#tinker.types

black leather. high heeled. going up to his knees. fuck. you swallowed hard as your eyes snapped back up to muti’s face as he was saying your name. "are you okay, darling?" the genuine concern in his voice made you sick to the stomach. you felt like a pervert.

"y-yeah, yes of course. why wouldn't i be?"

she quirked an eyebrow at you, putting her arms on each of your shoulders. caging you. trapping you. "mh, well for one thing you've been quiet for like 10 minutes," her face came closer to yours, the tip of your noses almost touching as a wicked grin spread on his face, "and secondly, you really think i didn't notice your squirming? i'm not blind."

you could feel your face burning. you really thought you had been more subtle. their breath hit your face as they spoke again, "so tell me love, what's got you all worked up, hm?"

you swallowed thickly, ears burning. your eyes met his for a moment before you quickly looked to the side and mumbled, "your boots."

"i'm sorry, love, i couldn't hear you. what was that?," the teasing lilt in his voice gave him away. he had heard you loud and clear. he just relished in your suffering it seemed.

you took a deep breath, meeting her eyes. "i said these fucking high heeled boots."

a teasing smirk you knew all too well took place on their lips as they clicked their tongue.

"that's not how good girls should speak, is it?"

it was at that moment your brain seemed to completely shut off. your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, your skin felt hot and the stickiness between your thighs was unbearable. your tongue was like lead in your mouth, a dead weight, completely and utterly useless.

you shook your head 'no'.

wumuti cooed, "noo, that's right, darling. and you are a good girl, right?"

your head moved on its own, up and down, 'yes'.

"so what should i be doing with my good darling girl, hm?," his voice was but a whisper before his lips found yours. they were soft and warm against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. he tasted faintly of strawberries, his perfume was enveloping you. you couldn't suppress your whimpers as his warm hands found your waist. holding. caressing. exploring.

your brain couldn't process anything, synapsis firing. while wumuti had been standing in front of you just a moment ago, you were now leaning back on the hotel bed with him all over you. somewhere between feeling his lips on yours, tasting him, soaking in his warmth, you lost your shirt and pants.

their hands found your breasts, your nipples pressed against the soft material of your bra. nimble fingers got rid of it, exposing your flesh to the cool air. he was pinching and rolling your sensitive nipples while placing open-mouthed kisses against the delicate skin of your neck, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts.

his hot tongue teased your nipples before fully sucking them into his mouth. her hands glided further down, down, down until they were finally spreading your thighs. you were almost shaking as you felt her nails against the soft skin of the inside of your thighs. a low chuckle escaped her as she released your nipple and her eyes found yours. she was still wearing the contact lenses from the event, her eyes colored red and blue as she assessed your face: cheeks flushed, your pupils blown wide, swollen lips shiny with your mixed spit. you were beautiful.

carefully, slowly, as if to torture you, she slid her hand into your panties. a gasp escaped you as her fingers pressed against your clit. her eyes widened slightly, her mouth formed an o-shape. "my, my, you're really needy, angel." your eyes fell shut as their fingers drew small circles. there was barely any pressure and yet the moan that escaped you was borderline whorish. before the feeling inside you could build, the stroke of muti's fingers was gone. your eyes flew open just as wumuti straightened up before taking a step away from you. a devilish grin graced their angelic face as they sucked the tip of their middle finger, the one that was just touching you mere seconds ago.

"i don't know, angel," they sighed dramatically while sitting down on a chair, "i'm feeling awfully tired after today. maybe you could do a bit of the work?" they almost snickered at the sight in front of them: your chest was heaving and shining with spit, small love bites blooming here and there, legs spread wide which gave them an excellent view of the wet spot between your legs. your quiet voice was shaking as you pushed yourself up and made your way over to them, "yes, yes, wanna be good for you, muti." you dropped to your knees in front of them, eager hands started to play with the belt of their skirt when all of a sudden – "ah, ah, ah," he tsked, "not what i meant, love." confusion was written across your face. he leaned back a bit, pushing their foot between your spread legs. their half-lidded gaze met yours when they said, "ride it."

"w-what?," your ears were ringing, heat blazing in your cheeks. "you heard me," his smile was expectant, "ride. my. boot."

you breathed heavily. once. twice. wumuti quirked an eyebrow. "come on, i don't have all night." they gently pressed the tip of their heel against your core. "o-oh." your eyes fluttered shut, hips rolling on their own accord. the touch of the shoe was delicious against your aching core. the wet cotton was sticking to your folds and you could feel the coolness of the leather seeping through. you cradled muti's calf for better leverage. what started as careful, slight touches of your core and her boot soon became full on grinds. the hotel room carpet grated against your knees but you simply couldn't care, too lost in the pleasure of doing something unimaginable.

"god, you look so pathetic."

wumuti's voice was soft, despite the harsh words. from her, it sounded more like a compliment. you couldn't keep quiet, the moans that you had tried hard to suppress spilled freely from your lips. you were starting to become more and more frantic. your head was resting on top of his knees as your hips seemed to work tirelessly. grind, grind, grind.

your poor pussy was weeping, beginning to soak the shoe. but none of it mattered, instead your eyes were trained on wumuti. wumuti who had started to pull out her cock, long fingers carefully wrapped around it. precum was leaking down the pink mushroom tip. your mouth was beginning to water. her elegant hand started carefully pumping; once, twice.

"want you, please," you whined. wumuti laughed softly and continued touching herself. "you're busy, baby. remember?," she cruelly pressed her foot against your core. the intense pressure made you groan. "mmhph, please, please," you weren't sure what exactly you were begging for, your brain was melting at the continued stimulation of your clit. back and forth, back and forth. muti laughed again when she suddenly squeezed her cock just right, causing their eyes to roll back, "a-aah, fuck. you're begging s-so pretty. is my baby turning dumb?"

you nodded your head stupidly. eyes trained on his hand. god, how you wished you could have a taste, feel him in your throat. you were mesmerized, hypnotized. you didn't even notice that your tongue was lolling out, drool dripping on the top of muti's boots. you felt close, ready to combust, liquid fire pumping through your veins. dumb whimpers left your lips on their own. you couldn't control your body.

"please, please, please. wanna cum mh-muti, please, aah."

his chest was flushed, a thin sweat spread across their skin as she rhythmically pumped her hand.

"yeah? you wanna cum? wanna make a mess all over my fucking shoe?," her words were cruel, her voice soft and airy, "god, my stupid little angel, riding me so well. go on, love. cum for me."

they angled their foot so it balanced on the heel, the tip of their shoe pressing oh so deliciously into your cunt as you shook. you grind shamefully, once, twice. your fingers clawed at the leather of the boot before your eyes rolled to the back of your head, a loud moan escaping you as you clenched around nothing, cumming pathetically on wumuti. "thank you, thank you," you sobbed.

your eyes opened as you were catching your breath. unceremoniously you slipped off the shoe. your legs were aching yet you were determined to have a taste of wumuti. as you were rising to your knees, your hand wrapped around wumuti's when she sucked her teeth. "my shoe is dirty now," she lifted her foot, your wetness having left the leather all shiny, "be good. clean it, my love."

your eyebrows knit together in confusion. instead you took your hand off wumuti's, wanting to swipe your juices off when he spoke again, "not what i meant, my darling girl. clean it with your tongue."

your cheeks were ablaze yet in your haze there was only one thing on your mind: to please. you swallowed thickly before sitting on the back of your legs, your hands supported wumuti's leg which was still outstretched. she looked gorgeous. his hand was continuously pumping her cock, her cheeks pink. their lips were spit-covered, eyes glossy.

your eyes found theirs. you kept your gaze steady as you opened your mouth and carefully licked the boot with the tip of your tongue. muti was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. a deep groan escaped him, "good girl. keep going."

the next lick was broad. the taste was indescribable. the tanginess of your juices mixed with the unfamiliar taste of the leather. you kept going, not once daring to look away from wumuti. his rhythm was becoming erratic, praise and groans tumbled from his lips.

"god, you're so good for me, aren't you? so obedient. look at you, f-fuck ah, you're my good girl. s-so fucking good." a high-pitched whimper left his lips, his hand squeezed hard before white ropes shot out. the cum landed on his stomach, white pearls partially covering his crop top. wordlessly you abandoned the clean shoe, the leather was now shining from your spit instead of your cum, and started to lick wumuti clean. he threw his head back in exhaustion, a soft laugh escaped them as his fingers pet your head.

price snorts into his drink and even ghost spares an amused huff. confusion crosses kyles face as he takes a quick look around the room -- were they being set up by soap? but no, the scot was too busy flirting at the bar to even notice the drunk bird that took his place in the booth. and judging by the shiny doe eyes staring at gaz, you were genuine.

"it's just," you begin, trailing off for a moment, your eyes losing focus while nervously playing with the a delicate chain around your neck before seemingly regaining confidence, "my friend has been going on and on and on about how there is totally going to be a war in the future and how everyone better be prepared to do their part y'know. total bummer for a night at the pub but whatevs-- can i have some of that?," you point at ghost's beer, not even bothered to wait for his answer before you take a sip. yeah, definitely drunk. and brave.

"anyways," your pink tongue darts out to lick some foam off your lips, "he said i'd be great in a tank -- you should know i'm a really good driver!" your voice was matter of factly but the men found it difficult to follow your quick drunken rambles. cute thing like you in a tank? nah, that's the reason they risk their lives, so pretty little civilians could sleep safe and sound while they clean the blood off their hands.

"sooi, i said i'm only going if there is an aux -- i'd have a great playlist and everything. but he's a bit of a doofus,"-you roll your eyes here before continuing- "so i thought i'd confirm with the professionals, you see?" a proud smile formed on your lips and before any of the men at the table could answer, a voice called out behind you, catching your attention. "you really shouldn't bother these people!," a young man comes into their view. buzzcut. cargo pants. ghost and price exchange a look. rookie.

you roll your eyes before answering, "i wasn't bothering them, i was discussing career options." you shoot the team at the table a bright smile, oblivious to the beginning signs of stress your friend was showing. he may be a rookie but he did have eyes in his head. buff guys. dogs tags around their necks. while one of them may be a bit if a sunny boy, the other two looked like trouble. a guy in his mid-forties. beard. stupid hat-- were they even allowed to wear that in the military? must be someone important. the guy sitting next to you was what really worried your friend. a buzzed blond. unblinking dark eyes. scars. a fucking facemask? what kind of shenanigans were you getting into?

he starts pulling at your arm, trying to get you to leave their table. the comfortable warmth of your skin seeping through ghost's pants leaves his side. "yeah, i'm sure that went great and all, but you should really leave these guys be." the annoyance you felt at your friend was rolling off of you in waves and truly, it was an adorable sight to behold. "ugh, fine." the pout on your lips was evident as you turn to the table you now stood next to. "it's been a pleasure, gentlemen!", you exclaim before stumbling off, your friend dragging you along as you almost walk into soap who was approaching the booth. the scot sits down next to ghost as he turns a bit to watch you make your way through the crowd before it swallows you. confused he turns to his team, "what was that?"

Of course they were sure, the paramilitary doesn’t make mistakes like that, just calling random people to tell them about the conditions of their valuable assets. The paramilitary. So that was the name of the other woman, the reason you split up in the first place. König was working for the fucking paramilitary. And judging by the seriousness in the voice of the person who had called - was it a sergeant? A lieutenant? A colonel? You had no clue about military structures - he was good at his job, very good. An asset they wouldn’t want to lose, not to a competitor as serious as death anyway.

You were convinced that König was the closest to being a perfect boyfriend any person would ever achieve to be. He was attentive, listened to you, always brought you flowers when he went shopping for groceries, he could cook and do his own laundry, he smelt good, he was warm and kind, he had an addictive laugh and knew all the dirtiest jokes.

But he was secretive and no good relationships ever survived secrets, did it?

At first you had blamed it on his anxiety - you were aware of how his mind tormented him, how hands shook in situations he felt were beyond his control, how his voice got a pitch higher and accent more prominent when he felt insecure. You thought perhaps he went to therapy and was embarrassed about it. Long therapy. Stationary therapy perhaps. Without telling you about it. Or ever speaking about it. For a long period at the time. That was until you asked him and he replied with a snort,”No, Liebling, I don’t believe in therapy. Not for people like me.”

So, that was off the table then.

Insecurities emerged, fights ensued, doors were slammed, things neither of you meant were thrown out. It got ugly.

In the end, you walked out. Convinced that the man had cheated on you. The man you assumed to be the love of your life. The man you thought you were going to marry and spend the rest of your life with. The man who had told you he’d rather go blind than look at anyone else ever again. You carried your shattered heart in your hands out of the door of your shared apartment and you felt embarrassed and stupid and angry – at the world, at him, at yourself. And you put him in a far away corner of your heart and mind, in your own personal pandora’s box that you swore you’d never touch - except when you had a little too much wine and missed the way he smelt, how he’d hold you tight, his warm skin touching yours and that accent of his he never truly bothered to hide. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And now that very same König who watched you break your own heart if it meant he could keep his secret was in a medically induced coma because the swelling in his brain he’d received during a fucking mission had to be reduced or he’d die. And you are the idiot crying at his bed, watching him breathe, counting the freckles on his battered face or clutching the styrofoam cup in your hand while dissociating just outside of his room while the nurses did whatever it is they do in such a case. Hopefully their best. He still hadn’t woken up, despite the surgery being several days ago and the doctors anticipating him to open his eyes each day.

Your hands were shaky and the shadows beneath your eyes became deeper and deeper with each passing day. You were unaware but the nurses were whispering about you, whispering about the way you were guarding his bed while looking like a ghost yourself, always questioning them about the soldier’s vitals.

Except he wasn’t just a soldier, was he? Not to you at least, never to you. To you, he was König. Your first true love. The man you had imagined to spend the rest of your life with, to marry and grow old together, grow grey together, to move to the Austrian countryside - closer to his grandma, the only person he seemed to love more than you. Sometimes she still called you on the phone, still rambling about life and her neighbours and the news from her village in heavily accented German. You tried your best to listen and answer but truly, you hadn’t taken any more German lessons since you had called it quits. What for? Every word of the harsh, foreign language felt like a stab in your sore heart. Most of the time, when the calls were nearing their end, there was a brief pause before his grandma spoke again, apologising for his actions. He was so stubborn, she would say, he was suffering too, she would say. You were good for him. Though tears were burning in your eyes, you never found the strength to tell the old lady to stop telling you this, to stop calling you. She was your only thread left to König, the only connection between your two separate lives. Lives that used to be so entangled you were sure no one would be able to ever separate you. Until König and his secrecy took the shears himself and cut you two apart.

Or so you thought until the fateful call from his superior. Perhaps it had been a mistake, perhaps König had simply overlooked updating his emergency information. Perhaps he had forgotten about your name written in the file, perhaps he had forgotten about you. But – hope flowered in your chest like a bud growing through concrete – maybe he’d missed you just as much, maybe he also couldn’t let you go entirely.

The bruising didn’t seem to heal, his lips were dry and cracked. His hand in yours was cold and stiff, his fingers remained unmoved and as opposed to usually didn’t curl around yours in a tight grasp. You placed a soft kiss on his knuckles and took a moment to feel the roughness beneath your lips. Tears welled in your eyes, your throat tightening. “You stupid, stupid man,” you murmured against his skin, voice barely a whisper. “Please,” your voice broke as you closed your eyes and tears rolled down your face,”please wake up, Kö. And if it’s just to send me away. Please.”