes. The heat from its whirring arms licked against your cheek just enough to make you cry out.

Another Rick entered the room. The soldiers froze, watching the newcomer with doubt. The captain didn’t even turn around, his fingers toying with the trigger as he choked out, “N– not now, busy.”

BANG!

You screamed as the captain crumpled to the floor, scooting up the chair as much as you could from his smoking body. “Shit, shit, shit—”

The new Rick’s gun whirred to life again, pointing it at… you? The chair? You didn’t know or care. You preferred to stay alive but with his shaky aim, you weren’t sure you’d make it.

Two shots rang out, and you curled up with a shriek to avoid them.

“So annoying,” Rick snarled as he stumbled towards you, discarding the destroyed cuffs and yanking you off the chair. Your legs buckled and you fell to his feet, your first instinct being to hide behind his legs, your mind spinning with fear, confusion, and the remnants of alcohol.

“You’re… you’re mine, right?” You whispered, clinging to his lab coat. “The right one?”

“...Yeah.” He answered absently.

Buzzing with adrenaline, you used his clothes as leverage to pull yourself up to your feet. Ignoring his grunts and curses, you peeked out from behind him at the blubbering squadron. He was telling the truth, you realized and began to recall the details of your weird conversation.

He glared at you over his shoulder before addressing the rest of the Ricks. “Look, I got no problem killing you all, but– but obviously that’d mean more work for me. Just don’t follow us or I’ll have to bury you somewhere.” Rick grumbled, aiming his gun at the rest.

The soldiers grimaced but didn’t move to stop him as he opened a portal of his own, grabbing your wrist and pulling you through with him.

You tumbled to the ground, the familiar club pavement scraping your knees. You hissed in pain, feeling the blood bubble out of your wounds. You were back… at least, you thought you were? Even with the familiarity of your surroundings, your breathing refused to calm down. You wobbled to your feet, using the wall for balance.

You couldn’t even sigh in relief before Rick turned, the end of his gun brushing against your forehead.

“Wait, wait, wait—” You pleaded, your body vaulting back into survival mode.

He ignored you and invaded your personal space, forcing you back until you hit the wall of the club, the rough brick exterior scraping your exposed skin.

“Still think m’crazy?” he mumbled lowly, pressing the cool tip of his weapon against your skin. “Huh? You– you believe me now?”

You sucked in a deep breath, your mind racing at a mile a minute. He saved you, didn’t he? What was happening?

The metal pressed harder, making your vision blur. “Y-Yes,” you whispered, breath catching. “Yes, I believe you!”

He hummed, eyes narrowing like that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Those guys’ve been camping out here for the past few weeks. I told you they liked you. B–B– But see how I took care of them?” He chuckled under his breath, mentally patting himself on the back as he stood tall and proud. “Yeah, if– if I didn’t step in, you’d be a glo—uuuuurp—-rified barbie doll for the next Rick that bribed the Council. You need me.”

Barbie doll? “I… I don’t understand….” You admitted softly. At this point, you realized there was weird sci-fi shit going on and Rick, as weird as he was, may be the only one with the answers you needed. Considering he fended off your would-be kidnappers, your fucked-up attachment to him was growing exponentially.

“S’okay. You don’t have to understand, I can do that for you. I’m the– I’m the smartest man in the universe, baby, so… As– as long as you trust me and do as I say, okay? Say it,” He hiccuped, tripping over his feet closer to you. “Say you— fuck,” he cursed, his eyes squeezing shut as the sun rose behind him and overwhelmed his drunken senses, “Say you need me. ‘Cause you do. You– you need my protection. Say it.”

The barrel of his gun dug into your forehead. Your breath quivered as you answered, “Okay, okay, I need you! I need you, I need your protection, just— please.”

“Say you’ll listen to me.”

“I’ll listen! I promise!”

He ignored your pleas and held the gun there, like he was hoping it’d leave some sort of mark. “Ap– apologize for… for being a bitch back there.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your eyes screwing shut.

A moment passed before you felt the pressure lift from your forehead. You exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief. He pocketed his gun, running his hands through his wild hair. His dead eyes found yours once more.

“Let’s see if you’re true to your word. You’re moving in with me. Can– I can watch you better that way.”

You stared at him for a second. A laugh slipped past your defenses before you could stop it, but died off when he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed and unamused. His silence alone was a threat.

“You’re serious.” You frowned.

“You just said you’d listen.” He shot back, his patience growing thin.

“That’s a crazy ask! Move in?” You retorted. “I don’t even– I don’t know you!”

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead before you even saw me walk inside. But hey, if–if– if you wanna be an easy target for those guys, be my fucking guest. Would definitely m– make my life easier.” He threatened. You 100% believed him. “I’m being good here, for fuck’s sake! You said you don’t understand and you’re acting– and now you’re acting like you know enough to go against my advice?!”

“I…” The words caught in your chest—were you really doing this? The logical part of your brain tried to claw your agreement back into the depths of your throat, but his glare forced it out. “Fuck. Fine. Fine!”

His frustration died down, a smile growing where his scowl used to be. “Good. Was that so hard? Anyways, let’s– let’s go. It’s good you don’t have a lot of things back at your apartment.”

Of course he knew that. You were starting to think he knew everything.

You’ve been traveling with him for long enough to remember all his other little habits. You know how he prefers to hunt around dusk and all his favorite fishing spots. You know which way he prefers to pitch the tent or make the shelter in case the two of you need to make a quick escape. You know how often he likes to sharpen his tools, and often he’ll drag you into the nearest town for a pitstop and quick refuel of supplies. You know which foods he prefers you to cook for him because he thinks your recipes are better, and which side of the bed he likes best. Hell, you even know when he’s about to run off on some side quest and leave you somewhere just by the subtle twitch of his ears.

​

Because you know him. You know his habits. You know what he does. You know what he likes. You know him. So while it took you by surprise, it wasn’t surprising, per se. You know this side of him, too. You just forgot for a moment.

​

But a moment was all that it took for him to slip in right behind you, completely undetected, and place his hands on your hips as if that was where they had always belonged.

​

“Link!” You gasp his name breathlessly as you quickly try to steady yourself before you end up eating a face full of dirt after nearly jumping in surprise. “A little warning next time!”

​

He caught you while you were foraging for mushrooms. The part of Milda Woods that you two were in seemed to be full of the normal ones- just ripe for roasting and easy snacking. But you stepped away from helping him start the fire because you swore you had seen some truffles not too far away from where the two of you were making camp. So naturally, you went over to where you thought they were and got on your hands and knees to go searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. And searching. Until suddenly, you were too busy to do any more searching.

​

Because the sound of the kneeling man behind you undoing the buckle of his trousers was far too distracting to pay attention to absolutely anything else.

​

“Sorry,” Your travel companion murmured from behind you, not really sounding all that sorry, as he gave your hip a quick squeeze. Looking over your shoulder at him, you were able to find that his expression told you the exact same thing. That he wasn’t sorry- not in the slightest. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were set in a straight line, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red as one of his hands kept fiddling with his pants. “Couldn’t help myself…want you to look forward though.”

​

“Look forward?” The question falls from your lips dumbly, almost as if you’ve never traveled a day with him before. But luckily for him, he doesn’t need to explain. Or rather, he chooses not to explain and instead lets out a low whistle, just to grab your attention. It surprises just enough for a moment that you don’t even see which hand he uses to push the side of your face back to facing forward- just like he initially asked of you. But as the shock of the action wears off, you find yourself feeling a little annoyed by his brashness. It’s not uncommon. He is a man of few words after all. But in your mind, it wouldn’t kill him to use a few of those words to actually speak to you properly, right? In fact, you have half a mind to turn right back around and to put a stop to what he was doing and to tell him off for always being so rough with you. In fact, you should! And you will.

​

At least, you wanted to. And for a moment, you really did think about it. But within that moment, he had already pulled down your own trousers, lifted your tunic up, and had pulled your panties to the side.

​

Just to lick at your slit from behind.  

​

“F-fuck…” Is the only thing you can whimper as you feel Link’s tongue flatten against your pussy once- twice…three times back to back. Instinctively, you tense up as your back arches at the sensation. It causes you to fall forward a little, and you now have to brace yourself on your elbows instead of your hands as he starts paying a little too much attention to your clit for you to form a proper sentence.

​

But even that is over far faster than you would have imagined. Because all too quickly, the tongue you were feeling lap at your insides is replaced by the thick, blunt head of Link’s cock as he lines it up with your entrance. You can do little more but gasp quietly as you feel him drag his cock up and down your wetness, gathering what arousal he can before he starts to push his way past the lower lips of your pussy.

​

“Shit…” He groans deep and low from behind you as he makes his way inside, inch by inch. Though you can barely hear him over how much you’re whining yourself as you’re slowly stuffed full of his cock. You’re not the wettest you could have been. You know that. He knows that. You both know that. But what little licking and sucking he did do is what is currently allowing him to sink his dick inside of your tight little hole with nothing but whimpers and gasps from your end until he finally, finally bottoms out six excruciating inches later. “You alright?”

​

At his question, you do your best to huff in what you hope is obvious displeasure. Though from the sounds of his low, pleased-sounding chuckles and the way he affectionately strokes your now bare hips while adjusting his grip, you have a feeling the sound you made came off as more pathetic than angry. And that made you angrier- just a little. But of course, he didn’t exactly leave you any time to be angry at him. Because the second he could feel you wiggling your hips and adjusting yourself to better accommodate his own throbbing length within you, he was pulling back his hips and snapping them forward. And doing it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And-

​

“O-oh my…oh my goddesses…Link- Link, fuck!” You squeal in time with the blonde’s continuous thrusts as he fucks you doggy style in the middle of the woods. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He only offers you a low, possessive-sounding grunt in return as his grip on your hips tightens just enough to offer him an easier time thrusting inside of you. But that only serves to make things impossibly worse for you as he manages to hit that spot inside you that has you seeing your stars damn near perfectly each and every time.

​

“You’re gonna get me in trouble…” He huffs out moments (minutes?) later, despite not bothering to do anything about the now cruel pace of his strokes. His words barely process in your mind. Though for a moment, you are able to piece enough thoughts together to remember the fact that you’re not in the most remote part of the woods. Where he found you- rather, where he now has you bent over, writhing, and drooling into the dirt, leaves, and grass- doesn’t offer that much cover. Sure, there are a couple of trees within arm's reach. And some of the bushes in the immediate vicinity are thick enough to ease some of your fears of being seen in such a compromising position should someone be around.

​

But if you keep looking forward like Link wanted you to and squint, you could see the path that eventually leads to Hateno village. You could see how easy it is for the two of you to reach civilization. Or rather, how easy it would be for civilization to reach you.

And suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how wantonly you’re moaning. And how deep his strokes are. And how loud and messy your pussy gets each time he pulls back and pushes his length back in. And how desperately he undressed and mounted you. Just because he saw you bent down and distracted a few paces away. Just because he saw you from behind. Just because he needed this. Needed you.

​

A few seconds later, Link lets out another groan.

​

One that’s immediately followed by a nasty string of curses between his labored breaths- and it’s something you’re not used to hearing due to his inclination to stay silent, even during sex. Those you suppose even he can’t help but fall victim to pleasure. Especially since you’ve been starting to tighten up more and more over time now that the growing knot within your lower belly is getting increasingly harder to ignore.

​

So you’re into what he does to you. So you like the fact that at any moment- at any time, the Hylian Champion could get so needy that even bending down in front of him is a risky move. So you like the fact that he doesn’t seem to care about the timing or place or the fact that the two of you are supposed to be preparing a shelter before nightfall right now. So you like the grabbing, the roughness, the quickness, the riskiness- the animalistic nature of it all. So you like it all. So what?

​

This particular moment may have come as a surprise, it isn’t really that surprising.

​

You’ve been traveling with him long enough to know all his little habits and quirks. And maybe you forgot about this one particular habit of his this one time. Or maybe you didn’t. Whose to say? And whose to blame you, either way?

​

He does take good care of you whenever you two are traveling. And the Hero of the Wild does deserve a little reward for all the good he does. For you. For the people you encounter. Hell, for the whole world too. And you?

​

Well, let’s just say you’re his happy little companion. Who’s more than willing to be accommodating. To help him with the needs he can’t fulfill himself. And of course, to go along with the ride. Any ride.

​

“‘m…I’m close…I’m close, Link, I- ah~!"

​

sweat is already starting to crowd the back of your neck, you elevate your hand, albeit needing to exert yourself, simply to mop the beads of both heat and exhaustion pooling under your hairline. it’s not humid—but the friction of bare skin on one another in addition to the intense atmosphere, undoubtedly results in a scalding ambience in the confinement of your shared bedroom. your chest heaves in audible pants, almost embarrassing considering the presence of your retired fighter of a husband, not to mention his possession of inhumane stamina, and yours pales in comparison to his—as if you could compare it in the first place at all.

he was once choked for 30 seconds straight and didn't tap, for god’s sake. so your desperate little inhales for air that you try to quiet to no avail definitely amuses him. he doesn't express it outright, not with a toothy grin or with a huffed out chuckle, but you know he is.

khabib’s propping you up by one thick forearm, snaking around your waist from behind as support—he doesn't need to hold you by two. he’d rather use his other limb so he has a hand free to rub your clit, or engulf the column of your throat, or grab your face with his fingers digging into your cheeks— god, there’s just so many things khabib wants to do to you at once just to hear and see you erupting in pleasure. because he knows your body and he knows how easy it is to get you to a point of writhing limbs and spilled whines from your throat.

the man already holds immense power in one calloused palm, honed from decades of training. it’d be odd if he couldn't do the simple task of leveraging your figure. frankly, he could hold you up by just his palm, but he only chooses not to because the forearm would be a more comfortable mount for you.

but this leverage isn't by choice, but he has to, or else you’d topple over and melt into the sheets mid-fuck. he’s commented on your stamina before, mentally taking apart your anatomy to deduce the reason of your lack of energy during your sessions, as if he’s coaching you in his wrestling camp. he takes you apart both literally and figuratively, as if he mentally pinpoints all the sensitive spots across your body and in what order he should touch of you to push, or maybe, pull you from orgasm, as fast or as slow as he likes.

because in all honesty, khabib’s only pushed his cock halfway in, short thrusts that don't skirt past midway his length, almost calculating, technical—mirroring his behaviour while in the ring or on the mats. it’s almost annoying how ingrained it is in all aspects of his life, hell, he might aswell fuck using strategy. but for all you know, maybe he already does. maybe that’s why it just feels so good.

he’s getting you used to the stretch of his girthy circumference, because he can observe how your hole is spread taut. his deep, hooded eyes watch intently as he gently swipes with a calloused thumb at the raw ring of muscle being opened up, enjoying how you clench around him at the slightest touch. he lightly hisses at the squeeze, biting his lip to avoid a sudden groan ripped out of his throat. his adam’s apple bobbing with as if restraining the very sound he wishes to keep, because he himself knows that he can get way too vocal when he lets himself go, and combined with the headboard slamming against the wall when he opts for a faster pace? not a good repute with the neighbours.

khabib’s hands travels your curves starting from the flesh of your hips where he kept a tight grip as if to keep the flesh for himself, then spanning across the planes of your back, thoroughly feeling every shudder that jolts from the bottom of your spine upwards, as you try to just keep your breathing in check. he’s stopped thrusting at this point, his back curving forward for his head to lay between your shoulderblades, kissing there gently to soothe you of your overwhelm.

“malyshka,” his tone is firm, and no-nonsense, accentuated by that russian accent of his, so you tense slightly as if bracing for the next syllables to be enunciated by those lips of his.

“your stamina is no good.” of all times, you really can't believe that he's saying this now, even if it holds some semblance of truth to it.

“not now, khabib.”

your protest cues the sound of khabib kissing his teeth, making you turn your head to deduce whether or not that was a noise produced out of annoyance or more so amusement—and you can decide that it's the latter from where you suppose of his features in view. his eyebrows are raised, but still, his dark eyes stay lidded, peering at you, and a slight curve to his mouth almost forms a grin, but not exactly yet.

“i can't fuck you if you’re not awake.”

and before you could fuss, khabib’s limbs were arranging yours, your elbows that served as support were distanced shoulder-wide, as if to have you in a more stable posture for you to prop yourself up. his knees push your thighs apart to serve the same earlier purpose, and instead, your hole clenches down on him, khabib inhales a sharp breath and grips your thigh.

“calm. down.” his tone is firm but somehow doesn't hold a hint of aggression to it. just precise. he doesn't hit hard, he hits right. and that's how everything he touches can come undone.

“don’t come too fast,” a pause,

“please.” it comes out as such a surprise to you that you almost think it’s only out of obligation, but the breathy quality of his voice convinces you that really, it’s pure need.

“now,” khabib raises his hands up, now the hot, searing touch of his callouses freed from your waist, yet still lingering near your curves, observing how you hold up your body on your own, while his hands reside in the air to catch you if you fall.

“try.” and his hands finally drop to each of his sides. “by yourself, malyshka.” in an almost painfully slow pace that sears hot between your folds, khabib bottoms out the rest of his cock with a muffled groan by a bite to his own bottom lip. without any distraction to resort to, not a hand by your neck or a finger to the mouth, all you can feel is him with every ridge and every vein there is. but at this point where you're deluded in a stinging yet pleasurable sensation, maybe—you felt more than there should be.

you let out the slightest of whines, breathy and pitched, all that you have left of yourself. you’re holding up your weight on your own with a heavy fullness between your legs that somehow only continues to grind deeper. luckily for you, khabib attends to your discomfort, though only slightly. he lightly places a hand, but more so only a ghost of his fingertips against the small of your back as his palm doesn't even dare lay upon the curve.

his fingertips only retract and return to soothe you, the slightest of relief he can give if he wants you to continue to do this on your own. you can only cling to the pathetic sparks of relief, evident in how your back arches for more ease, even though he can't satiate that need.

“no,”

“by yourself, i said.” he reminds you once more, but far from last. his fingers settle on the spinal curve before torturously pulling out, almost all the way with just his thick head snug inside, catching on your entrance. it’s deliberate though, watching you stretched out on only the first few inches of him. but he dives back in, all of him with a wet squelch as your warmth engulfs him—and your knees buckle. of course they do.

“come onnn,” he croons as he feels the collapse, “you can't do it?” he tilts his head, almost concerned, but not quite—mostly observing if you’re going to get back up or not. you shake your head weakly, before you feel his limbs hooking under your arms to lift you up, and his fists clasp together behind your neck in a lock, fingers intertwined, securing the position he's trapped you in. this way, you wouldn't collapse under him no matter how fast or how hard he wants to go. your hands feel at his fists locked behind your neck, fingers prying at them only to realize that they’re not going to budge.

“this is what happen,” his words are accentuated with every deep thrust that travels from base to tip, that eventually grow faster by every beat, by every harsh, stinging slap of his hips against yours, “you can’t hold your body,” his biceps bulge as his fists clasp tighter behind you, wrecking you with every stroke that caresses your walls and every nudge of his tip to your cervix, your throat crying out in broken whines every time he splits you apart, over, and over, again and again. wetness starts to paint the sheets, from your gleaming eyes with tears that well, and from your sopping cunt that can only take more and more.

“so someone else will hold it,” the breathy lectures that roll from his tongue and mingle in your ear keeps you grounded from the battering pace of his cock practically punishing your pussy, even if he doesn't mean to. “trap it,” he angles his hips so he drives his cock from above you, putting pressure on your lower back as he keeps you locked by just a clasp of his hands. your plump folds stretch and close every time he drags himself in and out, your muscles trying to resist the delicious stretch because sometimes, even he’s too much. his mentor-like rants during sex is an example, as it reminds you of how much strength and experience he holds over you. mentally and physically.

you wail, your voice wrung out when you feel the near-painful pressure on your back combined with his girth pounding into your wetness, your knees buckle again—but you don't collapse. he holds you up and focuses his hips on an angle that he knows will hit the spot that ruins you. he feels it when you choke out on a moan and your head falls forward, wanting to fall onto the pillows and just scream into the soft silk pile, but you can't. not when he’s suspending you in a position where all you can do is take, your clit throbbing for ease and puffy folds rubbed raw, keening for release.

“and they finish you.” khabib emphasizes with a deep, brutal thrust that sends you over, wailing with your eyes squeezed shut, pussy uncontrollably pulsing and squeezing around his shaft, drawing out a rumbling groan from him as he throws his head back, thick spurts of his cum shooting deep while he pushes his hips flush against your trembling pair, desperate to bury himself inside as far as he can. each of your own gasps synchronizes with each other, filling the room with hot and heavy air as khabib slowly separates of his clasped fists, his hands now clammy from the prolonged grip that’s now freed, laying you down on the bed with a contrasting gentleness from his earlier ravaging of you.

“next time, printsessa,” he heaves while lowering upon you, tracing a finger along your jawline that was still gaped to gasp tor air, indicating that he wants you to pay attention to whatever he has to state, “you come with me,” he pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer to rear your head to face his, “we do training,”