Connie Springer x FemReader | NSFW | Rough x Soft | Begging, Praise, Marking, Aftercare
The barracks are too quiet.
Not just quiet—still, like the world itself is holding its breath. The kind of silence that crawls under your skin after blood has stopped spilling, but before your hands stop shaking.
You’re sitting on the edge of your cot, fingers raw, armor peeling off like a second skin you don’t recognize. The door slams open behind you.
Connie’s voice is sharper than usual. No jokes. No laugh. Just your name, like a blade grinding against stone.
You glance over your shoulder. His eyes are wild—storm-grey, torn between panic and fury.
“You could’ve died,” he breathes, stepping closer, boots thudding against the wood like war drums.
“I didn’t,” you say. Simple. Cold. A lie—because parts of you did die out there.
He’s in front of you now. Grabbing your wrists, staring at the bruises forming like galaxies on your skin. “You ran into a titan’s blind side with no backup. Are you trying to make me insane?”
You stare at him. “I did what I had to.”
“No. You did what you always do—throw yourself in like nothing matters. Like I don’t matter.”
That hits. Hard. Right in the hollow behind your ribs.
Something in him cracks. And then he's down on his knees, his forehead resting against your thigh, fingers clinging to your hips like he's terrified you’ll evaporate.
“I thought I lost you, Y/N. And I—I wouldn’t have even gotten to say goodbye.”
Your hand threads into his buzzed hair without thinking. He shudders under your touch.
“You’re here,” you whisper.
His voice is rough against your skin. “You make me feel too much, you know that?”
That gets a breathless laugh out of him, bitter and sweet all at once. And then he looks up, eyes burning.
“That you’re mine.” He’s not smiling. “That you’re gonna stop risking everything before I lose my fucking mind.”
Your heart kicks. “You want me that bad?”
He stands. Leans in close. Nose brushing yours. “No. I need you that bad.”
You crash into him like fire meeting gasoline
It’s messy—teeth, breath, hands everywhere. Connie’s fingers bury into your hips like he’s anchoring himself, like letting go would unravel the last threads of his sanity.
You gasp against his mouth, and he groans like it’s the first breath he’s taken in hours.
His voice—wrecked, raw against your throat—comes between kisses.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “Running off like you’re unbreakable. Like I wouldn’t burn the world to keep you breathing.”
You tilt your head back, offering him everything.
“Then prove it,” you whisper, voice hitching as his hands slide up, under your shirt, rough palms skating over hot skin.
“Say it again,” he murmurs, lips brushing your collarbone now. “Say it like you mean it.”
You look down at him, fire in your chest, in your blood. “Prove it.”
Connie lifts you like you weigh nothing, shoving everything off your cot with one sweep of his arm. The crash echoes, but neither of you flinch. You're too tangled in each other—his mouth back on yours, his body pressed flush to yours, one thigh slipping between your legs with wicked precision.
You grind down on him instinctively, and his breath catches, low and dark in your ear.
“You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” he warns, but he’s already lost in you. “And you want to burn, don’t you?”
You meet his gaze, pupils blown wide, lips parted. “Only if it’s with you.”
He smirks. Predatory. Possessive.
Your shirt’s already halfway off before you realize his hands are shaking.
Not with fear—but restraint.
Connie’s knuckles drag across your ribs like he’s memorizing every bone, every scar. “You're not leaving my sight again,” he breathes, voice rough with promise. “Next time you run off like that, I’ll tie you to this damn bed.”
Your laugh is a choked, heated mess against his lips. “Kinky threat for a soldier.”
His grin? Dangerous. “Not a threat. A guarantee.”
He leans in again, and this time, the kiss is slower—deeper. The kind that melts your spine, pulls a whimper from your throat you didn’t mean to give him. And God, he hears it. Drinks it in.
“Do that again,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as his hands slide lower, thumbs teasing the waistband of your pants. “Let me hear what I do to you.”
You should say something smart. You really should.
But his hand slides under the fabric—and everything else shuts off.
Fingers glide over sensitive skin, drawing slow, cruel circles. You arch into him, nails digging into his back, and he *growls* against your neck, all teeth and hunger.
“Already soaked for me,” he whispers, voice a low rasp. “You’ve been like this since I walked in, haven’t you?”
You don’t deny it. Can’t.
His mouth is everywhere—neck, collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. Every kiss is a brand. Every breath is a promise he’ll make you feel this for days.
And then he pulls back, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide.
“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he says, voice heavy with control he's barely holding onto. “But if you want me to stop—”
Clothes vanish. Skin meets skin. And the room fills with nothing but the sound of your name breaking on his tongue, again and again, like a prayer turned possession.
The way he touches you isn’t gentle—but it is careful.
Connie’s got you flat on your back, legs open, his body caging yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His dick is buried deep, stretching you wide, thick and throbbing as he grinds in slow and punishing.
“Feel that?” he pants, voice low and dirty against your neck. “That’s my cock filling you up. So fuckin’ tight around me, like your pussy was made for this.”
You whine—hips twitching, clit aching with every grind of his pelvis against yours. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every thrust is perfect, dragging across your sweet spot, grinding right into your clit like he’s trying to make you come from friction alone.
“You hear that?” he groans, snapping his hips harder now. “That’s how wet this pussy gets for my dick.”
Your hands claw at his back, your moans high and wrecked. “Connie—please—feels so good—”
“Fuck yeah it does,” he growls. “So good for me, baby. My perfect little slut—so desperate, so fuckin’ needy.”
His hand slips between you, rough fingers finding your clit with pinpoint precision. He rubs circles, fast and mean, and you arch up with a gasp, your thighs trembling around him.
“Come on, angel. Come for me,” he urges, eyes locked on yours, hand working your clit while his dick pounds deeper. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock.”
And when it hits—oh, it hits hard.
You come with a cry, back bowing, legs locking, clenching around him so tight he curses loud and filthy, thrusts turning erratic.
“Fuckfuckfuck—take it, take all of it—fuck, yes—”
He spills inside you with a final slam, hips grinding through it, cock twitching deep, breath hot against your cheek.
Then—stillness. Just the sound of your breath mixing with his, both of you soaked in sweat, heartbeats racing in sync.
Connie doesn't pull away.
Instead, he kisses your jaw, your shoulder, the bruised spot on your neck he bit into minutes earlier. Claiming.
“You did so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, full of worship. “My good girl.”
You hum, dazed and warm, feeling his cum slowly drip out between your thighs, his hand lazily stroking your side like you’re made of glass.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Always.”
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Thank you for reading, I'm not sure if it is good enough as it's my first time writing smut, especially on tumblr. I had a friend help me out!
