Poor König, just wanted to court you right and proper. There was a significant age gap between the both of you - with him taking the lead. You were a real pretty thing, and he was in love. Helplessly so.

Call him old fashioned, but König wanted to "win your heart" the traditional way. Took you out on dates that he paid in full, showered you in flowers and jewelry, did his got damned best to be "charming". Safe to say he was desperate.

Yet you didn't seem to mind. Rather, you giggled at his bad jokes, even let him pull you into his lap, leaning into him as he mapped out your curves through your clothes. A dirty, delicious, man; one who thought you were the most innocent thing hes ever seen.

Come the time you both decide you were "ready" to take the next step. Didn't take you to a trashy hotel, or fuck you in his car like other men might've. König invited you to his home, cooked you a fresh dinner of something from his native country - a pleasant conversation with dim lighting. How fucking romantic.

In his mind, you were so compliant, so swooned by his love and nurturing nature toward you. Probably hoped it would own a few blissful moans this night, afterwards he'd tell you to quit your job and live with him while you were still cock drunk. But after dinner, when the conversation slowly stumbled into the bedroom and was discarded on the floor in the forms of clothes and underwear - well, it was safe to say you were anything but the innocent bird he thought to have nurtured.

Rather, you lead him to the bed, pushing him back to a seating on the bed. His hands tangled in your hair, groaning and grunting as you nipped and kissed all his favorite places. Neck, jaw, his muscles even; you were so fucking perversely thorough. It left him weak and malleable to your desires and sinful actions.

Couldn't even question you as you begged to suck his fat, weeping cock. Just nodded with a stupid, star struck expression in his eyes. His head bobbing backwards as you licked and greedily fit him inside your warm mouth. The hot muscle of your tongue swirling against the sensitive head of his cock, followed by the vibrating moans of your throat, it was all crashing down at him at once.

The moment he felt himself about to come to a seering hot climax, you pulled away, licking your precum smeared lips, your sticky fingers earning the same treatment afterwards.

"Mhh.. Choke me, please?"

You were so bold. So unbothered by your own words. König could help but use the remained of his breath to release a laugh. Kids these days, so fucking vulgar. Though, it wouldn't sop him from grabbing that pretty throat and lifting you back to his lap.

After all, the sweet folds of your pussy practically oozed prayers of attention. And König was not about to deny his angel. He'd have his thick fingers ramming into your cunt, spreading them from the inside while you whined and cried his name; almost helplessly orgasming from some choking and fingering alone. König would give you proper whore treatment if that's what you begged for.

The worst part was after the sex. Your memories of last night were probably a blur. And for Nikto, well, he'd never let himself be so vulnerable as to forget a night spent with something as sweet as you. When you had first approached Nikto, he wondered if you realized how hideous and ravaged he was.​

Didn't have the time to pull his face mask up when you trotted over, begging for a night with him. He wondered if sober you, the one buried against his sternum, would remember the rough texture of his countless scars, of the mutilated bits of his body - if you would wake up with fear, screaming for him to get out.

Yet you never gave him the chance to cower - hide away his trauma branded flesh. Somehow your grip so strong, fingers curled into his own. A python-like death grip wrapped around his left leg with both of yours. Naked. His shirt.

Oh fuck.

Realization was really hitting when he felt your soft, elongated sigh against his jaw, lips rubbing the scarred texture of his skin. The fascinating texture you couldn't get your cold fingers off of last night, even when he let you flip positions, in hopes it would lessen this touchy, needy state of yours. Nikto only achieved the opposite. You grasped at his fingers for support, hips rolling as you whimpered, letting him muffle your explicit sounds with his finger tips pressing to your lips, mesmerized by how effortlessly soft your skin was.

He was staring at you like he loved you.

And maybe you were just really drunk, lost by the feeling of his cock bruising your pretty cunt just to break entrance; followed by far too many orgasms to clear through the spilled word dictionaries in your brain. Whatever it was, you drew to a reckless conclusion. You slurred a kiss into his palm, whispering how much you loved him. A soft prayer he would stay until you woke up because he was just “so fucking hot” and you “wanted to make out with him again.”

Didn’t even fight back when he just shushed you and hid your face in his chest, desperate to not let you feel the boiling heat that surfaced in his face.

Too much for an exhausted man like himself. Couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, relishing in your sweet scent with the hint of smoke from the incense you burned. Smoke used to terrify Nikto, remind him of harsher times. Would make his heart throb and his body tremble - and yet the scent from you made him want to trace the vertebrae of your spine until you swatted at him like a small, feral cat.

The rigid sensation his dry fingertips mapped made the loud thoughts in his head blur away - even if just momentarily. The several voices which once ran rampant and rebellious within his darkest mind caverns had finally slowed. A single thought running through his mind as he curled the soft locks of your hair between his finger tips, tightening the grip and watching it feather down.

"How soft."

Not realizing Nikto had spoken his thoughts aloud, he was genuinely surprised when you finally stirred awake, a curious gaze in your eyes and a groggy "mhm?" making it's way out of your sigh. Poor man, cuddling you like you had his family in a room downstairs, eyes wide with fright, and his heart beat picked up pace. It surprised you, confused you, yet you just did your best not to scare the wild man that bubbled in his mind.

Buried your face back into his chest, kissing against his soft muscle. Biting a soft, pink hickey that flushed easily and licking away your own drool. Eyes glancing up from behind your lashes as you felt his body settle just a bit. Maybe if you were a little less in love with the big muscles and puppy, blue eyes, you would've taken his secure tighten around your body as a sign that he was about to dedicate his entire life to you. But you didn't - just let your eyes flutter shut and let your head plop back between his muscled breasts.

a/n: sorry for writing heinous shit. this is the only thing that gets me writing these days ;( not proofread

Slasher!stalker who really did want to kill you, instead fantasizes about spearing you against his fat, girthy cock every hour of the day. Baby, you're a sick and twisted addiction scented like sweet, powdery perfumes and dewy lotion.

He was supposed to hate you, and if he was being honest, he did hate you. Once or twice when he followed you home. You're such a dumb little creature, the classic opening scene in every horror movie. Don't you watch the news, baby? There's a murderer on the loose. You're just a dumb cliche, walking home alone after a late night out with your friends.

God, your friends. They were even worse than you. So he killed them, with the intention of you being his next victim. But of course, he didn't, he couldnt, because at least you intrigued him. Intrigued him with the cute little performances you'd put on every night, your fingers reaching between your thighs every night, whining on your own fantasies of a few little touches to help you sleep through the night. He'd watch your pussy puff up from all your rubbing, huffs and mewls you didn't bother to stifle—like you wanted him to catch you, to man handle you face down and ass up so he could fuck tears out of those pretty eyes.

A shame really. You're so hard to self pleasure. You get so frustrated that you sit up in bed with your blanket fallen to your lap while you needily hump your fingers, rocking your hips and pinching your nipples swollen just to cum, barely able to make yourself orgasm, he'd be in heaven if he got to watch you cream or squirt all over the bed sheets. He'd be liar if he said he didn't record those rare instances you gasped and trembled out of a semi satisfactory finish. A little visual for his own nightly routine, something to fist his cock to after a gorey day of "work". He'd be so much better you, baby. He'd actually make you cum.

A concept he practices every now and then. Proved by those strange mornings you'd wake up with your panties missing, which, honestly wasn't even his fault, you were the one who fell asleep with that damp spot showing off just above your pussy. Could you blame him for wanting to sneak over and taste the product? You were such a deep sleeper too, pratically pleading for him to dip his fingers into your sticky cunt. Your syrupy juices clinging in a neat shine across his long fingers. He'd bring it to his face, sniffing it with a low groan. His cock painfully erect against his jeans, he'd give himself a little rub, suckling his fingers clean as a little reward.

A real treat for a hard days work. Even if you'd probably wake up one day and scream at him for violating you, at least your pussy knew how to appreciate him. It would take just the tip of his cock without much fight, pratically sucking him off the moment he popped in. He'd cum embarrassingly fast, pulling out just to finger his milky expense back in, no reason to let it go to waste.

You'd wake up the later that night, sore in places that felt good, "wet", some dry residue splattered down your inner thighs. Maybe even a chocolate or three left on you night stand. Compensation, anyone?

Simon isn't the type of person you expect to be comforting, or kind. He's your lieutenant - half the time you expect him to yell at you for not standing like a fucking pole. And still, when you all when drinking together as a form of celebration, he was attentive to you. And when you came back, a little quieter, a little more glum, he noticed.

"What's wrong, kid?" "You're not nearly as annoying as you normally are." Well, wasn't he just the kindest? But still, he asked you privately, while the other guys went to outside to go take a group piss (said something about how the cold air helped their balls breathe). He didn't look at you like he was gonna yell at you, somehow he seemed..softer.

Still, you were hesitant, didn't want an altercation - not too sure if Simon could function without a fist fight.

"Some guy..he was just, kind of creepy." You mumbled, never were too good with your own words while drunk. Never too good at saying what you felt while sober. For a moment, you seemed to brace yourself, anticipating a good scolding from your lieutenant; some shite about not talking to strangers.

Instead, Simon sipped his liqour and murred, "M'so sorry, love."

His eyes were foggy and glazed over, as if he was recounting something else in his mind. A scarred hand of his brushed the top of your head, straightening out your messy locks, "What'd he look like?"

"Don't remember," You admit, frowning slightly as your head lowered. "Just what he wore."

Simon assured you it was detail enough, and you explained. Worry in your eyes as you stared into Simon's blank expression. When the others came back, talking about who pissed the furthest, Simon was missing. Said he was gonna use the bathroom.

Conversations were too loud for you to pinpoint exactly what happened, but you saw the bruise on his knuckles when he came back, a satisfied look in his eyes like a dog with a bone. Came right back to ya and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt like a cat.

"C'mon, no use being out with this old bunch, best we get you home, girly."

The one time Simon was nice to you was when no one else was around, big bear hug as he proudly grumbled, "Ye, punched the bastard right upside the face. Gonna look like some kind of octopus for the next weeks."

He was drunk, trying to make you laugh, trying to make you smile, feel better; and of course, it worked.

Poor you.

All of it was so wrong. Fucking your ex-boyfriend's dad like a whore. You really thought you were so smart, trying to get back at your cheating boyfriend by fucking his big and strong daddy. You always knew he had daddy issues, knew he couldn't cum without crying about how his daddy didn't love him and that he was so pathetic.

fluff with your roommate

"You look like shit," You mur through a stifled laugh, arms crossed over your chest as you stepped aside, letting Simon in. He was your roommate of about four years, you knew a little and a lot about him - more than most less than others. One thing that hadn't changed since the day you met him was the cluster of bruises and scars he'd newly have every time he came home from a lengthy work trip. Simon grumbled softly, dropping a duffle bag on the floor and ditching his suitcase. "Smell like it too." You laughed quietly at his gruff voice. He was such a brooding man, always grouchy looking with a stern scowl painted on his face. You shut the door behind him and pushed the luggage away with your foot. Your arms crossing. "You hungry?" Your words met with a growling hum in affirmation. You walked toward the kitchen, grabbing a clean rag and and wetting it slightly with warm sink water. Hissing a bit as the water stung you, earning a glance from Simon. Regardless of his confused stare you turned to face him and pressed the dirty rag against his face, wiping away some sweat and dirt. "Mm, they don't let you shower or something?" You giggled at your own words, the big brute stiffening at your touch before slowly grabbing your wrist. "I was rushin'" What was he? A child? You snickered at the thought, a smug look on your face as he let you wipe him clean. His calloused hand brushing your smooth forearm gently. His eyes staring down at you with a dead eyed look. Were his lashes always this long? You tutted your head to the side and smiled, "What's that look for?" "M'hungry." Simon softy grumbled, slowly taking the rag from your hand with his freehand. His lips pressed against your now bare hand, eye lids fluttering shut and your fingers lightly curling in surprise. He couldn't help but smirk just a bit at that reaction - your soft gasp, stumble back against the counter. You hadn't been touched in awhile. "What was that for..?" You softly grumbled, tugging your hand away from his mouth, but he kept it there, gently pressing another kiss to your soft skin. "Just gimme a min.." You hesitated for a moment, your mind feeling a bit confused at the sudden affection, but you slowly eased up, your freehand running your fingers along his arm. Touching the toned muscles that trembled and flexed at your touch. Simon slowly slump to sink into your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a low sigh. He smelt a bit like a cat - oddly enough. Dust, the sun, Earth. The thought of it relaxed you, your face dipping in his own shoulder. Your scent was the opposite of his. Something sweet, maybe a bit fruity, but also carrying the scent of whatever dinner you left warming in the stove for the night. You always whined about how the flavors settled better that way. And he whined that you were crazy. A shared embrace, his fingers digging into your shirt lightly tugging the fabric to watch it cling back to your body, your heart beats filling the empty space in either ones chest. This was nice; something you think to yourself when Simon suddenly pulls away gently patting your head, back to grumbling, "Gonna go for a wash." He walks off, leaving you stunned, perplexed, and lamenting the warmth that hugged your body just moments ago. You smell your shirt where his scent had stuck to - so warm. Your arms wrap around yourself as you leaned against the counter. A singular thought draping across your mind, "What was that?"

MDNI.

It rained today; it had rained the day before as well. But today was different - at least, for Simon it was. The usual scent of cigarette the reeked around the neighborhood was washed away by the sweet, fresh fragrance of rain. He couldn't fucking sleep for the life of him, too accustomed to his shitty, inflexible work schedule. Sleep for three hours, wake up, report in, missions, come back, standing duty, work out. It was a filthy, scrambled jumble of a schedule that made his brain hurt.

His only luxury was the reservation of his civilian life.

Didn't socialize. Hell, he barely even glanced at someone's face for longer than a few seconds - didn't need to. He had already memorized their features for as long as he deemed important. Which is how he got to finding you.

You, his pretty little neighbor. You were all too fucking sweet for a bastard like him to have such possessive fantasies about. Spend the day time outside, tending to a garden, barbequing, reading a book while bathing in the sun. Your reading glasses were a cute look for you, as was everything else.

And in the evening, when you got to cooking, you'd prop open your kitchen window and let the food cool down. The sound of your dishes being scrubbed could be heard from his own yard - it's not eavesdropping if you're so got damn loud, darling. You yammer to your friend about life, work, the bullshit you experience and the guy who tried to get in your pants last week.

Oh, a pretty thing like you doesn't deserve to tell such vulgar stories. And Simon knows it's wrong to listen. He really does have morals, and respect, and chivalry. Sure, it's hard to prove that when he's fisting his hung cock. Muffling his grunts with sucks of air and shaky exhales.

Your laugh makes his cock twitch, and your sweet little "Mhmm"s make his tip leak with bitter tasting pre. He's sure he'd taste awful, splattered in your mouth. He was sure that you were spoilt on the delicacy meals you'd make in your kitchen. Simon wouldn't force you to endure something so cruel. He'd let his cream fill your cunt, holding your hand while you cry through your orgasm, because he is a gentleman.

"You like it." König grinned up at you, seated on his knees. Though you couldn't see his face, not behind the ages old mask he wore, his squinted baby blue eyes showed his appreciation, his love, his devotion.

In his large hand was a grasped bundle of flowers, roses. Usually such an utterly basic flower, but these were different. Ish. The roots still attached, dirt clinging to the small veiny structures, almost helplessly withering away in his tight grasp. Bits of blood from the pricking of thorns against König's fingers. But he would never expose you to any danger, the thorns sloppily carved off with a knife, little indents of what was.

A breath of air - hesitance.

"I like it." You whisper, body shivering, cold. Covered only by a thin bedsheet, satin and white. König made a sloppy noise of delight, offering the flowers closer. Letting you get a scent of freedom. One he'd take at any given moment; a power he abused, simply because he could.

"Gut.. ja gut.." König purred praises as you sniffed the subtle scent. "Maybe next time, I will let go outside with me. Hm? You will like it, yes?"

Ignoring the tears that slipped out of your eyes with a rough pat to your head. You sniffled slightly, "Love you.."

Words he wanted to hear, words part of you felt. You did love this monster. Your monster and his flowers.