Every part of König gives you more reason to love him, and more cause to lust after him.
König's hands, calloused and worn, but not as rough as they might look. He tries to remember to use a hand salve—from the little tin that you gifted him—while he's on assignment, but he can never figure out the proper amount to use. When he's home, he comes to you, holding the small metal container in his hand: "bitte, mein liebe, you are much better at the lotion than I am." König's hands in yours, big and warm and soothed by the salve—not lotion, you remind him to no avail. König's hands, scarred and veiny, but so gentle despite his size. König's hands in your hair while you snuggle up next to him, pulled into his lap so that he can run his fingers over your scalp while your eyes flutter shut.
König's hands exploring every inch of your skin. König's hands running up your sides while he's buried to the hilt inside you, gripping your waist to keep you from squirming, but it's just so good, you can't help it. König's hands holding the nape of your neck so that you can’t look away from him while he pounds into your soaked cunt relentlessly. König's hands around your face, palm pressed delicately against your chin while you suckle eagerly on his thick fingers.
König's arms, muscular and bruised from being thrown against doors so often. He doesn't complain about the bruising; never seems to care about the pulsing ache that occurs when he accidentally presses against one when opening a door with his shoulder. But you coo over him regardless, and kiss the purple blotches as if your love alone might help them heal. König's arms that wrap around your waist with ease, allowing him to press himself close to you while you do even the most menial task, because he doesn't care that you need to finish dinner, he wants to hold you now, Schatz.
König's arms holding his large frame above you while he presses kisses to your neck and chest, teasing you before he gives into what you both want. König's arms caging you in on the mattress while he groans in your ear, sinking into you with a whimper. König's arms, the muscles in his forearms strained from this position but it's exactly the kind of workout he wants. König's arms that are just so perfectly situated on either side of you, you just can't help but reach up and wrap your fingers around them. And they're too big for you to get a real grip on but, god, isn’t that the point?
König's stomach and chest, softer around the edges when he's on leave. König's chest, the perfect pillow for you when you join him in bed, face buried against him and the coarse, dark hair that tickles your cheek when you nuzzle him, fingers trailing innocently down his happy trail just to appreciate the sensation. König's stomach, muscles tightening just a bit beneath your hands as you explore the warm skin of his tummy. He never understands your affection for his bulkier appearance; doesn’t get why you find something as simple as his attempts to gain muscle mass so appealing. But, then, he doesn't complain when you kiss him from collar to navel so delicately.
König’s chest heaving while you press wet kisses to it, sitting up on your knees in front of him. The muscles in his stomach pull taut while you fuck the head of his cock with your fist, no urgency to your movements. You will kill me, Schatz, he whines when your free hand splays over his stomach, your mouth finding his nipple and offering teasing kitten licks. König’s stomach, covered in his spend when he finally lets go for you, giving you another excuse to worship his body by licking him clean.
mdni. 18+. fem reader. i did not proof read this lol im dyslexic but im freee
konig kept nuzzling you, as his thick tongue slobbered all over your needy cunt in the most depraved way possible. his long nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, rubbed your clit back and forth as he made out with your cunt, sucking in your slick, and leaving just his spit in its place. the only thing that he wanted to inhale, seemingly, was just the musk of your pussy — the need for oxygen an afterthought. it was impossible not to clench your pussy, the stimulation, and the visuals of this powerful, behemoth of a man, brought to his knees by the taste, look and smell of your cunt. he was so...pathetic, and so, so needy for your cunt that it made you ache and throb in a way that was almost painful.
you tried to back away from his addicted mouth, after each time that you came, and each time that you did, konig just grumbled like the feral fucking mutt that he was, and pulled you and your pussy in even closer, and he commenced this torture anew.
before long, your eyes rolled backwards into your skull, your brain and body overloaded and exhausted from the pleasure. you wondered, as your vision began to darken at the edges, if he was a monster with a tongue that was incapable of cramping.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
Tags: Monsters!CODAU, tentacles, we like soft boy König, he is on leave.
Konig manages to score another date, in a bit of disbelief he takes some flowers.
Warnings: Explicit. Porn without Plot.
König had taken a mostly normal form so as to not scare her on their 12th date. Yes, twelfth. She wanted to see him more than she had fingers. He could barely believe she wanted to see him again. He shifted in place. A new garment, she told him she liked trees so he had gotten the closest to tree green as he could, hung over his face, hiding the part of him that he could never get to look humanoid.
He wore a button up with a wool vest layered over it and a pair of tan cargo pants. He tried to shirk as much of the military uniform as he could, especially when he was around her.
He lifted his hand to knock at her apartment door, the paper around the bouquet of flowers crinkling in his other hand. His breath caught in his throat, nerves raking through him, maybe he should go home, what if she doesn’t even want to see him.
The door opening pauses the spinning of emotions. She was stunning. The outfit she wore fit her so well. His hearts stutter as she meets his eyes.
“Come in,” she says, flashing him that breathtaking smile.
“Thank you,” his voice is quiet and a bit rougher than normal. He swallows, trying to clear his throat without making that noise, worried he may do anything wrong. He steps past her, ducking slightly to enter her small home.
Habitually, he slips his shoes off at the door and takes in her living space.
It is cozy. Pictures of pets mixed in with paintings, some he recognized, some he didn’t. The sofa sat beneath the window, the TV opposite of it.
He turns his attention to her as the door clicks shut.
“I got you these,” he murmurs, handing her the bouquet of flowers before he chickened out.
“They’re beautiful,” she replies, looking up at him with what looked like gratitude in her eyes, maybe even softness.
Was he reading too much into it?
“I’m glad you like them,” he nods in response, following her to the table as she sets them there to retrieve a vase.
He watches her gather one and fill it. Enraptured in the simple intimacy of the act. He wanted to watch her move about her home all the time.
“How’s work?” He asks, wanting to hear her voice again. The sparkle in her eyes as she begins talking drawing him in like a moth to flame.
König sat beside her on her bed. She lay with her head in his lap, his fingers carefully scraping that spot on her neck.
He had long forgotten the movie that she was watching. Instead he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her face shifted in response to the scenes. Even the smile that tugged at her lips as her eyes flick to the corner of her eyes meeting his before she rolls over her face against his stomach.
“What-?” His voice quivers as she gently lifts his t-shirt, her tongue skirts along his happy trail, sending warmth straight to his definitely not hidden bulge.
“Scheiße,“ he grunts, his hands sliding from her head and shoulders to grasp at the bedding. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kleine. If we start, I don’t know if I will be able to stop,” his words are jagged, barely restrained as she moves between his thighs sending him a downright sinful look.
“Maybe I want to see what you can do,” she taunts, her hand sliding up his thigh to palm his aching cock through the tented trousers.
“Fuck,” he grunts, rolling his hips into her touch, his eyes drooping as he white knuckles the bedding.
She slides his belt free, the click nearly sending him.
He moves, flipping her onto her back, yanking his belt from its loops, tearing one or two.
Her eyes widen and her lips part as he carefully maneuvers his shirts off while keeping his hood on.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he mumbles, tugging her bottoms off to reveal her sweet cunt, “to not be a-a what do you mortals call it? A pervert. But fuck,” he groans nipping and kissing her inner thighs to where her sweet scent came from.
He pauses and looks up at her, studying her face.
“If you don’t like something, tell me,” he whispers, almost afraid to break whatever they had, kneading the soft plushness of her thighs.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes soft as she nods, her fingers entangling in the bedsheets.
That was all he needed, he moves his hood so he can access her cunt. The tentacles that safeguard his mouth separate, to allow him to truly taste her. He drags the length of his tongue up her cunt, leaving her pussy more wet with each pass.
Her taste was intoxicating. Divine in a way nothing else could be. He moans against her not able to get enough, his tentacles acting with minds of their own, using this moment to caress her thighs, press into her, and suckle gently to her skin.
His hips roll into the bed. Dumbly humping the mattress as he laps her slick up hungrily. He pauses as she jolts, a moan tugging from her. In his hazed state, he makes another pass, trying to figure out what made her jerk. He pauses as he finds a small slightly hard pearl, flicking it again.
Her hands shoot to his head, and he groans.
“Like that?” He pants against her between lapping at her sweet cunt.
Her moans and thighs squeezing his head are his only answer.
A whimper slips from him as his cock catches against the bed, rubbing deliciously but not enough.
He grinds desperately, wanting to taste her until she snapped.
Her breathing shuddered and her thighs squeezed his head, her hands holding his head against her cunt, there was no need. The large man had no interest in being anywhere else.
She keened, before jolting her hips, trying to push him away, her clit overstimulated.
“Sorry,” he slurs, crawling up to her. He presses his face into the crook of her neck, trying to ignore the urge to grind against her.
“S’ok,” she mumbles, reaching for his pants.
“I can wait,” he whimpers as she slips his aching cock free. The blunt head was red and leaking, the bump at the base and the fact that he was uncut frightened off other possible partners.
“No,” she answers, her thighs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer.
“Wait-Wait,” he rambles, pawing at her thighs, the desperate urge to plow into her, to stuff her full of him clawing through him.
He moves off the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes, before turning her over onto her stomach, lifting her hips, and standing at the edge of the bed, guiding her closer.
“Easier,” he mumbles, dipping his head so his tentacles could feel her back.They suckled at her flesh, leaving light red rings, as he notched his cock at her entrance.
She rolls her hips back feeding in the tip.
König whimpers against her shoulder, resting his head there as he gasps for air, trying not to slam into her. She flexed around him and the edges of his vision blurred.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he hisses out as she rolls against him again, sliding him in further.
“You won’t,” she hums, arching just so he glides further in.
“Fu uck,” he sucks in a breath and his hips jolt forward.
She moans in reply, her cunt squeezing around him.
He whimpers an apology, his restraint snapping into a million pieces. His vision blurs as he ruts into her. The control he holds so tightly over the eldritch part of him, slips. Tentacles unfurl from the tattoos along his arms, the base along his back. They curl around her thighs spreading them allowing him better access.
Her cunt flutters around him and he nips at her shoulder. Another one of those pretty moans slipping from her mouth.
Wet slick guides the mass of his cock in and out. Their mixed scent, the suckling of his tentacles, her moans, and the way she gripped him were all he could perceive.
He glides his hand down her torso to her stomach, hissing as he feels himself inside her with every thrust. Her lower abdomen bulged from his size. The coil wrapped and wrapped.
“Gonna-,” his voice falters as he spurts ropes of cum into her. Stars litter his vision as he continues rutting into her. Fucking all of his cum into her sweet cunt.
“So perfect, meine liebling,” he peppers her neck in licks and nips as she collapses into the bed.
He grunts as he slides out with a wet pop. She whimpers, her eyes squeezing closed as he watches cum slide down her thigh.
His cock stirs as he scoops it up and presses it back into her.
He collapses beside her, tugging her into a spooning position and slots his half mast cock back into her.
“Want it to stay,” he mumbles, tiredly.
She hums in approval, rolling into him. His cock hardened and he gripped her hip, stopping her.
“Sleep, Süße,” he nuzzles against her hair. Smelling her through his hood.
König stirred before she did. The sun shines through the window, across her. He was immediately aware that his left arm was asleep and his cock, now solid again, was deep in her cunt.
She sucks in a breath and grinds against him in her sleep.
König holds back a curse, gripping her hip to stop her.
She whines frustrated in her sleep.
“Sorry,” he whispers shakily, moving his hand away. He tries to ignore the way she rocked against him, the way her cunt sucked at him.
He whimpers pathetically, pressing a knuckle between his teeth. A tentacle glides between her thighs, flicking curiously at the bud. She moans, her eyes fluttering open.
“Please,” he shudders out, his free hand white knuckling the bedding.
She nods and slides him further in. Squelch. Cum squirted down his shaft causing him to curse. He slides free and turns her on her back.
She raises her brows.
“Want to see you as you finish,” he grips her thighs and presses back into her.
“Want you to fuck me,” she groans, gliding her hands along his arms to where the tentacles were still sprouted. He hadn’t bothered to put the big ones away.
“Yeah?” He groans as her nails skirt his shoulders. He snaps his hips, grunting as she sinks them into his skin.
Her head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as he begins to pummel into her. With every thrust, more cum leaks free. Frothing along his shaft. It doesn’t take long for him to snap and fuck more cum into her.
Her body shudders as he slides free and shimmies down her body.
“What-?” Her voice is cut off as he drags his tongue along her pussy. Her body jerks, and his tentacles grip her thighs, lifting them so he can eat her properly.
He groans and presses on her stomach. Cum oozing down her thighs and König whines at her.
“Meine,” he huffs, licking at her thighs before moving to her abused cunt and lapping her clean.
She almost never gets drunk, basically because it takes too many bottles to make her feel something, but after winning an important battle, she decided that it was the time to buy enough beers for her.
There were more people in the room than both of you, but for Diana, it felt like you were the only one there. She was sure that she could see a glowing pink halo around your body that attracted her to you. Did you cast a spell on her or something? No, that's not your type of power.
And then it comes the worst part, she opens her mouth.
“You,” she says, voice lower than usual, a little slurred at the edges, “are unfairly beautiful.”
You blink, laugh softly. “Diana, you’re drunk.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her bottle. “I am aware. It is rare. And annoying. But necessary.” She shifts closer, thigh pressing against yours. “I have… a confession.”
The room is loud, but her words cut through everything. Your heart stutters.
“Okay,” you say, careful. “I’m listening.”
She stares at you for a long moment, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then she just… says it.
“I am in love with you.”
The words are simple. Direct. No flowery speech, no metaphor. Just Diana, drunk and honest.
You freeze. She doesn’t.
“I have been for… a while,” she continues, frowning like she’s trying to do math. “Months? Years? Time is stupid.” She pokes your arm lightly. “You are kind. And brave. And when you smile, I feel...” She gestures vaguely at her chest. “warm. Here. All the time.”
You’re staring now, mouth slightly open. She notices, tilts her head.
“You are not saying anything.”
You swallow. “Diana, you're—”
She leans in closer, eyes wide and earnest. “I do not say this because of the alcohol. The alcohol is just… making me brave. Stupidly brave.” She pauses. “Like Achilles, but with feelings.”
You laugh, soft and surprised. She smiles radiantly, a little wobbly.
“I want to court you,” she says. “Properly. With… dates. And flowers. And no battles interrupting. Though battles are romantic sometimes.”
You reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Your hand lingers.
“I’d like that,” you say quietly.
Her whole face lights up. “Truly?”
You nod. “Truly.”
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I am very bad at keeping secrets when I am in love.”
You kiss her cheek. She sighs, content, and slumps against your shoulder.
KARA ZOR EL (suggestive)
The apartment is quiet tonight, just the soft hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of Metropolis traffic outside.
You’re sprawled on the couch in one of Kara’s old hoodies (it smells like her, sunlight and vanilla), legs kicked up, scrolling absently on your phone.
Kara’s been out with the League celebrating a win and she texted you an hour ago: on my way home. might be a little tipsy. love youuuu with about twenty heart emojis.
The door opens with a dramatic whoosh, and Kara floats in, hair windswept, cheeks flushed an adorable pink, eyes glassy and sparkling.
She’s still in her Supersuit, cape slightly crooked, boots left at the door in a messy pile.
“Baby!” she announces to the room, voice louder than necessary, arms wide like she’s about to hug the entire apartment. “I’m home!”
You laugh, setting your phone aside. “Hey, you. Come here.”
She doesn’t walk, she glides over, wobbling just a little, and flops face-first onto your lap with a happy sigh. Her head lands right between your breasts, cheek squished against the soft fabric of the hoodie. She nuzzles in immediately, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re her personal pillow.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, voice muffled against your chest. “You’re so soft. And you smell like… like home. And cookies. Do we have cookies? No, wait—you’re the cookie.”
You snort, threading your fingers through her hair. “You’re ridiculous when you’re drunk.”
She tilts her head up, chin resting on your sternum, eyes huge and shiny.
“I love you,” she says, simple and earnest, like she’s just discovered gravity. “Like… a lot. A lot lot. Did I tell you that today? I should tell you every day. Every hour. Every minute.”
You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You did. Multiple times. Via text. Voice memo. And that very loud phone call while you were flying home.”
She giggles and buries her face back in your chest.
“Good. Because it’s true. And also—”
She pulls back again, eyes dropping to your breasts with sudden, intense focus.
“These. These are… amazing.”
She cups them gently through the hoodie, thumbs brushing your nipples like she’s handling something sacred.
“They’re so soft. And perfect. And… they’re mine, right? I can say that? I’m allowed?”
You laugh. “Yeah, you’re allowed.”
She leans in, nuzzling between them like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“I love them. I love how they feel. I love when you let me sleep on them. I love when they’re all… squishy and warm. And when you’re on top and they’re right here.” She presses her face deeper, voice muffled. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s my favorite sound.”
You stroke her hair, letting her ramble. She’s still drunk, words tumbling out in a sweet stream.
“I think about them all the time,” she confesses, voice dropping to a whisper. “On patrol. During meetings. When I’m trying to be serious. I just… think about burying my face in them and never leaving. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But I love you. And I love these. And I love you.”
You tilt her chin up, kiss her softly. She melts into it, kissing back slow and sloppy, tasting like cheap beer and happiness. When you pull back, she’s smiling utterly smitten.
“I love you too,” you whisper. “All of you. Even the drunk, boob-obsessed parts.”
She sighs, content, and flops back down, face smushed between your breasts again.
“Good,” she mumbles. “Because I’m never moving.”
You laugh quietly, holding her close as she drifts toward sleep, still mumbling sweet, slurred nonsense against your skin.
KORIAND'R
She’s glowing, literally, a soft orange aura around her skin, hair floating like there’s no gravity. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and glassy, and she’s been glued to your side all night, arm looped through yours, head on your shoulder more often than not.
Now the others have drifted to the dartboard or the bar, and it’s just you two in the booth. She’s halfway through her… seventh? eighth? drink, staring at you like you hung the stars.
“You,” she says suddenly. “You are… so pretty. Like really pretty. Did you know that? I think about it all the time.”
You laugh, soft. “You’re drunk, Kori.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her glass. “Drunk is good! Drunk is honest! And I am very honest right now.”
She leans in, too close, warm breath on your cheek. “I love you.”
The words tumble out like they’ve been waiting forever.
You blink. She doesn’t stop.
“I love you so much it’s stupid. Like dumb stupid. I think about you when I fly. I think about you when I fight. I think about you when I’m supposed to be listening to Dick’s plans and I’m just like… ‘she has such nice hands.’”
She grabs your hand, holds it up like evidence. “See? Nice hands. I want them on me all the time.”
You’re trying not to laugh, but your heart is pounding. “Kori—”
“No, wait, I’m not done!” She’s babbling now, words spilling fast and messy. “I love your laugh. And your eyes. And how you always know when I’m sad even when I smile. And your hair. I want to braid it. And kiss you. And—oh—your boobs. They’re perfect. I dream about them. I want to put my face in them and never leave.”
She demonstrates by dramatically dropping her head to your chest, nuzzling with a happy sigh. “Like this. Perfect.”
You’re flushed, laughing quietly, fingers threading through her hair. “You’re ridiculous.”
She lifts her head, eyes wide and earnest.
“I’m serious! I love you. I want to be your girlfriend. For real. No more ‘just friends who kiss sometimes.’ I want to hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. And cook for you, badly, probably, but try! And fly you to the moon if you want!”
She pauses, frowning. “Do you want to go to the moon? We could. I’m strong enough.”
You cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Kori. I don't need the moon. I love you too.”
Her whole face lights up, her glow brightens. “Really?!”
“Really.”
She squeals and launches herself at you, wrapping arms and legs around you like a koala.
“I’m never letting go! You’re mine now! Officially! I’m going to kiss you so much!”
You laugh into her hair, holding her tight. She pulls back just enough to kiss you, messy, eager, tasting like tequila and joy. When she finally lets you breathe, she’s smiling so wide it’s blinding.
“Best night ever,” she declares. “Even better than the time I punched a robot in the face.”
You kiss her again. “Yeah. Best night ever.”
(She falls asleep on your shoulder on the cab ride home, drooling in your top, you'll tease her about it tomorrow.
DONNA TROY
The Titans Tower common room is a mess of empty bottles and laughter after a hard-won victory. Most of the team has tapped out, but Donna?
Donna’s drunk.
She’s on the couch beside you, thigh pressed to yours, cheeks flushed a deep rose that makes her look softer than usual. Her dark hair is loose, a little tangled from her head tossing back drinks. Her eyes are glassy, fixed on you with that intense Amazon stare, but it’s wobbly now, frustrated.
She’s been quieter than usual all night, nursing her drinks and stealing glances at you. Now the alcohol has loosened her tongue and her temper. She turns suddenly, nearly sloshing her drink on your lap.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, voice sharp but slurred at the edges. “I’m in love with you, and it’s stupid, and I hate it.”
You blink. She keeps going, words tumbling out like she’s been holding them back for months.
“I’ve been in love with you for—forever! And you’re going to say no, I know you are, because why would you want me? I’m just the spare Amazon, the second-string Wonder Girl, and you’re—you’re perfect, and funny, and you make me feel things I don’t even have words for in Greek!”
She’s on her feet now, pacing, hands gesturing wildly.
“I tried to ignore it! I tried to be your friend! But every time you smile at me, or laugh at my dumb stories, or just fucking exist I want to kiss you! And hold you! And tell everyone you’re mine! But you’ll say no, and then it’ll be awkward, and I’ll have to pretend I’m fine when I’m dying inside!”
Her voice cracks on the last word. She stops pacing, stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wet and angry.
“So just say it,” she snaps. “Say no and I'll move on.”
“Donna.”
She flinches like she’s bracing for a hit.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Her mouth opens. Closes.
“What?”
You smile, reach for her hand. “I love you. Have for a while. I was waiting for you to say something.”
She stares, blinking fast. “What? No—what? You—you love me? Like… love love?”
You nod.
She makes a strangled sound and then she’s on you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, face buried in your neck.
“You absolute idiot,” she mumbles, voice muffled and wobbly. “I was ready to fight a god over this.”
You laugh, hold her close. “No need. You’ve got me.”
She pulls back, eyes shining, and kisses you.
“I’m never drinking again,” she declares. “Or maybe I am. This worked out pretty well.”
You kiss her again. The team pretends not to notice from the corner but they’re all grinning. Donna doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.
BARBARA GORDON
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand at 2:17 a.m., the screen lighting up with Barbara’s name. You fumble for it, half-asleep, heart already picking up because Babs never calls this late unless it’s an emergency.
You answer. “Babs? You okay?”
There’s a long pause, then a shaky breath and a voice that’s definitely not sober.
“Heyyy,” she draws out, soft and slurred. “Hi. It’s me. Barbara. Your Barbara. Wait—no, not your Barbara. That’s… that’s the problem.”
You sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Are you drunk?”
A wet little laugh. “I opened the good whiskey. The one Dick got me for my birthday. And then I finished it. Alone. Like a loser.”
You’re already pulling on a hoodie. “Where are you? Your place?”
“Clocktower,” she sniffles. “Couldn’t make it home. Too… spinny.”
You’re out the door in thirty seconds. “Stay put. I’m coming.”
She keeps talking the whole cab ride.
“I didn’t mean to call,” she says at one point, voice thick. “But I was looking at pictures of us. And you were smiling at me in all of them. And I just… I miss you. All the time. Even when you’re right there.”
Your chest aches. You’ve been dancing around this for years—best friends, partners on cases, late-night rooftop talks, the kind of closeness that feels like more but neither of you ever named.
“I miss you too,” you say quietly.
“Nooo,” she drags out, starting to cry. “You don’t get it. I love you. Like love love you. The stupid kind. The kind where I want to hold your hand and kiss you when you’re not looking and wake up next to you and—ugh—why is this so hard?”
You’re at the Clocktower now, racing up the stairs. “Babs, open the door.”
Her hair’s a mess, eyes red and glassy, wearing an oversized GCPD shirt and pajama shorts. She looks small, leaning on the doorframe.
“You came,” she whispers, like she didn’t believe you would.
You step inside, close the door, pull her into your arms. She clings to you, face buried in your neck, crying quietly.
“I’m so in love with you it hurts,” she mumbles against your skin. “And I was scared you’d never—hic—feel the same. And I’m drunk and stupid and—”
You pull back, cup her face. Wipe her tears with your thumbs.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Blinks. Tears still falling.
“What?”
“I love you,” you say again, clearer. “I was scared too.”
She stares at you, mouth open.
Then she starts crying harder (happy tears this time) and launches herself at you, arms around your neck, legs wrapping around your waist like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“You love me?” she sobs into your shoulder. “Really?”
“Really.”
She taste like whiskey and salt when you kiss her, but you can't stop, it's kind of addictive. You stay with her in bed. She doesn’t let go the whole night.
She wakes up mortified the next morning. You kiss her quiet. She stops being mortified real fast.
DINAH LANCE (suggestive)
The bar is a blur of neon and laughter, the kind of place where vigilantes go to pretend they’re normal for a night. You’re younger, still riding the high of your first big win with the Birds, and Dinah (the Black Canary, your mentor, your crush, your everything) dragged you out to celebrate.
You meant to pace yourself. You really did.
But the shots kept coming, and Dinah’s laugh is like velvet, and her hand on your back when she leans in to talk over the music makes your brain short-circuit. So you drink. A lot.
Now you’re stumbling out into the cool night air, Dinah’s arm around your waist, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Her leather jacket smells like her, smoke and vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” she says, amused, steering you toward her bike. Her voice is low, warm, a little rough from singing earlier.
You giggle, leaning into her heavily. “You’re pretty.”
She snorts. “Oh god, you’re so drunk.”
“Drunk and honest,” you mumble, face pressed to her shoulder.
She gets you onto the bike behind her, makes sure your arms are tight around her waist. The ride to her place is a blur of wind and city lights. You cling to her, cheek against her back, breathing her in.
Inside her apartment, she half-carries you to the couch. You flop down, world spinning. She kneels, pulls your boots off slow.
“You’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow,” she says, but there’s no judgment, just fond exasperation.
You grab her wrist before she can stand. “Stay.”
She pauses, blue eyes soft. “I’m just getting water.”
“No, I don't want water.” You tug harder, pulling her down until she’s sitting beside you. “I want you.”
She sighs, but doesn’t pull away. You shift, clumsy, until you’re curled against her side, head on her chest. She’s warm. Strong. Her heartbeat is steady under your ear.
You’re quiet for a minute, then the words spill out.
“I love you.”
She goes still.
You keep going, voice thick with alcohol and want.
“Not like friend love. Like… love love. Want-to-kiss-you love. Want-you-to-hold-me-down-and—” You hiccup. “make me scream your name love.”
Your hand slides under her shirt, fingers tracing the hard lines of her abs. She catches your wrist, gentle but firm.
“Hey,” she says, voice low. “You’re drunk.”
“I know,” you mumble, nuzzling closer, lips brushing her collarbone. “But it’s true. Always wanted you. You’re so strong and hot and” You press a sloppy kiss to her neck. “I think about you when I touch myself.”
She exhales, shaky. Her hand cups the back of your head, holding you close but not encouraging.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, soft but firm. “When you’re sober.”
You whine, cling tighter. “Nooo. Sleep with me. Just cuddling. Please.”
She hesitates. You feel it—the way her thumb strokes your hair, the way her body doesn’t pull away.
“Okay,” she whispers finally. “Just cuddling.”
She helps you to bed, strips you down to your underwear with careful, clinical hands that still make you shiver. She changes into a tank and shorts, slides in behind you.
You curl into her immediately, back to her chest, her arm draped over you. Her hand rests on your stomach, warm and steady.
You’re asleep in minutes, breathing her in. She stays awake longer, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, lips brushing your shoulder.
Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tonight, she holds you like you’re already hers.
You wake up hungover. She’s still there, arm tight around you, smiling when you groan.
“Morning, lightweight.”
You hide your face in her neck. “I don't regret anything I said.”
She kisses your temple. “Good. We’ll talk now.”
TALIA AL GHUL (+18)
The mission debrief was supposed to be quick. Go over the extraction points, confirm no tails, file the report. But Talia had other ideas. She locked the door of the Paris safehouse with a soft click, kicked off her boots, and disappeared into the kitchenette without a word. You heard glass clinking, the creak of an old cabinet, and then she came back holding a dusty green bottle like it was treasure.
“Absinthe,” she said, voice low and amused. “Real stuff. You ever try it?”
You shook your head, already feeling the adrenaline from the op bleeding into something looser. “Thought it makes you hallucinate.”
“It makes you honest,” she corrected, popping the cork.
The scent hit you first—anise, sharp and sweet, dangerous. She poured two generous glasses, the liquid turning milky as she added water from a chipped carafe.
“To clean extractions,” she toasted, clinking her glass against yours.
One glass turned into two. Two turned into three. The room got softer around the edges, the old velvet curtains glowing in the lamplight, the Eiffel Tower a faint sparkle through the rain-streaked window.
You both ended up on the wide bed, shoes long gone, mission gear traded for something comfortable. Talia had slipped into a black silk robe that barely tied at the waist, the fabric clinging to her curves, slipping open just enough to tease. You’d stolen one of her oversized button-down shirts, nothing underneath, because why bother in a safehouse?
You were laughing at something stupid now, some near-miss from the op that felt hilarious in hindsight. Your legs had tangled somewhere between the second and third glass, her bare thigh warm against yours, her foot sliding idly along your calf. Every time she shifted, the silk robe gaped a little more, revealing the swell of her breast, the dark shadow between her thighs.
“God, you’re beautiful when you laugh like that,” she said suddenly, voice husky from the drink. Her eyes were glassy, dark, fixed on your mouth.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “You’re one to talk. That robe should be illegal.”
She smirked, leaning closer, the scent of absinthe on her breath. “You complaining?”
“Never,” you whispered.
Your hand found her knee, tracing slow circles on her skin. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a soft hum, her own fingers brushing your thigh under the hem of the shirt.
“You know,” she murmured, “I’ve thought about this. Too many times. On stakeouts. In safehouses exactly like this. Watching you across the room, pretending I wasn’t imagining what you’d feel like.”
Your breath caught. “Talia…”
“I’d touch myself thinking about you,” she went on, voice dropping lower, filthier. “Quiet, so you wouldn’t hear. Fingers sliding inside, pretending it was your tongue. Your hands pinning me down. Fuck, I’d come so hard biting my own arm to stay silent.”
The confession hit you like a shot of the absinthe. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing between hers now.
“I did the same,” you admitted. “Every time you wore that tight gear on ops. Imagining peeling it off you. Tasting how wet you’d be for me.”
Her eyes fluttered. “Show me,”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
Your lips crashed into hers, hungry and desperate, the taste of absinthe sharp and sweet between your tongues. She kissed like she fought—controlled, precise, but with an edge that made your pulse race. Her hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into your hip as she pulled you closer, guiding you until you were straddling one of her legs.
She broke the kiss just long enough to tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Cool air hit your skin, but her gaze was hotter, raking over you like she was memorizing every inch.
“On your back,” she ordered, the kind that made your stomach flip.
You obeyed instantly, sinking into the pillows as she shrugged off the silk robe. Naked now, she was breathtaking; strong shoulders, full breasts, the curve of her waist leading to hips you wanted to bruise with your grip. She crawled over you, predatory, settling between your thighs.
But she didn’t stay there long. With a wicked smile, she shifted, turning until her knees bracketed your hips. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until her slick heat pressed against yours. The first contact made you both gasp.
“Like this,” she murmured, rocking forward once, testing. “I want to feel you come apart under me.”
You moaned, hands flying to her thighs, gripping tight as she started to move. Slow at first, grinding in deliberate circles, her clit dragging against yours with every roll of her hips. The friction was electric, building fast and relentless. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head, dark hair falling around your face like a curtain.
“Look at me,” she commanded, and your eyes locked on hers.
She sped up, thighs flexing, breath hitching as she chased her pleasure. Every grind sent sparks through you, your own hips bucking up to meet her, desperate for more. The room filled with the sounds of it, wet skin sliding together, your shared gasps and moans, the creak of the bed under her rhythm.
“T-talia—hah—please—”
“That’s it,” she growled, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you harder against her. “Give it to me. I want to feel you lose it.”
You were close, so close, but she was closer. Her movements grew erratic, sharper, her breath coming in ragged pants against your lips. You could feel her swelling against you, throbbing, slicker with every thrust.
“Come for me first,” you begged, voice breaking. “I want to feel you—”
She slammed down harder, once, twice and then she shattered.
Her whole body tensed, thighs clamping around your hips as she cried out, a low, guttural sound that went straight through you. Her clit pulsed against yours, hot and wet, and in the middle of it, eyes locked on yours, she whispered it.
“I love you.”
The words hit harder than her orgasm, raw and breathless, like they’d been ripped out of her. She kept moving through the aftershocks, grinding slow now, drawing it out, until she collapsed forward, forehead pressed to yours, still trembling.
You wrapped your arms around her, holding tight, heart pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice shaking.
She smiled against your lips and kissed you slow and deep, like the mission was finally over.
könig was tired. after a long day of training and monitoring new recruits, his social battery was drained, and his muscles were beyond sore. he was desperate to get home— the idea of drinking a couple of beers and nuzzling his face into your chest serving as the last ounce of motivation to get him through the rest of the day.
"schatzi?" könig called out into the foyer of your home, abandoning his combat boots and gym bag by the front door. with every step, his feet began to feel heavier— practically dragging themselves across the floor by the time he got to your shared bedroom.
pillows of steam rolled out from under the bathroom door as he made his way into the bedroom, the warm clouds an indication that you were in the shower. he tossed his uniform blouse and gloves onto the bed, his curiosity certainly peaked.
"schatzi?" he knocked on the door lightly, waiting a few beats for a reply. and, when there was none, anxiety began to brew in his mind. how long had you been in the shower? had you fallen because of the water floor? were you drowning under the shower stream? he knocked one more time before announcing: "schatzi, i'm going to come in, okay?"
as soon as he cracked the bathroom door open, he was met with a heavenly sight— your gorgeous body wrapped in a thick blanket of steam, one hand squeezing your breast as the other rubbed sloppy circles around your clit. your eyes pinched close, and soft chants of his name leaving your lips.
a surge of energy coursed through him, his body instinctively taking swift yet inaudible steps towards you. it wasn't until the glass shower door slid open that you finally noticed his presence, his blue eyes darkening as a knowing smirk crossed his lips.
"am i interrupting something, kätzchen?" könig teased, the startled expression on your face only adding fuel to the fire growing within him.
"könig— i didn't hear you get home," a wave of embarrassment washed over you, watching with wide eyes as your husband enclosed himself in the shower with you. he was still wearing his uniform, the shower water soaking through his camouflage pants and tan shirt, not that he really cared. "would've greeted you properly if i knew."
könig's hands grabbed at your waist, pinning your body between him and the cool tiled wall behind you. his arousal was evident, his wet pants barely able to conceal the erection stirring beneath the fabric. you could feel it against your abdomen, your pussy beginning to tingle at the idea of him taking you right then and there.
"you greeted me just fine, kätzchen, 's not every day i get to see you pleasuring yourself," he hoisted you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. "you were thinking about this exact scenario, ja?"
one of his hands moved up the length of your body, his calloused hand kneading the underside of your wet breast. "thinkin' about my hands playing with these pretty tits?" his head dipped down to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck. "thinkin' about my lips kissing up your neck? leaving little bite marks and sucking— right— here."
you inhaled sharply, craning your neck further to the side to allow könig more access, his lips latched to your pulse point. you bucked your hips into him, the rough cloth of his shirt providing you with just enough clitoral stimulation to make you see stars.
"yes, ohmygod— yes," your fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the short auburn strands. könig began to feast on your skin, lapping at your neck with the flat of his tongue while, his fingers pinched and twisted your puffy nipples. "need you, könig, been thinkin' about you all day. couldn't wait for you t' get home—"
könig licked his lips, slowly pulling away to meet your lustful gaze. his hand abandoned your nipple to dive underneath your thighs, rubbing the tips of his fingers along your wet folds. he gathered up your arousal, smearing it all along your slit.
"mmm, i knew it, kätzchen," his fingers dipped into your entrance until he was knuckle deep, your tight walls clamping down on the thick digits. your jaw went slack, a guttural moan escaping from the depths of your throat as he stretched you out with just two of his fingers. "don't worry, schatzi, i'll take good care of you. i'm just lending a helping hand, ja?"
The rec room echoed with the rough laughter of 141, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and sweat after a brutal day of drills.
As a new recruit, you'd been watching from the sidelines, soaking in the dynamics of these hardened soldiers. Ghost sat like a pillar at the arm-wrestling table, his massive form unchallenged as Soap and Gaz tossed quips around him.
No one had ever beat him—not in the field, not in a simple contest of strength. Nobody dared even try….well, until you stepped up.
"Reckon you've got the guts, rook?" Soap prodded, eyes gleaming with mischief.
You met Ghost's gaze through the slits of his balaclava, that unreadable stare pinning you in place. Your hand engulfed in his gloved one, the heat of his palm seeping through. The room hushed as the match began.
He pushed with controlled power, his bicep flexing like coiled steel.
Your arm buckled at first, fire lancing through your muscles, but you gritted your teeth and pushed back. Inch by agonizing inch, you forced his hand toward the table. Surprise flickered in his eyes—subtle, but there.
With a final, desperate heave, you slammed his knuckles down.
The eruption was instant, whoops from Gaz, Soap slapping the table in shock. "Holy shite! Ghost just got proper schooled by the newbie!"
You released his hand, breathing hard, a triumphant grin splitting your face. "That all you got, Lieutenant?"
Ghost didn't respond. He yanked his arm back, rising from the ground chair in one fluid, abrupt motion—without a word, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, you frowned..rubbing your already sore wrist. Brooding already? Figures—the man's a walking enigma, probably off to lick his wounds in private. Or maybe he'd chew you out later for embarrassing him. The thought made your stomach twist, but you shrugged it off, joining the banter as the group reset the table.
But Ghost wasn't brooding. The second that door clicked shut, he was a man on fire—cock rock-hard and pulsing against his pants, the memory of your unyielding grip searing through him. Your determined stare, the way you'd overpowered him... it hit like a live wire, straight to the core. He bolted for his quarters, the base's corridors a blur.
Back to the door, breath heaving under the balaclava. He yanked it off, revealing sweat-dampened dark hair and a jaw clenched in raw need. Vest shed, pants shoved down just enough—his hand wrapped around his thick length, already leaking at the tip.
"Fuck..” he rasped to the empty room, eyes squeezing shut as he stroked, rough and urgent. Images flooded—your hand dominating his, the flex of your muscles, the fire in your eyes. He imagined pinning you instead—your body under his, submitting as he took control. But even that twisted back to the thrill of your strength, the unexpected turn-on of being overpowered.
His hips bucked into his fist, pace building frantic.
A low groan tore from his throat, the release crashing over him—hot spurts across his knuckles, body shuddering against the wood. He slumped, chest heaving, the tension easing but the ache lingered.
Ghost wondered if you'd beat him again. And fuck if he didn't hope you would.
Inspired by real events and real delusions.
Content & Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: hardcore(?) bdsm, dubcon, somno, bondage, degradation, dom/sub, cnc, free use, rough sex, punishments, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, traffic light color system, safewords, use of safewords, subspace, dirty talk, spanking, spitting, slapping, breeding, PinV, creampie, implied cunnilingus, fingering, choking, manhandling, implied aftercare, possessiveness, biting, bloody lips, bruising, marking.
Simon came home early from his mission, having no interest in living to see another sunset or sunrise without you next to him. He wanted to sleep in the soft bed you kept for him, even if it meant zombie walking himself home. You flew out of the bedroom to plaster him with kisses, surveying for new injuries while he unlaced his boots. His ungloved hands gently took your tiny ones, bringing them to his lips. A kiss is pressed to your ring, and he halts. His eyes flick to yours, cold and dark.
Shit, you've been caught.
His grip turns rock hard.
“What's this now?” And he shoves your three middle fingers into his mouth, inhaling deeply, biting down at the base of them.
You tried to pull away, but between his teeth and his arm locked around you, there was no escape. He bit down harder, wet velcro muscle sliding and twirling between each digit, sucking on the tips of your fingers before letting them go, and leaving teeth marks. You’re in trouble now.
“Know that taste anywhere, love.” There's fire in his eyes, but not a hint of warmth despite their redness. “Playing with my pussy without me. Without permission.” He tuts at you. “And here I was gonna to reward you for being a good loyal girl. Know you're not s’posed to touch yourself while I’m gone...” His voice was monotone, but he couldn't disguise the calculation and disappointment loaded in his words.
Your face scorched hot, “I—”
“Look I'm tired and not in a proper state of mind to punish you, so let's just sleep for now.”
You dropped your eyes and nodded.
He brought a hand up underneath your chin forcing you to look at him. “‘M not angry, know you missed me,” he sweetened his tone up for you, but you didn’t quite believe him deep down. “Come to bed, we'll discuss your punishment in the morning,” and he led you into the bedroom. Tucked into his side, you fell hard against him, drifting blissfully asleep, reunited with your husband.
......
Simon was moving, a light sleeper. It sometimes took him a few days to adjust back to a regular schedule. It was still dark on the other side of your eyelids, but you could hear the faint beginnings of birdsong as you stirred to partial consciousness, just enough to roll over or flip the pillow to the cooler side if you wanted. Your arms felt numb and heavy and your legs were fuzzy, a sign of a damn good dead sleep.
A wash of cold air activated goosebumps shivering across your skin.
Wait. Where did your pajamas go?
You jerked awake, thrashing, but your arms locked you down in place. They were tied above your head to the headboard, but your feet were free. You strained your neck to look around.
“Good, you're awake.”
You exhaled a deep sigh of relief knowing he was there, but a splash of fear doused your insides. Flight or fight kicked in and you tugged at your restraints on instinct, a sharp pain shot through to your left shoulder. The ropes weren't too tight or painful on your skin, as long as you didn't struggle. Usually if Simon tied you up, it was just your hands together in front or behind, but he also had only ever done so when you were awake.
“I've decided what your punishment is going to be.”
A stone dropped into the pit of your stomach and your heart started racing again. You were scared in a sense, not of being hurt, but of the unknown. Anticipation.
“Remember your safeword and colors?”
You nodded, “yes sir.”
“Are your restraints comfortable enough? Do I need to adjust them before I start?”
“They're okay. I'll tell you if it changes but—” He silenced you with a firm hand over your mouth, fingertips digging painfully into the fat of your cheeks and mandible.
“No more speaking out of turn. Don't make me gag you so we can be safe, pet.” There was something haunting about him, ominous in a way you didn't often get to experience. Primal hunger was the only emotion you could make out in the dark, but his voice kept it leashed in chains of unpolished steel.
“Might need your words for this, best to save them.” Simon moved wordlessly into position and began.
.....
Between his hands and mouth you were three orgasms deep in subspace now; lethargic and moaning, legs shaking like a leaf while he barreled you into a fourth, noises growing more and more inhuman.
Your punishment was the restraints. Hands in rope jail, locked up for crimes committed. Guilty as sin, stinking of sex. They robbed him, stole from him. A pair of thieving criminals that touched what wasn't theirs. Masterminds in their own rite, needy and greedy. They loved to trace and tangle up inside him, make him weak for you, pull him close, tell him how and where you wanted to please him. He couldn't allow you to play unfair this time and turn the tables of your own punishment.
After your fourth, you were drenched and slick, chest heaving. He got up to fetch a towel and repositioned you top of it, fluffy terry cloth material felt like sandpaper scratching your buzzing skin. There was a dull sting in your muscles, tight from tensing, a sharp contrast to the fiery meltdown of your pussy, and the rest of your senses were jacked up to the highest sensitivity setting. Simon checked your hands and the knots that tethered them to the headboard, you wiggled your fingers to show they were feeling okay. He gave you a sip of water and you wheezed your color, then he climbed between your legs once more.
Simon did not ease himself into you, this was a punishment. Ropes, overstimulation, and a rough unforgiving dicking down. As greedy as your cunt was, it struggled to take his massive size, clamping down before he could take his rightful place inside you. Possession clutched at your throat and jaw, spit in your mouth instead of kissing you, slapped your tits, called you a whore, and made bruises with his fingerprints, until he could force the rest of his cock all the way in.
Simon grunted, fucking you raw and hard. “Fuck this pussy back into the shape o’ me. Remind her who she belongs to.” His harsh thrusts made your body lurch, adding slack to your ties, breasts bouncing, flesh rippling from impact. The taste of iron leaked onto your tongue from biting your lip to keep words from forming. The sound of skin smacking, lewd squelching, and your moans filled the bedroom. He knew your body was primed for your next orgasm, walls fluttering and body jolting like an earthquake. Reaching down, he furiously rubbed your clit and bullied your g-spot with his tip until it sent shockwaves of prickly pleasure through you. “Cream my cock, slut. S'what you wanted innit?”
The only reason you were coming at all was because he wanted you to. You didn't beg him to stop despite the overstimulation that forced tears to down your face and your muscles to spasm. You loved to turn boneless and brainless for him to use. You needed him to be whole and he provided the hard structure you needed to go soft around him. Yin and yang.
“Gonna make you come so many times you can't come without me.” His plan was to ruin you for everyone else. As if he hadn't already done that and married you because of it.
“You promised me you would wait. How am I supposed to trust you when I'm not around?” He looked down at you with a sneer, knowing how to tug on your heartstrings and summon tears.
“Won't happen again, sir. I'm so sorry,” you whimpered.
Simon pulled out of you so fast it gave you reverse whiplash, like being turned inside out. The air that he'd been beating out of your lungs finally rushed back in, filling you with enough oxygen to get you high and floaty. His big hands slapped down, roughly gripped your hips and flipped you onto your front, ropes twisting in place. He pulled your hips up and shoved his cock back inside. Fingers hooking into the softest parts of your waist, he pulled you back to meet his violent thrusts, hitting deep enough to make you gasp.
“Like hell it won't, slag. Can't follow simple directions.” Simon punctuated his words with the heavy crack of his hand on your rear, and he laid a few more into you before you convulsed around him. Head buried face-first into the mattress, your tears stained the sheets, and you gasped for what little air you could find. Your legs were liquid and couldn’t support you anymore, so he tightened his grip and held up your hips. He kept fucking you while you rag-dolled, body collapsing under his relentless brutality and the extreme euphoria forced into you by another mind-altering orgasm.
Your hips fell helplessly off his cock when he let go. One day he's going to blow your back out, paralyze you, and keep fucking you anyways. Sick freak. Your back was sore from his trusts compressing your spine and the angle of the arch he bent you into. You relaxed what you could into the comforts of your bedding, rubbing your thighs together, toes curling and cracking. His broad hands came up to your face, one moved hair out of the way, and the other applied a bone-crushing grip to your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
“Color?”
There was none in his eyes. With his bottomless stamina, he could keep you tied up like his personal sex toy and use you for days. He hadn't finished once in the hour (hours?) since the session started, and you knew he had to be aching for release. You twitched in your restraints, but the silken bite from the rope couldn't overide how much you wanted to touch him and coax him to come. You'd do anything to make that happen.
“Green.”
He pulled your ankles apart and slot in to fuck you prone. You moaned and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he stuffed his fat cock in you again. Each position hit a little different, this time the tingling radiated in your kidneys when he pounded you from the back, dislodging every broken breath from your lungs. He was reaching depths that only he could navigate. Only he knew what buttons to press and strokes to place to have you unraveling.
A hand wormed its way underneath to press above your pubic bone. “Another,” he commanded. On cue, the band tightened and snapped. You exploded while he fucked you with abandon, squirting and shaking, choking on sobs, while he crammed you full. “That's it, filthy slut. Didn't put a towel down for nothin’.”
Simon pulled away from you once more and moved you onto your back. Your fluids were dripping wet down his cock, he flexed or twitched and it bobbed in the air. He was leaking precum and his pubic hair was slicked down and frothy from your previous climbaxes.
“Clean me off.” He walked himself closer to your face and touched the tip of him to your swollen lips, and you greedily sucked him into your mouth, worshiping with your tongue. It was salty, and sweet, and sticky when it transferred and dried on your face. His hands cradled the back of your head forcing you to take more than you were ready for.
Tears welled up, drool filled up your mouth, and you struggled to switch to breathing through your nose. He pulled you off by your hair, saw the glassy eyed expression on your face, and scowled. “Cock drunk whore enjoyed being face fucked too much. Can't have that.”
Simon moved back to between your legs, using the towel to wipe off the arousal that spilled from your bullied hole and coated your thighs. A smack of his hand sent a sharp shock to your blistering clit, then a couple fingers scooped some of your cum from your core and reapplied it to work the hard bud rapidly back and forth with the rough pads of his fingers.
Your body panicked, stuttering breath and hacking up your lungs. It hurt. It burned. It was too much.
The overstimulation caught up with you and you felt only pain. Your eyes went wide, “yellow-ow-ow-ow,” you cried. And Simon backed off your poor sensitive clit.
He trailed a hand down one of your trembling legs, his touch gentler than before. Normally he would reward you for using your colors, but that would have to wait until after he finished playing with you. “You should be thanking me for this, letting you come so many times. What is it seven? No...it would have been, but you just couldn't handle it. What happened to my greedy girl?”
You writhed where words failed, seeking any form of solace on your supercharged skin, but everywhere he touched blazed and scratched instead. The world spun around you, like the forever falling feeling of intoxication.
“But you're not done till I say so,” he whispered in your ear. “You're mine. Any orgasm you have belongs to me.”
He grabs your face again, squishing your cheeks, bringing your eyes to connect with his again, and with the other he worked his fingers back inside, starting with two, then three, targeting that spot that turned your vision dark. Your clit was too painful, so he'd have to be rough with you in other ways, and he knew your cunt could take a beating better than anything else, so resilient and hungry for attention. It's what drove you to break the rules in the first place.
But if you never broke the rules, then he'd never have cause to punish you. It was all fun and games as long as you didn't make a bad habit of it.
You were on the ropes now, beat up, bruised, and broken. His favorite little toy, marked and strung up in red for him. Fuck he was so hard for you, fighting his own release. He loosened his hold on your face. “Open.” And your tongue lazily rolled out of your parted lips. He spit, your walls pulled tight around his fingers, and you swallowed dutifully. “There she is. Go on. Take it then.” Your legs tensed and your mouth hung wide open, eyes fluttering shut, while you rode another wave of pleasure on his thick fingers.
Before you had a chance to fall back to earth, he ripped his fingers out and stuffed them in your mouth. He bent down to leave bite marks down your chest, on your breasts, stomach, and down to your hips. Your lips curled around licking and biting down on his thick fingers, gagging down when he shoved them deeper over your tongue to the back of your throat. You closed your eyes and tears escaped out the corners, savoring the taste of yourself on his skin. He pulled them out and you released them with a wet pop, licking your chapped lips after.
Simon molded your lifeless lower body to him next. “You don't even deserve the cum I'm gonna pump you full of. Was saving it up just for you.” He slid all the way into your aching heat, lunging closer. Taking your lips into his mouth only to bite down on them, tasting the dried blood from your earlier split lip, he chewed and pulled at the tender flesh till it split again. It was not a forgiving kiss, and he let himself enjoy it a little too much, groaning deep enough for the vibrations to pass from his chest into yours. Releasing your face, your head dropped back onto the bed, bracketed by your weak arms.
His grip moved to encircle your neck and waist, pinning you in place while he fucked you breathless. You felt him up in your ribs, piercing your diaphragm. He was a lump in your throat that couldn't be swallowed down. Your pulse hammered beneath his grip as you came once more, eyes rolling back and wet heat sucking him deeper. You were scraped like a fur hide being turned into leather, stretched thin across the universe. Head in the clouds was too grounded of an expression to process, let alone comprehend.
.....
You must have blacked out, or died and come back to life. When you came to, your legs were thrown over Simon's shoulders, knees pressed to your shoulders. He was splitting you in half with his cock, and drunk on the sweet friction. A static cling consumed your hands and feet but slowly dissipated.
“Maybe I otta get you ol’ big and round with my kid so you can't touch yourself wi’out me. Huh?” He splays his hand under your belly button pressing down on his cock moving inside while you gush around him. “Want me to fuck a fat baby in you to keep you busy while I'm gone?” Making no effort to hit your sweet spot, in a trance, he watched himself breach your depths, brutalizing your cervix with each thrust. He knew what he was doing. “You like that? Pussy so tight on me, like she wants to be bred. Come on, I know you wanna be full.”
He was sweaty and panting over you. The wet sounds of sticky skin slapping proved there was already a thick mess running down your crack.
How many times had he come inside you? You didn't get to feel him twitching inside while he filled you with his first load or hear him groan at his peak when he lost himself inside of you.
Another punishment, worse than all the others. Now you really saw things. How could you be so selfish? You sniffled, lip quivering, tears welling. “Sorry—so sorry—love—you.” Your voice was hoarse.
Simon shushed your sweet sobs, “That's right. Let it out.” He tipped you over the edge with more dirty words, “One last time, just to make sure it takes.”
After your ninth, he took your hands down, undoing the ropes, massaging blood flow back into them, and easing the ebbing tension from the prolonged stretch. For the first part of aftercare, he made the sweet kind of welcome home love to you in the warmth of sunrise that spilled over your bed. Kissing you languid and deep, praising you, driving his spend deeper into you, slowly rolling his hips against your clit just how you liked, kind and soft hands caressing until you came together by design.
Ten times you came, he counted. A record for you sure, but to him each one meant something more. One for each week he was gone. One for each month until your baby would arrive. One for every carat in your wedding ring. One for each deployment you've welcomed him home from.
(Eleven would actually kill you though, so it might be for the best to not let him catch you next time.)
He loves pinning you against the wall or the mattress, feeling the air escape your lungs as the weight of his chest crushes your soft breasts. His voice gets even lower and dirtier.
"Open your legs for me, dear. I want to see how she swallows me."
He’ll pull your thighs up, opening you completely, just to admire how small and vulnerable you look beneath him.
He is obsessed with the sight of your small hands and flawless nails digging into his arms, trying to find support while he fucks you in place with his large, veiny cock. He squeezes your hips with a force bordering on painful, his large fingers sinking into your soft flesh. He loves seeing the marks the next day — a signature that no one else will see.
He’s addicted to the scent of your hair mixed with sweat. He’ll fuck you from behind just so he can bury his face in your neck, growing obscenities about how tight you are and how he plans to fill you.
He uses words that would make anyone blush.
"Look at you... so beautiful. And here you are, begging for me to ruin you... Do your parents know what a depraved slut they raised?"
He’ll call you sweet names while he watches you come, telling you that you did a good job, leaving you more confused, his hands holding your face with a violent possessiveness so that you are forced to look into his dark eyes. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes roll back and your mind goes blank.
After the peak passes and he finally empties everything inside you, he doesn’t pull away. He stays there, heavy and warm, making sure you feel every ounce of him. He’ll clean you up with a possessive bluntness, kissing the top of your head while his hands still map your hips, already planning how he’s going to fuck you again the next morning, unhurried, until you’re trembling and marked by his presence.
In my mind, this man is so cocky and confident; he looks like the kind of guy who could have sex with you and then stare at you the next day as if he hadn't made you cry the night before.
I hope you like the personality I've given Simon; I don't see him as a heartless wall, quite the opposite! 😭 I think he's so sentimental! Definitely: a kind and horny boyfriend.
I started writing (I have SO MANY unfinished thoughts 😭) about him being a boyfriend with a rough but very sentimental side, it's taking shape and I'm liking it! I'll post it soon!
Price loves to overstimulate you until you're in tears. Pussy sore and throbbing. His fingers deep inside you, massaging your insides until you cum again and again while your moaning and whining. He holds you down to get every last drop out.
Soap is an absolute pussy eater at heart. He'll dive down for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He especially loves it when you're freshly out of the gym or work and he smells how musky and sweaty you got. You get embarrassed but he tells you it adds "flavor."
Gaz likes to hold your hands, his fingers slotted between yours as he gently fucks you into the mattress. It makes it so much more intimate to him. And he whispers sweet words and encourages into your ear to send you over the edge.
Keegan loves making out with you the entire time. Teeth biting your lip and tongue, his own tongue deep in your mouth like he's trying to reach your throat. He likes to hold the back of your neck and control your angle to his liking.
Ghost loves to caress every inch of your body as if you're made of glass. Sliding up your sides to squeeze your breasts, then down to hold your hips and massage them, moving them to his rhythm.
Königs favorite is the stretching to get you to fit him. The man is atleast 9 inches long with the girth of three to four of yours fingers. An absolute monster. But he loves to watch you squirm and writhe as he spreads his fingers to get you nice and loose for his cock. Murmuring about how you can take it.
In a world where people are born with patterns on their skin that match those of their soulmate, Simon “Ghost” Riley is trapped alone. His soulmate marks are destroyed by the torture he endured in the past, there are missing pieces of skin and he have thick lines cutting across the pattern that seemed so sacred to everyone else.
So it doesn't matter if he goes to one of those "Soulmate Connection Agencies," his mark won't match anyone in any database. There wasn't even enough of that red line left to try and guess the missing pattern. Ghost wasn't sure either that any soulmate could forgive the state of his mark, because he had heard Johnny complaining and desperately searching for a gift for his soulmate to compensate for the fact that a bullet had grazed him right on the mark on his arm.
“But there are other ways to know if someone is your soulmate, son, don't get discouraged.” Price had tried to cheer him up one night when they were sharing drinks and talking about that topic.
Ghost wasn't discouraged; he was resigned. He had even reasoned with himself; this was for the best, because he didn't know if he could bear the pain he would cause his other half by seeing the state of his mark or that they had to put up with him and his nightmares, paranoia, and all the other problems he had. Yep, he was better off alone, without a soulmate to destroy. He could simply watch his mates enjoy that soulmates thing.
So at Johnny's wedding to his beloved soulmate he was, of course, one of the groomsmen. He didn't expect to feel that tingling, burning sensation everyone talked about that happens when you're near your soulmate while standing behind Johnny at the altar, but he kept his cool, despite all the emotions going on inside him.
It wasn't hard to figure out who his soulmate was, one of the bridesmaids who looked gorgeous in that sage green dress that all the bridesmaids wore; She kept looking around instead of paying attention to the ceremony, Her eyes widened and there was a glimmer of excitement; clearly she had been eagerly awaiting this moment. It seemed she couldn't bear another minute without knowing who her soulmate was. Ghost heart ached for her, because she would be so disappointed if she found out it was him, with his soulmate mark practically torn to pieces.
So he went from the church to the reception trying to pretend nothing was wrong; luckily, on the walk out of the church, she ended up taking John Price's arm and not Ghost's. The only way for her to discover that he was her soulmate was by touching him, because only that calmed the burning sensation, so he was going to avoid it at all costs; not finding his soulmate was less of a punishment than being his soulmate (in his perspective).
But then that stupid game that Johnny's soulmate wanted to play to replace throwing the bouquet made everything difficult. Now he had to choose one of the several heels on the dance floor and find the girl it belonged to. Ghost cursed himself for being so distracted by his soulmate's face that he didn't even look at her shoes; he had a vague idea of the sage green dress, but not of the high heels.
The girl's name was written on the shoe, and then he went to the chairs where each of the single girls' names was written, turned the chair with the girl's name around, and cursed internally.
“Hey...” She smiled kindly. Ghost grunted an answer.
He just needed to fasten her heel back in place without touching her skin; it should be easy. He was a trained soldier; doing that couldn't be more difficult than disarming a bomb. So he planted his knee on the ground and put her heel in place, trying to adjust the ankle strap without touching her skin.
"Relax, I'm not made of porcelain." She joked, her tone bright and friendly.
And Ghost made the mistake of looking up; he wanted to see her eyes, and then his finger touched her ankle. It was only a moment, but it was long enough so that the burning sensation in the mark would subside and only the tingling would spread. Her eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Bloody hell..."
"It's you..." She was staring at him, and when Ghost tried to leave, she grabbed his arm. “Oh no. No, big guy. You're not getting rid of me now”
And he didn't know what to say. He could have easily pushed that girl away and disappeared from her life even more easily, but she said it with such certainty that he couldn't deny it.
This is how Simon “Ghost” Riley found himself bound and tamed by a woman who cared little or nothing about all his flaws and who clung to him with all her might. A woman who traced what remained of the soulmate mark on Simon's back with reverence instead of disgust or disappointment. A woman who saw through him and still chose him. His safe space and soon, his wife.
(situation: First time eat y/n pussy went a little too intense… ended up with a nosebleed smeared everywhere。ghost is blame to Operational hazard，konig think it's "Verdammte...Luftfeuchtigkeit..."
but we all know it's because ……He’s too pure for this.
Old Meme but thought it would fit this family well.
You should have know this was a bad idea- You really should have..
Nikto was lounged in his chair, half asleep as the TV played some random movie you could care less about. Dressed in his favorite track pants, a wife beater and socks- if it wasnt for the lack of snoring it could easily be seen as he was asleeo.
He had gotten back from whatever he did for the military (he never told you what- Just said not to open the door for anyone he hadn't introduced to you before hand-) a few days ago, having wanted time to relax. Whenever he came home he would take his medicine which made his scattered mind a bit more sound and take off his masks- To the outside world the often hard to look at scars on his face wouldnt seem like something one would associate with a relaxed family.
Yet here you all are.
Your oldest Son, Damien was the child who was close to 16. While the other kids, four total were all under the age of 12. Two at your parents and the remaining upstairs.
It had been your idea- Having seen the prank online and thinking Damien was the perfect one to do it. You had spoken with your already who also thought it would also be funny. What was the worse that could happen?
You were seated on the Loveseat scrolling on your tablet, not even looking up as you called out.
"Damien! Can you come here please!"
"I'm busy!"
Echoed back to you. You didn't catch Nikto opening a single eye at hearing this, Dead silent like he was still half asleep. You lowering your tablet with a frustrated sigh.
"Damien! Can you come here- Now!"
"I said I was busy! Shut Up!"
...
It was like you blinked and Nikto on his feet walking towards Damien like he was prepared to kill him.
“Что ты сказал?!” (What did you say?!)
Marching down out the livingroom as he turned the corner immediately knowing were his son was by just the voice. You jump up fast chasing down your husband who seemed to have some sort of fucking superspeed.
As you heard Damien yelp in surprise moments later from his hiding spot down the hallway.
"Papa! It's a Prank it's a Prank!"
Damien said panic laughing as he held by the scruff of his hoodie by his enraged father like a kitten being picked up by would could only be compared to a mountain lion.
"It's a prank!"
Nikto looking back at you as you give a smile and nod quickly at the man, Seeing how his scared up face was hardened into a clearly pissed off glare.
"It was a Prank Love I promise-"
You say smiling as you plead- You husband releasing your son after a moment as he rubbed his face with a dry laugh and heavy sigh at hearing this.
"A prank?-"
"Da, A prank Papa" Damien said, Smiling still like his Dad but clearly a bit weary as he had never been on the tail end of that anger before. You hadn't either honestly-
After a moment Nikto snapped his finger to Damien.
"Prank or not, don't say shut up to you Mama ever again. You I can make plenty more of, Her I can not-"
He said with a smirk at his oldest spawn who stared at him slack jawed at both the threat and implication he can be replaced- You also slack jawed as Nikto smirked and walked past you, A playful slap on your ass along the way.
When you got married, you were certain you wouldn't be a statistic. I'm not going to be the woman who gets divorced. I love my husband. You were so convinced of this fact. Why would you get married to someone if you were just going to get divorced? It's stupid! You lived with Simon for a year and a half before you married him. You dated him for four years before you married him.
You were not going to get divorced.
You signed the divorce papers two years ago. After about three years of marriage, you couldn't take the loneliness anymore. Simon always told you that he wouldn't be a good husband. He always told you that he would be gone for work all the time. Hell, you got used to him being gone when you lived together pre-marriage. What you never would have predicted is... the drinking. He wasn't a mean drunk. No, he never laid a hand on you. But he was a sad drunk. Simon was miserable to be around.
Eventually, you found out it was because of Johnny's death. He didn't tell you Johnny was dead. No, that would be too easy. John Price told you about it when he invited you to the funeral. You stayed married to Simon another year after Johnny died. How could you leave him alone after such pain?
Things never got better. He only became more and more unhappy. He wouldn't cry or speak about his friend's death in a healthy way. He would drink, become more miserable, drink more, and pass out at the kitchen table. You hadn't kissed him for six months. You hadn't hugged him for eight. You hadn't made love for almost a year. Simon truly became his namesake: a Ghost.
So, you divorced him. Tears were on the papers when you served them to him, your signature smudged with ink. "I'm going to live with my mother for a while," you told him. You sniffled, wiping your eyes free of the tears that gathered while you spoke. "I want your things to be gone in six months... Hopefully that's enough time."
He signed them without argument, just muttering a gruff, "Alright."
You still wear the ring. You loved that man for seven years before the divorce. You love him still, two years later. The ring is beautiful. Sometimes, you still tell men you're taken. John checks on you from time to time.
Today... is your anniversary. It would be the fifth year of your marriage. You lie on your sofa, staring at the ceiling. God, you miss the man he was. He would have been a wonderful husband. You felt lonely when you were married to him. You feel lonely now. Maybe if you had just stayed married... maybe if you had just tried to help him more, or tried to be a better support-
You kiss your ring. "I love you, Simon."
You shouldn't have gotten divorced.
It shouldn't have ended this way.
A knock on your door startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You stand up to answer it, despite the fact that you haven't fixed your hair, that you haven't had a shower, that you have been crying all day long. At your door is a sober young man, his blonde hair cut high and tight, his brown eyes clear and bright. You've not seen this man since Johnny died. "Hey, baby," Simon says, his voice gruff but not slurred. "I've been going to AA for two years."
You blink up at him. "Simon?"
"I needed to see you again," he whispers. "I understand- I-I-I know- I know you divorced me-" He glances down at your ring. "But I cleaned up. And- And I-I missed you."
You've never heard him stammer before. "You look good," you manage to say after a few moments of stunned silence.
"You look terrible," he chuckles, then catches himself. "Sorry, that was- that was rude."
"You're stammering. Like a normal person," you say.
"I'm quite nervous," he admits. "I'm not sure if... you love me anymore."
"I do." Your voice cracks. "Simon, I never stopped loving you. But after Johnny died, you became a - for lack of a better word - a ghost."
He huffs a breath through his nose at that. "I know. I didn't know what to do with the grief. And then you left me, and it got worse."
"Just- Just come here, and let me hug you," you blurt, holding your arms open for him. "I wish you'd done this when we were married."
It was surely an accident. It had to have been. Your Colonel was always so professional. A little awkward, sure. Shy for such a huge man. But definitely not the type of guy to send you a photo of a sex toy. He must have a girlfriend off base. That was who he meant to send it to you. Not you, the newest Private to join Kortac.
But you couldn't help yourself. Zooming in on the grainy image. Was that cum leaking out of the silicone pussy? This definitely wasn't meant for you.
You couldn't look König in the eye during the next briefing. Staring down at your hands while he laid out the mission. The image ingrained into your skull. Picturing how he may have used the toy. Was he big? That did look like a lot of cum, but maybe it was just a small toy. Perspective warping the true amount.
You nearly choked on your lunch when the next time your phone dinged with a message from him. This time a video. The toy had to have been tiny, either that or this guy was massive. Stretching the poor thing to its limits. Gripping the jiggling plastic as the fucked it onto his cock. A weak moan making you frantically mute your phone.
Fucking hell he was massive. It made you squirm in a way you'd never experienced before. You wanted it in you, you didn't care which hole. You wondered if the curtains matched the drapes. Gazing down at the light, almost ginger, curls dusting his balls. Below that hood maybe he had orange hair. The idea almost made you laugh.
Fucking deep into the toy he tensed. Thighs flexing as cum oozed out around his gorgeous cock.
And then more cum. An absurd amount of cum. Wave after bloody wave of the stuff. You couldn't help but sit there, jaw agape as he flooded the toy and then some. Those pretty ginger curls coated in the thick substance.
It took you a long moment to realise that you were essentially watching porn, of your boss, in the mess hall. Quickly tucking your phone back into your pocket and glancing around to see if anyone had spotted the filth on your screen. Suddenly flushing when you met his icy gaze.
Focused on you like there was no one else in the room. Pale eyes almost glowing below the dark hood. He definitely did this on purpose. You felt hot all over, stomach fluttering as he ducked his head towards the door and stood. Indicating you to follow. On shaky legs, you of course obeyed. He was your superior after all.
Price loves watching you writhe and struggle when you has you tied to the bed. Arms above your head, legs spread wide, a gag muffling your sweet whimpers and pleas. But he won't let you go until he's had his fill of you. He has a bondage kink.
There's nothing Soap loves more then to see you struggling to take his massive cock. His large hands holding down your hips as he pushes inside so slowly. Groaning at the tightness that could barely take him. "You can take it, lass." He'd pant before sliding in the rest. Still tight even though he used his fingers to prepare you moments before. He had a really big size kink.
Gaz would whisper sweet praises in your ear as he fucked you either hard and fast or slow and gentle. Drawing out every breathy moan. "That's it, love, you take it so well" before squeezing your aching breast gently. "That's a good girl." His lips would find yours in a long passionate kiss. You realized he had a praise kink.
Ghost is actually very vanilla. Treating you as if you were glass during sex. Constantly asking, "this okay?" And "still good?" His hands would grab your hips gently, moving you to his rhythm. But watching your reactions closely for any changes.
Keegan would have you squirming in your seat as his fingers moved inside you slowly. Your face hot as he fingered you at the dinner table with all of your colleagues. He'd shush you as he got you right on the edge, so close before be pulled away and denied you release. He was an exhibitionist.
Konig liked that just two of his fingers was far too big for you. And you needed alot of prep even just before fingering. Much less his dick. Which made you lower stomach bulge from its presence. He loved to look at it, made his cock even harder if possible. He has a size kink (duh)
Favorite sex positions I think COD men would have. 18+
Price would live for missionary. He loves to watch your every expression. Every moan that leaves your perfect lips. And can't get enough of your nails digging into his back and shoulders.
Soap gets instantly hard when he thinks of fucking you while you're ass up face down. His hand on your lower back and the other pressing against your aching clit. Getting you all hot and needy before he makes you cum.
Gaz likes to be behind you on your side, spooning you. An arm underneath you and the other lifting your leg up for better access. Slowly fucking you until you cant take it.
Ghost likes to have you facing him while he's sitting up, you on his lap. Where he gets to lavish your chest, neck and anywhere in between with kisses and hickeys. He lets you take control with leisure thrusts.
Keegan wants you on your back and knees all the way to your chest. He can't get enough of putting you into a mating press. When he gets to pin you down and go hard and fast, probably making you cum quicker than you want to admit.
König wants you against any wall or door so he can lift you up and manually thrust you up and down. He likes how you squirm with your feet unable to the touch the ground and the only thing to grab onto his him. Plus the gravity let's you be completely impaled on his cock.
Feeling: Ovaries are hungry @maluconino - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
