in the midst of a heatwave and thinking about simon riley coming home from base, finding you in your bikini in the paddling pool in the garden, ciggie in one hand, canned cocktail in another, and immediately getting so hard he pulls you out of the pool and fucks you on the grass next to it, bikini bottoms hooked to the side so he can slip inside your sopping cunt.
yeah, the neighbours can see, but they don't mind, they're too busy jerking off to the sight of you getting railed by the terrifying guy that lives next door.
Ghost has been....sulking for the past thirty minutes.
That's the only way to describe it.
Pushing the food around on his plate, one cheek resting on his hand, mask pulled up only to show off his pout while he doesn't actually eat anything. Yeah, sulking.
The thought alone is enough to have the team eyeing ghost curiously. This giant of a man, who treks through any mission he's handed without more than a few sarcastic remarks, who isn't typically phased by anything, is sulking.
Gaz nudges his foot from across the table, brow arched "ghost, you okay? No one slipped anything into your drink, right? Not sick?"
"Hmph." A grunt in response, two dead-eyes turning to gaz with the upmost disdain.
"Eat, simon." Next to him, you smile and nudge his side with an elbow. Ghost grumbles something, but begins to robotically shove food into his mouth. You offer gaz a nod "he's fine. Just pouting, as if that'll earn him anything."
"....do i want to know why he's pouting?" Gaz prods tentatively, glancing between you and ghost warily.
Everyone is aware of you two dating, you announced it the second ghost said yes, but beyond a quick kiss you act like regular coworkers. Soap theorizes the relationship is a cover for something weirder.
Ghost goes to answer, but is swiftly cut off by you clearing your throat. He freezes, glances at you, and tucks his head to continue eating.
"I'm cutting him off from his favorite meal," your voice takes on a condescending, whiny note. Clearly made to mock ghost "and he simply can't function without it."
Soap and gaz share a look, obviously trying to decide whether you're serious or not. You smirk, take pit, and motion to your lap "i got pierced, lads."
Shock dawns on their faces, ghost grumbles more at the reminder and two seats down price snorts.
"My poor poor simon, he just can't handle it." You coo, pinching ghosts cheek for the sole purpose of annoying him, "can't spend hours down there anymore, not until I heal a bit."
"...this is more information than I wanted." Kyle grimaces, kicking your leg under the table. "I'm trying to eat."
Imagine alpha!ghost being the only one in your pack available to help you with your heat, right?
You have to take a break from blockers eventually, and it just so happens that ghost is the only one not on a mission, nest-trapped with a sprained wrist.
You...well, you think what anyone would think looking at ghost.
Giant of a guy, even by alpha standards, scent always a bit sour. You've never known ghost to be anything but rough, even in his pack affection. He scrubs a wrist into your neck instead of scenting properly, doesn't hesitate to scruff even gaz, or snap his teeth at price.
You expect pain, definitely. The sting of fangs across your skin and a knot forced too soon. An efficient heat, comfort not the focus.
Instead, you get...this.
"C'mon, lovie, it's okay." Ghost rumbles, deep and alpha-confident in the nest. You can't suppress the whine his rumble draws out, tucking closer to his neck. Ghosts scent is thick and warm, more intense than you've smelt before, nose pressed right against the glands.
One hand guides your hips over his cock, not controlling but supporting the movements you make. Allows you to set the pace with a shudder. You wonder if he's this nice with gaz or price, if he lets them cuddle up and ride until they beg for a knot. The thought of your packmates makes you whine more, and two thick arms wrap around to trap you against his body.
"Mmh, alright then? Had enough?" Ghost hums, not exactly to you, cloudy as you are. He holds you still and works his hips into you, rubbing all along the places that make you melt and purr. Ghosts own scent turns honey-sweet at the sound, and not long after he gives you your first knot of many.
Your heat is syrup melting into your mind. Ghost makes it sweet and warm, makes it so damn nice you mourn going back to the rough love he prefers. How an alpha like him can find any sort of softness is beyond you.
Still, you might have to switch out your blockers for more frequent breaks if this is what you're getting.
While you sleep next to him, Toji shares a short but tender bonding moment with your newborn daughter.
Early morning light filtered through the drawn curtains, a cool chill running over his naked upper half. His eyes fluttered open, looking to his right—you were deep asleep still, having hoarded all the covers—on his left, the cradle, the peek of a tiny hand extended out accompanied by soft, gentle cooing.
He blinked, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, announcing exactly 7 am sharp. He had almost forgotten how bad one’s sleep schedule would get with a newborn—something he hadn’t experienced since Megumi was a baby.
“I’m here…” he muttered groggily as he threw on the closest shirt he had, bending over your child’s bed. An angel, or a cherub perhaps; a perfect mix of the two of you.
Her big, doe eyes were wide open, excitedly wrigging her little limbs at the sight of her father, begging to be picked up.
“You cried almost all night and now you wanna pretend nothing happened, huh?” He snorted, holding the baby up to his eye level. As if understanding his words, she let out an amused babble; a bubbling sound that soon turned into an excited squeal, a grin spreading across her chubby face.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, bringing her close to his broad chest. You had begun to stir in your sleep, snuggling further around the blankets.
“Look at her,” he said, soothing her back, “she’s exhausted, and it’s all your fault.” The tenderness in his voice betrayed his words, hinting at no real blame behind them.
“Don’t feel special though. Your brother was worse.” A sense of melancholy always lingered whenever he remembered that time—a time that was taken away from him way too soon.
Toji never thought that he’d get a second chance at life; not after her death, and a rather messy divorce with Tsumiki’s mother.
“What?” He grimaced, his daughter’s pudgy fingers awkwardly pressing down on his scarred lips. Gently grabbing her wrist, he guided her hand over the outline of the lightly colored scar.
Such a fragile little thing—such a precious, tiny life.
His calloused hands felt rough against her soft skin, innocence shining in her bright green eyes—a color that was so very him. Her soft newborn scent tickled his nostrils as he took a whiff of her smell, making her giggle happily while he pressed his nose against the crook of her neck; a sound he’d subconsciously missed, somehow.
His brow shot up in surprise when she suddenly started to squirm in his hold, tearing her gaze away from him.
“I think she’s hungry.” Your voice cut through the silence, rubbing your eyes as you tried to blink the sleepiness away.
“Again…?”
You rolled your eyes playfully, kissing his cheek as a good morning greeting. “She’s a baby, Toji.”
“Well, I can’t breastfeed you so,” she grunted as she was pulled away from his grasp, landing in your arms instead, “You’re going with your mom f’now.”
“With those pecs of yours maybe you could try,” you giggled tiredly. Your joke earned a scoff from him, slumping back on the bed next to you. He threw his arm around your waist while you quietly nursed the girl, idly rubbing the flesh beneath his fingertips.
⋆˚꩜｡your boyfriend choso uses his blood manipulation technique to fuck you multiple times
cw; multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, brief m receiving oral ... improper use of cursed technique (yes this is inspired from tiktok!)
you’re already a mess beneath him, sheets twisted around your legs, sweat slicking your skin as choso drives into you with that relentless rhythm. his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the dim room. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come tonight—maybe three? four? but it’s not enough. it’s never fucking enough with him.
“shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, voice rough, breath hot against your neck. his black hair’s falling out of those stupid buns, strands sticking to his forehead as he fucks you deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. you arch your back, pushing against him, chasing that high again even though your body’s screaming for a break. but you don’t want one. you want him to ruin you.
he’s close, you can feel it in the way his thrusts stutter, the way his abs tense under your fingers as you claw at him. “come on, baby,” you whimper, clenching around him on purpose. “give it to me.”
that does it. choso slams into you one last time, burying himself deep as he comes, hot spurts filling you up, making everything even messier. he collapses over you for a second, chest heaving, lips brushing your shoulder. but you’re not done. neither is he. you grind back against him, feeling him soften just a bit inside you, and whine, “more. i need more.”
he lifts his head, those dark eyes meeting yours—intense, almost feral. “yeah?” his voice is low, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you sure you can take it? don’t wanna go too overboard.”
“fuck yes,” you breathe, reaching down to stroke him where he’s still half-buried in you. he hisses, sensitive, but doesn’t pull away. instead, you feel it—that subtle hum of cursed energy, the faint metallic tang in the air. blood manipulation. his technique. he’s using it on himself, redirecting flow, pumping blood right where it counts. you watch his face, the concentration, the way his markings seem to pulse under his eyes.
and then—fuck—he’s hard again. instantly. throbbing inside you like he never came at all. “oh god,” you moan, eyes widening as he swells, stretching you anew. it’s unnatural, freaky as hell, but that’s what makes it so good. no waiting. just him, ready to wreck you all over. he doesn’t waste time. pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in hard, making you gasp. “like that?” he growls, starting up that punishing pace again. your pussy’s so sensitive now, every drag of his cock sending sparks up your spine. he’s thicker somehow, or maybe it’s just the overstimulation making everything feel amplified. you grab the sheets, knuckles white, as he fucks you into the mattress.
“choso—fuck, yes,” you cry, legs shaking. he hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder, opening you up wider, hitting deeper. you can feel his cum from before leaking out with every thrust, making everything slippery, obscene. his hand slides down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing circles that have you seeing stars. “you’re dripping,” he mutters, almost to himself, eyes fixed on where he’s sliding in and out of you. “taking me so well.”
you come again fast, too fast, body convulsing, walls fluttering around him. it’s intense, almost painful, but the pleasure overrides it. he doesn’t stop, though. rides you through it, thrusting steady, using that technique to stay rock hard. “good girl,” he praises, voice strained. “but we’re not done.”
he flips you over like you weigh nothing, onto your stomach, ass up. you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s back inside, hands on your waist pulling you onto him. this angle’s brutal, he’s so deep you feel him in your guts. “shit, choso, slow down!" you beg, but it’s half-hearted. you don’t want him to slow down. you want him to break you.
“can’t,” he grunts, pounding harder. “you feel too fucking good.” one hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can kiss your neck, bite down just enough to sting. the other hand smacks your ass, the sharp pain mixing with the pleasure, making you clench tighter. he groans at that, hips snapping forward. “do that again.”
you do, squeezing around him on purpose, and he rewards you with another smack, then rubs the spot soothingly before sliding his fingers down to your clit again. you’re a wreck, moaning incoherently, drool soaking the pillow. another orgasm builds, coiling tight in your belly. “i’m gonna—fuck, again,” you warn, voice breaking.
“do it,” he demands, thrusting erratically now. “come on my cock.” and you do, shattering, body going limp as waves crash over you. he follows this time, spilling inside you with a deep moan, but even as he does, you feel that cursed energy kick in. he doesn’t soften. stays hard, keeps moving, slow rolls of his hips that make you whimper from the sensitivity .“choso, i can’t—” you start, but he shushes you, pulling out gently only to roll you onto your back again. he hovers over you, cock still rigid, glistening with your mixed fluids. “you can,” he says, almost gentle now, but there’s that edge in his eyes. “one more. for me.”
you nod, too far gone to argue. he slides back in easy, your pussy welcoming him despite the ache. this round’s slower, more grinding than thrusting—him rocking into you, bodies pressed close. his mouth finds yours, kiss messy, tongues tangling. “you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your lips. “made for this. for my dick.” his hand dips between you, fingers teasing your slippery clit lightly, building you up teasingly slow. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking down his back. he hisses, picking up speed, fucking you with long, deep strokes. the room smells like sex—sweat, cum, that faint cursed tang. it’s intoxicating. “harder,” you beg, chasing that edge again. he obliges, slamming into you, bed creaking under the force. your clit’s throbbing under his fingers, every nerve on fire. “choso! please, i’m close.”
“me too,” he admits, breath ragged. but he holds back, using his technique to edge himself, drawing it out. “want to feel you first.” his thumb presses harder on your clit, circling fast, and you break; orgasm ripping through you, back arching, vision blurring. you scream his name, clenching so tight it pulls him over too. he comes with a curse, flooding your insides again, but this time he lets himself soften a bit, pulling out halfway through.
wait—no. you feel it pulse, that energy, and he’s hard once more. “fuck, choso,” you laugh breathlessly, half-delirious. he smirks, but his eyes are soft. he pushes back in, but slower now, almost lazy. “can’t get enough of you.” this time it’s intimate—him grinding deep, hands roaming your body, pinching your nipples, sucking marks into your neck. you’re oversensitive, every touch electric, but you love it. crave it. he builds you up again, patient, whispering dirty shit in your ear. “love feeling you full of me,” he says. “gonna fuck you till you can’t walk. fill this pussy up again ‘n again.” his words send shivers down your spine, pussy clenching. he notices and thrusts harder. “like that? want me to use you?”
“yes,” you moan, hands in his hair, tugging. “use me. fuck me stupid.”
he growls, pace picking up. slams into you over and over, hand around your throat—not choking, just holding. your eyes roll back, another climax approaching, body teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure once again. “come for me,” he orders, fingers back on your clit. “wanna feel you milk me again.” it hits like a freight train, body seizing, his own cum gushing around him out of you as your muscles tense and you squirt a little, soaking the sheets. he groans, thrusting through it, then pulls out suddenly. “on your knees,” he says, voice commanding.
you obey, shaky, dropping to the floor beside the bed. he stands, cock hard and slick, technique keeping him going. you take him in your mouth, tasting yourself on him, sucking deep. he fists your hair, guiding you, fucking your face gently at first, then harder. “good girl,” he praises. “take it all.”
you do, gagging a bit but loving it. he comes down your throat with a moan, hot and thick, but even then he hardens again almost immediately. pulls you up, bends you over the edge of the bed again. slides back into your pussy from behind, mirror on the opposite side of the room showing your fucked-out face, his intense stare.
“look at yourself,” he says, hand on your jaw, making you watch. “see how wrecked you are?” thrusts punctuate his words, deep and rough. you’re dripping down your thighs, body trembling. he reaches around, pinches your clit, and you come again, vision almost blacking out, knees buckling. he holds you up, fucking you through it, then finally—finally—lets himself go, coming one last time without the technique boost. you both collapse onto the bed, panting, limbs tangled. “enough?” he asks, voice soft now, fingers tracing your spine.
“for now,” you mumble, smiling into his chest. but you both know—with him—it’s never really enough.
saw this on tiktok yesterday and was like hmmm i have GOT to write abt this cause i've been in a choso slump recently because of the new season :')
Clark and you share a room at a motel for the night.
cw: 18+, smut, forced proximity, comedy, workplace rivals, handjob, black cat reader vibes, sub!clark, slight humiliation kink, clark is a wholesome dummy in this (3.9k wc)
“This is all your fault."
Clark seems personally offended by your proclamations, chasing at your heel when you'd stormed ahead. He adjusts the slipping bag off his shoulders, pushing his glasses up clumsily. "I'm sorry? How is it my fault? You wanted the story, I got you the interview."
You threw him a glare over your shoulder, "Exactly. I wanted an interview, Kent. Not a freakin' wild goose-chase in the most oh-pleaseeeee-mug-me alley of Gotham."
Clark lets out a groan with an exaggerated tilt of his head. "Well! Excuse me for believing that we shouldn't expect a Pulitzer-worthy piece of journalism from the subject through some... Zoom call."
You stopped walking, turning to look at him with an intensity that had him clam right up.
"Oh yeah?" You said all sweet, "where's your Pulitzer-worthy subject now?"
Clark's lips go slack, opening and shutting them as he tries to come up with a quip. It ultimately presses into an annoyed purse as he brushes right past you in little stomps.
"Are you pouting? My god. You're pouting. I can't believe you. Look at us! We're in the middle of NOWHERE."
He's mumbling to himself, mostly exasperated complaints of 'a thank you would've been nice'.
"Yeah-huh for nothing!"
Clark whirls around to look at you, "he just needs time till tomorrow. We can just find someplace to sleep for the night."
"Of course. You're right. So!" You clap your hands, fancifully gesturing to the corner of the alley. "Are you usually a side-sleeper? Cuz I can take the spot next to the garbage can riiiight there, I just need to have my back against the wall."
Clark groans audibly, muttering another petty remark under his breath, and you trail after him with a threatening 'What was that?'
Though he catches sight of something ahead. You noticed in the way his shoulders perked up like he'd found a solution. You frown, following his eye line.
The buzzing neon sputters its last few breaths overhead, spelling out VACANCY.
"You're kidding."
Clark was already heading towards the dingy motel in long strides, "we don't exactly have a choice here, do we?"
Even from a distance, the stale scent of cigarette smoke in the air hits you both, and then the windows, which were stained with something you hoped was just dirt.
"Nope. Absolutely not. There is no amount of bleach in the world that would make this okay."
Clark looks to you with a patient look, too tired to argue. "It's either this or the sidewalk."
Your eyes narrow. "Sidewalks looking pretty good right now."
He ignores your protests, pushing through the doors that set off a clink of bells.
Your nose scrunches even more at the mildew-smelling lobby — a clerk sat behind the counter with his feet propped up on a chair, illuminated in a corpse-like manner by a single dimmed fluorescent bulb over him.
Stubbornly, you lingered beside the dying potted plants with folded arms. Clearly unhappy with the whole situation. Clark, on the other hand, trudges forward with a tensed jaw.
"Hi. Um." Clark smiles politely, gesturing at the plaque there. "…Dog?"
You elbow Clark harshly, whisper shouting, "Doug, you fucking idiot."
He winces, rubbing at his ribs. "Sorry. We just need a room for the night."
Doug squints at the weathered old log book. You cringe when he wets his fingers to flip through the pages. He takes out a bunch of keys, placing them onto the counter along with an info card. "We got a 'Deluxe' left. Queen bed. Tub. Balcony. Fire escapes busted, so if anythin' goes wrong just jump outta the window."
You look askew, mouthing a quiet 'wow'.
Clark leans down to murmur to you, "I can uh…sleep in the tub?"
"Yeah, alright." You don't miss a beat, picking the key up, sandwiched between your fingers and a paper to avoid touching the contaminated metal.
Clark's staring at your disappearing silhouette with his mouth agape, a faint flicker of betrayal in his expression.
Doug clears his throat, drawing Clark's attention back to him. He takes out his wallet to settle the payment, but right before he leaves, Doug slides something over to him instead.
"On the house."
Clark glances down at the source of the crinkle, then recoils a little — because sat on the dirtied grout was a silver packet of condoms. His ears turn red instantly.
"O-Oh no, that's not. We're not —"
Doug simply gives him a slow, knowing nod and a wink when you call him from where you were.
He stuffs the thing into his pocket, just to get rid of the offending sight.
The room was exactly as you pictured it. If not, worse.
Cigarette smoke stains on the peeling Victorian walls and questionable darkened spots on the armchair. At the very least, the bedspread looked clean. You don't bother getting under the covers, slumping back onto the mattress with your arms folded.
Clark, true to his words, takes the tub. You hear him clunk around the bathroom, "It's porcelain! Shouldn't be too bad to sleep in."
You kick off your heels and roll to your sides, letting him talk to himself in the bathroom and staring at the duct-taped windows, trying not to imagine him stuffing himself into the tub. What gnaws at you wasn't his complaints — because he doesn't.
You hear him shift clumsily, grunt now and then, and go quiet. It makes it worse somehow, his willingness to stick to his words to make sure you felt comfortable.
Eventually, exhaustion takes you. Clark's too-polite silence in the bathroom, paired with the dull buzzing from the signage outside, served as pretty effective white noise for you. You fumble for the lamp cord, giving it a clumsy tug before the room falls into darkness.
You were drifting in and out of sleep.
It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your physical body. And at first, you think it was a dream — the heavy, suffocating weight.
Think Benjamin Bratt — younger, in his Miss Congeniality era — with his arms wrapped around you and his broad chest pressed against your back. Murmuring low and tired into your ears.
Except Benjamin was starting to feel eerily warm. Like, actually, warm.
His hand, which sat idle at your waist, started to wander. You frowned.
The chest at your back burned like a furnace, and his hand that was sliding up your hips flexed subconsciously, fingertips grazing up your midriff and —
You jerked awake with a loud gasp, and so did the apparent lump that was on you.
"Hey!" His voice was frantic, yanking you back down, lips far too close to the shell of your ears. You thrash against the weight in a half-sleepy panic. But it's huge and unmovable. "I-It's just me! It's me!"
You finally stop at the familiar boyish crack in the voice, panting in the wake of your struggle. He groans, the sound muffled as his face presses into the back of your shoulders. His chest was directly squished up into your back, strained breathing challenged your own.
You felt him everywhere — his thighs draped over yours, knees pressing against your sides. Every shift of his body sent further chills down your spine.
"KENT?!" You shrieked, twisting your body enough to glance over your shoulders, catching sight of his messy curls that were faintly reflecting the neon lights from outside. It didn't help that you were painfully hyper-aware of how his palm was brushing beneath your breasts, fingers spread out across your midriff in a steady, grounding warmth.
Clark's voice came ragged, "g-good gosh, yes." His head slips down a fraction, nuzzling into the nape of your neck.
"Why the hell — what the hell are you doing in the bed? Didn't you say you were — ugh! Sleeping in the tub?!"
He takes a mortified pause, but doesn't quite lift his weight off you. "I-I was!" He bleats, a sharp shudder ripping through him when you move. "In case you haven't noticed. I'm six four. My neck was getting sore, a-and the tub was cold, and I couldn't — "
"Shut. Up! Just — get off of me!" You're flailing against his body in a futile attempt, bucking into him.
Clark's whole body seized up, "wait!"
"The hell is freakin' stabbing me?"
Clark goes rigid at you finally having pointed it out.
"N-Nothing."
"It isn't — nothing — ugh!" You shoved back against him, ignoring the weird stiffness poking the length of your back as you tried to wriggle his legs off of you (which only made it worse for him). His thighs lock around your body, and you hear his hitched breath in your ears.
"Please — stop moving," he manages through a pant, "you — you're making it worse."
"Making what worse?!"
Clark swallows hard, the words at the tip of his tongue.
You didn't know yet. He'd work with that, "listen to me." He grits, lips grazed over your shoulder blades. "I-I can't. You need to stay still." He holds you down with strength this time, which only makes you deliberately try to wriggle out of his hold again.
Clark makes the mistake of groaning out loud this time.
You froze, blinking incredulously into the darkness when you finally realised.
"Oh my god."
The stiffness in your back twitches. And for once, you listen to Clark.
Your silence isn't a comfort, far from it. Then, he blurts out, "d-did you know that Gotham has the most, no — the second most sewer system in the country?"
"…What?"
"M-Mhm. Designed…in the 1890's. State-of-the-art, given its time, and all — and uh, brick —…brickwork…still intact..."
"Are you seriously giving me sewer history trivia facts right now?"
"I'm — trying to get it down," he chokes.
"So the way to go about it is to bore both your dick and me to death?"
You were more aware of him than ever, the steady rise of his chest brushing your back in slow intervals. Then, he slowly begins to untangle you from him, like he was getting out of a trap. You felt an instant loss of warmth when his arm lifted off you, legs sliding away from yours.
Cautiously, you roll to your back, craning your head up just enough to look at him.
Your brows lift. Even through the dim lighting, you could tell he wasn't wearing his glasses. Huh. Weirdly familiar.
The neon lights reflect on his face — his jaw tenses, mouth slightly parted to take steady breaths. His lashes cast shadows you'd never quite noticed before, then came the deep indents of his dimples when he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.
Clark's gaze was fixated down south, counting under his breath, lips twitching with each number.
You stare at him, frown deepening.
Was he…always this hot?
He lifts his head, lips grazing your ears and you shudder,"g-gosh, don't…talk about it. It'll go away. If I don't think about it. Yeah. It'll — It'll go."
"…It's not the boogeyman, Clark."
Clark groans loudly, a strangled voice leaving his throat, he tips his head just a little to smush it up into the pillow, "I-I really don't need your sarcasm right now." His voice cracks, an arm flinging over his forehead, "In fact, it would really help if you…just…just left for a while."
You're staring at him, confused, "why should I have to leave?"
His answer comes out far too desperate and quickly, "You being around is part of the problem."
"….?…just go to the bathroom and get it done with."
Clark lifts his head, shoulders tense, "that isn't gonna fix it."
"What the heck does that mean?"
"It means I can only think of one damn thing when you're around me!" His breathless voice tears through the silence, as if he'd been holding it back for far too long. Clark's shoulder went slack, a defeated sigh leaving his lips as his admission hung in the air, his jaw clenched in humiliation.
"I-I can't shut it off," he continues, quieter, "not when it's around you."
You stare at him, aghast.
It was laughable. You, being the reason why he was wrestling with demons, apparently.
Sure, Clark was sort of good-looking, in a dorky, clean way — but you'd effectively cut him out of your to-bone mental list, burying the thought next to the endless list of irritating quirks. Yet, even a saint like him wasn't immune, clearly.
Frankly, he looked wrecked right now, too. Exasperation on his face with how red it'd gotten. All ruffled hair and trying desperately to clutch his dissipating dignity together.
It was ridiculous. Pathetic. And…endearing.
You bit the insides of your cheeks, torn between kicking him back to the tub he'd crawled from or laughing in his face.
Well, if he was already this wound up…
Clark jerks his head toward you when he feels a palm slide down his chest, watching as you drag your fingers over the buttons. Inching lower and lower.
"What are you —" his voice cracks, tapering to a whisper when you're twisting the button of his slacks open.
"Testing a theory."
Clark's entire body tenses, muscles going rigid as your touch ghosts at his embarrassingly quickly hardening bulge. "I-I don't think this is —" he tries, head lolled closer to you, breath warm on the crown of your head.
Your fingers skirt the tent, rubbing at the clothed tip. He chokes, his hands awkwardly hovering over your shoulders. "You don't have to...do this…"
You hum, fingers hooking around the waistband of his boxers to tug him out. Your reaction is instant, and he notices how your breath hitches. Clark grits his teeth when you drag your nails up the length of his cock, stuttering breaths leaving him.
"Do you really think I'm doing this because I have to?"
He blinks up to meet your gaze, expression twisting. "W..Why?"
You bite down on your lower lip, thumb twisting around the tip, pre-cum oozing out slowly. Clark's eyes flutters shut, sinking into the pleasure. You don't have an answer for him, not really.
"Hey." You warn.
Clark whimpers in pain when you tighten your hold around the sensitive head, weakly looking back at you.
"Eyes on me."
He nods, mid-pant, gaze fixed on yours as you smear the pre down his shaft, tentatively stroking him. "Oh…o-oh.."
You were more curious if anything, observing his micro-expressions with a tilted head. His blue eyes flickered in the wake of your scrutiny, twitching as he tries not to shut them.
You're pumping him languidly, cunt clenching at every ugh-oh-gosh he tumbles out. His low grunts were starting to get to touch besides the warmth he was radiating.
Clark's inching forward, breath dragging over your lips. It's obvious, he wanted to kiss you. But you crane your neck back, watching the pretty little twist on his expression at the disappointment.
You're quiet in in your next few pumps, and then —
"…You said I was responsible for it."
It takes a second for him to register your words, "h-huh?.."
"Earlier, you said it was worse when I was around." You've stopped stroking him, opting to rub your fingers over the slit with a frustrating gentleness.
Clark's hand turns to a fist over your shoulders, "I-It…yes. It's true." He mutters, edging his hips upward, gently bucking to your touches. You seem to comply for the time being, your softer palms tilting his shaft to rub him.
"What were you thinking about?"
Clark glances down to your lips, and back up at your eyes, "g-geez…I'm not going to tell you." His tone was insistent.
"Oh. Kay." You shrug, pulling off his dick entirely. He looks at you, blinking all too quickly when you're halfway turning around.
"Wait, what? N-No!"
You pause, looking at him with a glint in your eyes. Clark's head slumps, covering his eyes. "Your — …lips." He rasps, dragging his hand over his mouth. "I think…about your lips. A-And — urgh." His muffled words turn to a groan when your hands meet his twitching cock once more, tugging and stroking at the tip with a tighter hold.
"And I think about how i-it'd feel when it's around…it…."
The corners of your lips curl into a smile. "Just my lips? What? Tits and ass didn't make the cut?"
Clark winces, shaking his head hurriedly, head rocking into the softness of the pillow as more of his pre-cum drips over your fingers, coating them messily around his length. "N-No. That's not…it..just…"
He trails off, looking at your lips now. Muttering to himself at first, but the second you lick over your lips, he breaks. "Gosh — your rude…infuriatingly smart…words, s'all…" he groans mid-word, contorted in pleasure that teetered onto pain, "all from those pretty…lips of yours.
Clark groans, trying to "S-Some days — mmhn — yeah, sh-shoot, like that…"
His eyes are hazy now, grip over the sheets tightening, but your fingers threaten to stop. Clark holds your wrist suddenly, guiding your movements. "S-Some days…you're wearing lip-gloss…and — and…ugh… I-I want to kiss you " His facade breaks. And he looks at you, pleading, "— please, can I?"
You consider it, but you shake your head.
Clark lets out a defeated whine at that, thumbing at your wrist while you stroke him increasingly harder. "I-If you hate me so much..why do this?"
"I don't hate you."
He laughs, mirthless, breathing harder into his pillow when his balls tighten in a familiar intensity. Clark doesn't respond to you directly, but the way he looks at your lips says plenty.
You hum in acknowledgement, letting him babble about how good he felt, the messy slicks eventually has Clark thrusting his hips into your hold. You let him, eyes still trained on his face.
Even through the darkness, something was unnerving you. The cut of his cheekbones, the way he stubbornly pursed his lips — it was a profile you'd seen before. Studied, even.
You snort.
"Wow." You whisper, eyes narrowing as you lean closer, "you look like…Superman."
Clark's head snaps up, lips parting through a sudden intake of breath, "…that's…insane. I-I'm…nothing like him."
"…Right.." You remarked, unconvinced.
You squeeze his cock a tad, and his head falls to rest on your head. "I-I'm sorry — I'm so…sorry.." He slurrs, holding your wrist significantly tighter, urging you to stroke him faster.
"S-Shit! O-Oh shit —" Clark buries his face at the nook of your neck, and in heavy pants, a copious amount of pearlescent spurts over your knuckles in hot and steady bursts.
He groans loudly. Gasping your name through it all. You swallow the gnawing lump of pleasure growing in you at that, stroking him through his orgasm.
"O-Okay, okay!" He squeaks, tugging your hand off him in a surprising intensity. Wrapping your cum-slick palms in his own, coming down from his high. You don't quip with anything smart this time with the way he looks at you, that weirdly vulnerable.
Clark shifts rests his forehead onto yours, breathing still erratic.
"Just…let's stay like this for a second."
You wet your lower lip, matching his breathing with your own, peering up at him through your lashes. The dampness between your thighs gives your own intention away, so you lean in, breath ghosting his jaw.
"Are you really gonna leave me hanging like this?"
Clark is barely able to formulate a response when you pull your hands away from his. A mere drag of your fingers upward has his cock twitching back to life.
"G-Geez. I— suppose…we could…if you want to." He pressed. But he's looking at you expectantly.
You huff out a laugh, "yeah...I mean. Obviously." Your lips purse a little to bite back from smiling at all. "Shit. We don't….I didn't bring any sort of protection and stuff."
You take in a breath. Looking down at your hand while Clark's reaching over to grab a bunch of tissues to clean it up.
"Oh." You see him sit up, hunched up and awkward in the dark, digging into his pants pockets until you hear a crinkle.
You raise a brow when he fumbles to get it out, the silver packet falling between the two of you unceremoniously.
"….You brought a condom?" You say, amusement barely restrained.
"What? No! No. Gosh, no." Clark raises both his palms out, thumb pointing out of the door, "Doug — he thought we were — you know."
"Ah." You prop yourself up onto your elbows. "Complimentary condom."
His lips press into a taut smile. Shooting a finger gun at you. "Yep."
Clark grabs the foil and holds it up to you. Looking like someone waiting for praise.
"Kent." You say, in a pitiful tone.
"Right…sorry."
Clark brings it away from you, but doesn't get far. You grab his wrist, bringing the foil to your lips.
He stutters a gasp when you bite down onto the jagged edge, tearing it open with your canines, gaze still locked onto him.
"O-Ohmygoshthatwashot."
Clark's words tumble out all at once, wrist falling limp onto the mattress. His cock was evidently a fan too, with how much it was twitching and bobbing against his abdomen.
You feel your cheeks get hot while you undo the zip on the back of your blouse, the sound filling the charged air in the room. Your blouse falls off your shoulders.
Across from you, Clark's clumsy politeness fades away with every pop of his button.
Your eyes eventually betray you. Straying down to gawk at his now revealed chest, muscles tensing as he makes his way downward.
This asshole was hiding all of this beneath. His shoulders, broad, flexed beneath the dim lights as he tossed the fabric beside him. Your curiosity has you reaching over to the lamp beside you, you wanted to see more.
Before you get to yank the cord, Clark's arm comes down heavily over your hand. His chest is crowding your back, radiating his heat off onto you.
"We…don't need to turn the lights on."
His elbow cages yours, drawing your arms away from the lamp. You don't get to argue, rendered shut when his lips graze your bare shoulders.
Clark's arm loops around your hips, earning a yelp from you as he drags you down beneath him. His mouth latches onto your neck. Kissing up to your jaw. "C…Condom. Where is it?"
He looks to the side, reaching out for it, and you peel it out of his hands. Clark looks at you with a groan, head snapping down to catch sight of you rolling the condom on him.
"Ow—geez it's a…"
"Tight fit." You continue, through a chuckle, letting Clark tug your safety shorts off your ankles.
"Oh that's funny to you." He looks at you with a tilt of his head, draping your thigh over his hips.
"No, no. Just. Guess we gotta thank Doug, huh."
Clark grins, leaning down to kiss the side of your head.
dumbification with simon riley and recruit! reader (18+)
Simon is used to the recruits being obedient, but a little clumsy. They'd stumble over their words when talking to him, scramble to follow orders, maybe mess up once or twice, but they'd learn, because they had to in an environment like this. It's either adapt or get thrown out, or worse, killed. But you were something else.
From the moment you stepped onto the training grounds, he knew you were going to be a problem. It wasn't because you didn't have the drive, because he clearly saw that look of determination and resilience on your face when you stood in ranks on day one, with your face all scrunched up in focus, up until you mixed up a left turn with a right and bumped into the guy behind you head on.
He determined pretty quickly that you're kind of a ditz.
"Rookie, where's your rifle?" Simon asks one early morning, right after breakfast. You hate waking up early, but being in the military forces you to wake up at the crack of dawn for PT or other sorts of training. You're half asleep when the hulking officer towers over you as you stand in ranks; he just has to walk a few steps to get up to you now, since he made you move to the front middle so he can monitor you at all times.
You blink up at him, big eyes shiny with confusion and sleepiness. Your gaze drops to your shoulders, where your rifle would rest on a sling, but to your dismay, there's nothing there.
"...Shit."
Simon exhales slow and shaky through his nose, trying to calm himself. This kind of nonsense seems to happen to you every day. He's tired of you and the way your mind seems to always be floating in the clouds and not focused on the world around you. You just smile sheepishly, shifting on your feet like you're only mildly concerned about the fact that the entire platoon is staring at you fuck up yet again. "Rookie..." He warns, his temper wavering.
"It's, uh. It’s not gone, sir!" You try to explain quickly, looking around the damp morning environment nervously. "I just... I might’ve left it in the mess hall, I-I think? Otherwise it might be in my locker, or maybe by the range-"
He stares at you. You stare back, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights. He's furious. What do you mean you don't know the exact location of your firearm? It's not a toy or something little you can easily misplace. "Go get it. Now." He just about sneers at you, eyes dark and pissed.
"Yes, sir!" Your voice is now not so tired, more chirpy, eager to impress. It grates on Simon's nerves how ridiculous you are and how everything just seems to be a game for you. He's not sure why he keeps letting you get away with your bullshit. He's benched recruits for doing things much less aggravating than you. You're very lucky you're cute, or you wouldn't be out here with the rest of the platoon right now.
After too many fucked up missions and slip up on your part, Simon decides he can't control you and decides to cut you loose while he dragged you to his barracks for a talk. He crosses his arms. "You’re done, rookie. Out of here. Can't take any more screwups, you're holding me back by being a shit soldier."
Your face falls and you swear your heart starts pounding a mile a minute as you hear his words. You stare up at him, in your civilian clothes as you were about to head to the mess hall, when he dragged you to the private room. You feel so small talking to him. Your top of your head doesn't even skim his broad shoulders. "D-done?" You whimper.
"With this. Training. The team. All of it." His voice is clipped. "You’ve been a liability since day one. I’ve got enough headaches without adding you to the list. You’re off the roster starting tomorrow."
"Is this because I lost my goggles during the simulation? It didn’t even affect the outcome that bad, sir..."
His eyes lock on yours, beefy arms crossing over one another as he glares down at you like you're no more than some whiny kid. "No. It’s because you treat this like a fucking joke."
You look at him with that weird expression again, the one that always messes with his head. Not angry. Not crying. Just... confused. Very sad. The fucking big sparkly eyes that make his heart ache.
"You can’t just..!" you start, then cut yourself off with a frustrated whine. You're panting softly, clearly worked up by all this. You don't want to leave! You've been giving this place your all, even if it didn't look like it all the time.
"I’ve been trying, okay? It’s not like I don’t care! I’m just… I don’t know, okay?" You shove your hair out of your face, your hands twitching with the need to do something. "You can't just kick me out because I screwed up one simulation!"
"You’ve screwed up more than one, rookie." His voice is firm and very annoyed. He steps closer, making you crane your neck up to look at him. Your footing wavers a bit as you instinctively step back.
"Yeah, well, I’m still trying, aren’t I?" You glare at him defiantly. "You think I like embarrassing myself in front of everyone?" You gather the courage to step closer to him, now shouting. "I’ll prove to you I can do this. Just give me a chance and i’ll show you I can keep up, alright? I need this."
Simon looks at you, his expression unreadable. He scoffs, shaking his head lowly. “Cute. You think you’re some kinda miracle worker?”
You shake your head quickly, looking up at him with your pretty face all flushed from the comment. "No! Don't mock me. I don't wanna be kicked out. I'll do anything to prove I can handle this." You stand there, waiting for him to say something else, and for a long moment, Simon just watches you with that same stern, smoldering gaze.
"Fine. C'mere."
ᥫ᭡.
"Harder, brat," Simon says, giving your ass a firm slap as you bounce dumbly on his cock. He grips your hips bruisingly tight, thick fingers digging into your soft flesh as watches your pussy suck in his cock with each bounce.
You let out a sharp gasp, your hips jerking forward involuntarily as Simon's firm slap stings your sensitive skin. "Fuck! y-yes sir! hngh..." you cry out, clenching your teeth and doubling your efforts to ride him without any help. Your tits bounce with each rough thrust, sweat dripping down your cleavage as you put every ounce of energy into pleasing him and showing him you'll do whatever it takes to stay here.
You feel his heavy balls slapping up against the curve of your ass with each thrust. It's so fucking big, and from the angle you're in, you feel completely full each time he buries himself inside you. You squeak softly, tears of overstimulation pricking at your waterline as you struggle to take him all in. You have to ease yourself down on his cock, your pussy stretching around his length to all of him.
"That's it, keep goin'." He hums lazily, not helping you at all. Since you said you'd do anything to prove yourself, then he wanted you to prove you could adapt and handle any challenge you're given, and your current challenge is fucking yourself onto his huge cock.
He grabs a fistful of your hair so he can look at your face while he fucks you dumb, and he admires your swollen lips and glassy eyes. You moan, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.
"Aw. Look at you. Fucked so dumb that you're crying, hm?" He laughs, looking down to see how his dick disappears into your pussy. For someone so much smaller than him, you take him well. It's as if you were made for him. "You know, if you wanna tap out, you can, rookie."
You whine, shaking your head insistently. you manage to shuffle down far enough to sink down onto most of his cock, and he groans loudly, hands finally flying down to grab your hips to pull you down and fill you to the hilt. "Ah, fuck-" He grunts, holding you still. "Don't clamp like tha' rookie. Y'choking my cock."
You bury your face in his neck and wrap your arms around him for comfort as you struggle to take him in, causing his cock to push against your guts with every little movement, gouging its way in and rubbing against your sweet spot. Simon looks down to see the notable bulge where his huge dick rests deep inside you while also helping you bounce slowly onto him.
He copies you, pushing his face into your hair to inhale that dreamy, delicious shampoo you wear, he moves his face down to your pulse point and bites down, laving his tongue over where your pheromones are the strongest. "S-sir, Simon... feels s'good," You croon, pressing your lips onto his and putting little kisses on his mouth.
Experimentally, he snakes his palm between the two of you and pushes down on the bump causing you to flinch hard and bounce so good on his cock. Your moans happen loudly and at the same time. "S-sir! T-too much, oh fuck..." you whimper, lip wobbling as you pinch your eyes shut tightly.
He glides his huge hands over the sensitive flesh on the backs of your thighs. You let out a quiet mewl as he takes control, bouncing you onto his cock like you're a fuck doll.
Simon fucks into you, bullying his fat cock into your sopping pussy by bucking his hips up to meet your downward little bounces, and you can feel every thick inch of his massive cock stretching you open.
He buries himself in you once more, bottoming in and out. Your moans get louder, and you have half a mind to wonder why he isn't shutting you up. Surely barracks aren't soundproof, and everyone must be coming back from dinner by now.
Simon doesn't seem to care about anything but you right now. His cheeks are so flushed and his eyes are dark and dilated. "This the only thing y'good at, rookie? Bein' fucked?" You can only whimper and sob in response, your mind too fucked out to form coherent words. "Oh fuck- gonna fill y'up."
With a roar, Simon slams your body down, burying his cock to the hilt inside you as thick, hot ropes of his cum erupt from his throbbing, flared tip. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling of his hot cum flooding your womb.
You feel each pulse and twitch of his cock as he empties his heavy balls deep inside your spasming hole. He helps you chase your own orgasm, pushing down on your belly some more and angling your body so his cock hits your g-spot incessantly, the heel of his hand brushing against your swollen clit.
That's all it takes for you to feel that warm, fuzzy feeling of pleasure as you finish around his cock, moaning as you sink down on him and rock your way through your orgasm, pressing your mouth to his and shoving the hulking beast of a man onto the mattress with his cock still in you so you can kiss him, and then do it all again.
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the safe word was just for show with simon riley (18+, cnc, squirting)
Simon has you on your back, wrists bound together and knotted to the headboard as he eats your pussy. While you're usually more than enthusiastic to have your him go down on you, there's a point where pleasure blends into pain and overstimulation, and you've reached it.
"Si-si... baby..." You call out weakly for your husband.
He grunts. "Told you not to rush me, wife." His tongue laves over your pussy, swirling around your clit roughly before dipping back down to your hole. You jolt, whimpering weakly. Your head feels so fuzzy, your eyes heavy lidded and glossy. But you don't want to disappoint Simon by giving up.
He'd been away on a mission for the last week, and upon his return, had said he just wanted a taste of you, nothing more, nothing less. You'd said yes, because how could you deny him, when he works so hard for the two of you? "All y'have to do is lie still and stay quiet, love. I need this. Don't give me a hard time."
"I k-know, but... mnh, I c-came t-three times already." Your eyes fly open and you yank on your restraints when his mouth covers your pussy almost all at once, leaving a little gap for him at the base of your pussy to pump two thick digits deep inside you, his motions sharp and fast.
He practically scissors his fingers inside of you, squelching sounds resounding throughout the room as you throw your head back, tugging at your restraints. "Shh," he warns, voice stern, but a little heavy with how aroused he is. "Be a good girl for me. Missed you so goddamn much. Palming myself to you every night and dreaming about this sweet little pussy, fuck, tastes so good, love. Ain’t stopping till i say so."
Your heart won’t stop pounding in your chest, and you seriously believe you’re going to pass out. Usually, when you and Simon did all nighters where you guys had multiple rounds, he’d check in on you and let you have little cuddle breaks, but when you’re about to hit your fourth orgasm without any cease of his tongue slurping on your bundle of nerves before making its way down to lick and slobber all over your folds, you don’t know how much more you can hang on.
His tongue parts your folds, laying flat against your soaked cunt while he laps his tongue against them, his fingers twisting and curling inside you to find that extra soft spot that makes you squirm a little more. He finds it and pushes down firmly just as his nose stimulates your clit, and you gush all over his face yet again, coming down with a scream.
You’re absolutely done now. Anymore will kill you, you’re sure. "Wait ngh… Si-simon…" He grunts, clearly not ready to stop yet. You jolt when he coaxes in a third finger into your swollen, dripping pussy, your eyes wide and anxious. "No! S-si… Simon!"
He ignores you, using one hand to keep your legs from shutting, while he slowly forces in a third huge finger inside you. Tears fill your eyes, and you lift your head to see that he’s ignoring you, his mouth now kissing at your extremely over sensitive clit. You’re twitching and keening now, trying to kick at his shoulders, and he growls, taking his fingers out of your pussy so that he can grab both legs and spread them apart hard.
"You do that one more time, and i’ll tie your legs to the bedposts and strap you to a toy the whole night," He says, his voice gruff. You whimper as he slides his three fingers into you again, curling them inside you to make you scream. You let out a sob, panicking now. "S-stop, please, it’s too much, Mhn, red… r-red, Simon!"
Simon pauses for a moment, his fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside your fluttering, overstimulated pussy. He lifts his head, his intense gaze locked with yours as he takes in your tear-streaked face, your chest heaving with panicked breaths. A flicker of satisfaction passes across his face as he drinks in your distress, his lips curling into a grin. "Red, huh?" he murmurs.
"But I'm not done. Tha' means we have a problem, isn' that right?"
He punctuates his words by thrusting his fingers roughly, twisting and curling them inside your sensitive pussy, making you cry out and clench down on the invading digits. A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he feels your body's instinctive response, even as you tremble and sob beneath him. "I know you can take one more," He mumbles, dropping his mouth back onto your cunt.
"Mmh," He groans at the taste of you, cock straining against his boxers, which are now damp from pre since he's been rutting his hips against the bed. "I know what my wife's capable of."
Your head thrashes from side to side on the pillow as you feel another orgasm building, your body tensing and coiling like a bow string about to snap. "Please, I can't- mmmh..." Your protests dissolve into a sharp cry as Simon chooses that moment to lean in and seal his mouth over your clit, sucking firmly while his fingers thrust into your cunt, shaking his head back and forth a little so he can get every inch of his wide tongue on your cunt, lapping at your soaked folds.
You squirm uncomfortably beneath Simon, a strange pressure building in your lower belly that makes you feel flushed and weirdly tense. You try to pull your hips back, to ease the strange sensation, but Simon's firm grip on your thigh keeps you in place, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.
"Si, wait... I... I have to... I feel so weird..." you stammer out, your heart pounding as you try to wriggle away. Simon just ignores your babbles, knowing what's coming. He's waited for the day he'd get to experience it first hand.
“Good. Y'doin' so good f'me. One more and that's it, yeah? You'll feel much better in a minute." he murmurs, his voice soft, causing vibrations on your pussy. "Just relax and let it happen." Simon dives back in, burying his face between your thighs and covering your whole pussy with his hot mouth. A jolt of electricity shoots up your spine at the sensation, and you find yourself arching into his touch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.
Your tummy locks up, your pussy clenching and fluttering around Simon's probing tongue as he laps at your juices. The tingly feeling spanning your body and the tight coil down at the base of your tummy makes you more aware of every swipe of your husband's long tongue, every suckle on your swollen folds. "Please!" You moan, "It's dirty, Si- oh!"
Your protests dissolve into a choked moan as Simon seals his mouth over your entire pussy once more, his lips parting as he sucks your clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. At the same time, he pushes his thick fingers deep into your fluttering walls, stroking over that spongey spot that makes your toes curl.
Suddenly, you feel a rush of liquid gush out of you, splashing over Simon's chin and lips as you squirt hard directly onto his face. To your mortification, he doesn't pull back, instead swallowing greedily, his throat bobbing as he drinks down every drop of your release.
Your vision goes white, and you scream, your pussy spasming almost violently around Simon's fingers as you gush and soak his hand with your release. But he doesn't let up, forcing you to ride out the intense waves of pleasure-pain, his fingers still pumping and curling inside you, pushing you ruthlessly towards another peak. He's fascinated, lapping up your juices like you're his last meal. He knew this would happen. He'd spent the days away from you imagining how he'd make you squirt on his face when he got home. You taste so goddamn sweet, and with a roll of his hips against the mattress, he soaks his boxers.
"Ohmygod," you cry out, your voice breaking as you feel another surge of liquid gush out of you, splashing lewdly against his chin and cheeks. Your face is flushed and burning with humiliation, but you can't deny the incredible sensations coursing through your trembling body. "That's my good girl," he fusses, sitting up to press kisses to your face and lips, wanting you to taste yourself on him while he busies his hands with undoing your restraints.
When you're free, he sits on his knees and tugs down his pants and soiled boxers, his hard, leaking cock hitting his stomach and twitching as he examines how wrecked you are. "Fuck... look at what you did to me, wife. Had me cumming in my pants like a schoolboy." He tuts softly, petting your hair. "Just need you to clean me up, hm? You're the one who got me so hard to begin with..."
yes, the idea of reader getting used as a fleshlight is fantastic, but what about reader using him as a dildo? not worried about his pleasure. you're only fucking him because he's a loser with a huge cock.
you're stuffing your panties (lacy, soaked through, reeking of your perfect pussy) into his face in a failed attempt to stifle his loud, unabashed moans. he definitely hasn't been fucked before, if so, not like this. due to his inexperience, he's probably came way too many times already inside you, and so you're bouncing on his fat, slimy cock with cum sloshing inside you and leaking with every bounce onto his pelvis.
"oh fuck- shut up, will you? i'm t-trying... mmnh... to focus," you manage out. trying to sound stern is basically an impossibility when you've got his cock smushed inside you to the hilt.
his hands are fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, thighs trembling beneath you as you sink down on him and then rock your hips back and forth while completely stuffed. this method doesn't give him as much pleasure as it does for you, but you don't care. this isn't for his pleasure, or your connection. all you care about is how deep he hits when you sink all the way, how your cunt's clenching so tight he can't stop shaking.
"f-fuck-!" he whines again pathetically through the lace in his mouth, drool soaking the crotch of your panties where they're pressed over his mouth and nose. his eyes are wide, glassy, fixed on the place where you meet him. it's humiliating how desperate he looks.
"you like getting used, huh?" you pant, beginning to bounce again so the overstimulation hits once more. you let his big, drooling cock drag and catch with each rough bounce. it makes that slick, wet sound every time you move.
"ah- ye-yeah, like it soooo much," he moans so loud it vibrates through your soaked panties, tries to say something, but you shove your panties harder into his face so you don't hear what shit he has to say. his cock pulses again and you can feel more warmth spill out of you, overflowing from the tip, dripping down to his balls in glooping heaps. "such a -shit- big fucking cock wasted on a nobody like ngh! you. y-you don't deserve it."
your voice cracks halfway through but you don't stop or pretend this is anything but using him like he's just a toy that happens to twitch and moan and cum without your permission. your hands are braced on his chest for balance, his skin hot and slick under your palms from how hard he's sweating, poor thing.
you push the underwear just enough to see his eyes, which are teary and rolled back. his eyes clamp shut when you drop down especially hard, and his whole body jerks like he's seizing. his stomach tightens under your hands but the second you grind down again deep, slow and mean, he lets out a strangled sob into your panties, soaked through with spit and the sharp scent of your cunt.
"mmnh, fuck, look at you," you breathe out, "you're crying, sweetheart. is it too much?" you coo mockingly, dragging your hips up until just his swollen tip is nestled at the edge of your cunt, nearly pulling out. the area where his cockhead enters you is smeared in cum and slick. he scrabbles at your arms, needing to be back inside you. then, without warning, you slam back down, clamping hard on him.
he screams behind the fabric. legs kicking. you begin grinding down hard as punishment until you feel another twitch inside you, his cock thickening, spurting another weak, creamy load. his fifth? sixth? doesn't matter.
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dry humping with simon riley like teenagers, with muffled groans, heat sparkling along the length of your spines, setting low and tingling, with the lilt to your breathy giggles that turn into quiet squeaks and mewls of sincere pleasure, you both dressed, but the friction is good enough that, even through the layers of fabric, you both tether to soil your underwear.
his muscular legs spread wide, holding you on one of his beefy thighs with a rough, squeezing hand at the cheek of your ass, the fabric of your home leggings cottony to the touch, letting him feel every dip and how supple your skin are underneath, cradling you closer, helping your hips roll and tilt enough so your clit would bump against his tensing leg, body shivering at the sudden, rough contact.
the fabric outlines your pussy, through even you wear a panties, your leggings still cut in the middle, making your puffy folds stand out, letting simon trace a knee right between, rocking lightly to hear you hiccuping a loud, pitched keen, leaning over his body with clinging hands around his shoulders, fingers sinking in his shirt, while his own join his leg, pressing in against your clothed cunt, rubbing, watching your eyes squeeze shut.
babbling his ears off sultry about how good it feels, that you're going to come, wet your panties and pants, and simon growls at the thought, slotting his lips over yours, with sloppy, biting kisses, wandering tongue, and your palms press over his tensing shoulders, lifting yourself up to make a rough glide over his thigh, rutting, and then again, gasping and moaning as your own legs shake, toes spasming, spine arching sharp and sudden.
breathing in each other's lips as you cum together, whining and whimpering through sweet chuckles and short kisses, simon's palm rubbing up your slumping back and down your ass, patting your sides as he moves his thigh aside carefully, mindful of your sensitivity, as you whimper at the stickiness in your underwear, his own soiled uncomfortably as well, so he scoops you up beneath his arm, walking to the bathroom.
I just read all of the king!ghost pieces in one setting and my head is reeling omg
Would he ever let his queen call him Simon? Idk I like it when he’s mean but I also think he’d work really well as one of those “hates everyone but you” characters
so a few people have asked me if king!ghost hates his wife and the answer is… absolutely not!
he adores his little queen. he’s just a nasty mean bastard with a reputation to keep up, he absolutely cannot have people viewing you as his weak spot, they’ll abuse it. and the same goes for you, if you caught wind of how much he liked you, you’d become a spoilt little brat
he does let you call him ‘simon’ but there’s a time and a place for it. if you did it in front of the whole court or during a council meeting, he’d bruise your ass so you don’t sit for a week
but when you’re both a bit drunk during a feast, no one’s paying attention to their king and queen and he’s got his head shoved into the crook of your neck, licking and pressing sloppy kisses to the delicate skin… yeah, you can call him ‘simon’ then
your sweet giggles and soft moans do things to a man like him. and when you say his name in just the right way, you could get him to do anything you wanted, but again, he’ll never admit that
‘simon, stop that, you’re acting improper…’ when he reaches a hand up to roughly grope at your breasts
‘s’too big, simon. take it out…’ after bullying his cock into you, your hands pushing weakly at his abdomen
and very rarely, and I mean very rarely, you call him ‘my simon’. when it’s just the two of you, of course. laying in bed after he’s just returned from battle and spent the night gorging himself with meat and ale, before indulging his little wife
what would king!ghost do if he was walked in on while fucking his queen?
nsfw content below
he’s not stopping, whoever had the nerve to interrupt you would have to pry him off you with a crowbar. but he’s not happy about being disturbed. his pretty girl was all blissed out underneath him and now she’s trying to kick and push him off, tugging covers to try and preserve her modesty
so now he’s gotta wrangle you, pinning your arms down so he can keep fucking his cock into you at his usual brutal pace
depending on who interrupted you and for what would dictate his reaction. if it’s a servant coming to tidy your bedchamber, he’s grabbing the nearest candelabra or flagon to launch in towards the door, growling that the next person who interrupts him will be flayed alive in the town square
but say it’s one of his chancellors or high-esteemed knights coming to bring him some important information, he’ll flip you both around. Sitting against the bedframe and manhandling you on top of him, delivering a loud smack to your ass and telling you to carry on servicing your king whilst he deals with business
Summary: You get teased by your friends for being inexperienced, so Puma lends you her book to help you understand the basics of “how to make yourself happy.” But right in the middle of your little experiment, your big soldier neighbor barges in and catches you red-handed—worse still, instead of screaming in shock, you let out a moan.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, AGE-GAP, AU, HEAVY SMUT, suggestive tone, explicit content, mature language, sexual innuendo, erotic, possessive, obsession, mention of jerking off, mutual pining, erotic, assurance, gentle, slightly rough, desire, heavy tension, ownership, lots of teasing, manhandling, petname, dirty talk, degradation, oral activities, unprotected, PiV, squirting, spanking, fingering, deflowering, blowjob, overstimulation, breeding, markings, older man x younger woman, obsess neighbor! König x inexperienced! Reader
The carpet in Puma’s living room is soft under your crossed legs, fairy lights strung along the ceiling casting a warm glow over the circle of you and your girls. Bottles of soju and tequila sit in the center like a small, dangerous altar.
Everyone’s in oversized tees and shorts, hair messy, makeup half-gone from laughing. It starts easy. About work drama, new jobs, who’s dating who, and the usual updates.
You sip your drink, nodding along while letting the alcohol loosen the knots in your shoulders.
Then the second bottle empties, and the vibe shifts.
The stories get bolder. Fantasies spill out first about someone wanting to be tied up, another admits she’s into choking.
Laughter turns sharper, breathier. Someone recounts a terrible date that ended with the guy asking if she “usually queefs.”
The room howls.
Puma goes next, voice low and annoyed.
“ This guy from the club a few weeks ago…he's a cute and decent dancer. We go back to his place, clothes off, and literally three minutes in he’s done. Rolls over, snoring. I’m lying there like…hello?” She mimics his pathetic grunt.
“ So I lock myself in his bathroom, finish the job myself, wash my hands, and leave while he’s still passed out. Never again.”
Next is Lila, eyes wide, already giggling in disbelief at her own memory.
“ Okay, but listen. This guy I hooked up with last month…when he pulled it out, I almost ran. I swear it touched his belly button standing up. He laid it on my stomach to ‘measure’ and the tip reached my chest. My actual chest.”
She throws her head back. “ I was terrified. I walked funny for two days. Never. Again.”
The stories keep coming about positions, sizes, disasters, and triumphs.
You stay quiet, cheeks warm from more than just the liquor, nursing your cup while the room fills with their confidence and history.
Then it stops.
Four pairs of eyes turn to you at once.
“ Soooo…” Puma draws out, smirking.
“ You’ve been awfully quiet. Spill. What’s the wildest thing you’ve done?”
Your throat tightens. “ I…uh—”
Lila leans forward. “ Come on. You’re always so mysterious. Bet you’ve got stories that’d make us blush.”
Heat floods your face. “ No, really, it’s not—”
Puma gasps dramatically. “ Wait. You’re hiding the best ones, aren’t you? You’ve probably done way more than us.”
You shake your head too fast. “ It’s…not that.”
Silence stretches.
You wish the floor would open up.
Finally, you mumble into your cup. “ I haven’t…done it. Ever.”
Four jaws drop.
The room goes perfectly still.
Lila blinks. “ Wait. You’re joking.”
You shake your head again, cheeks burning hotter.
Puma actually gasps. “ Girl! You’re twenty-six!”
“ I know.” You mutter, staring at the carpet fibers like they’re fascinating.
“ I’m waiting. For someone…worth it.”
They groan in unison, fond and exasperated.
“ Traditional queen.” Lila teases gently.
“ We can’t even be mad.”
Then Puma tilts her head. “ Okay, but…you’ve at least, you know, taken care of yourself, right? When you’re ovulating and feral?”
Your voice is tiny. “ I tried once. Just…my finger. It hurt. And there was blood, so I freaked out and never tried again.”
They all soften at once.
Puma scoots closer, rubbing your knee.
“ Sweetie, that’s normal. First time stretching anything down there, a little blood can happen especially if you were nervous and not relaxed. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”
Lila nods. “ You just need to go slow, use lube, breathe. It’s supposed to feel good, not scary.”
You nod, embarrassed but grateful.
Puma suddenly stands, wobbles a little from the drinks, and disappears into her bedroom. She comes back with a slim paperback and drops it in your lap.
You frown at the cover. “ What’s this?”
“ Educational material.” She says proudly.
“ Everything you need to know about pleasure…solo and with someone else. Diagrams, tips, the works. When you’re ready.”
You flip it open and immediately gasp at a very explicit illustration of an orgasm cycle.
You snap it shut, face on fire.
They laugh, but it’s kind.
You hug the book to your chest anyway, voice small.
“ Thanks, but…no guy’s ever gonna want me. Look at me. I’m not like you guys. I’ve got fat thighs, belly rolls because men want skinny, sexy girls. They’d be turned off the second they saw me.”
The room erupts.
“ Excuse me?” Puma says, offended on your behalf.
“ You’re gorgeous.”
Lila points aggressively. “ Any man who’d be ‘turned off’ by your body is a walking red flag and doesn’t deserve you naked.”
“ Real men…” Puma adds firmly.
“ Want real bodies. Curves, softness, all of it. The ones who only want some airbrushed fantasy are shallow and boring in bed anyway.”
“ You are beautiful.” Lila says, softer.
“ And anyone who can’t see that is blind. We all have flaws…stretch marks, uneven boobs, whatever. Embracing them is what makes us sexy.”
You look down at your lap, eyes stinging a little.
Puma reaches over, squeezes your hand. “ When the right person comes along, they’ll worship every inch of you. Promise.”
The room settles into a warm quiet, the teasing gone, replaced by something protective and fierce. You clutch the book tighter, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and something dangerously close to hope.
Maybe, someday, you’ll be ready.
…
You sit cross-legged on your bed for three nights straight, the book from Puma open in your lap like it’s a textbook for the most important exam of your life.
You highlight passages, mutter anatomical terms under your breath, and feel your face burn every time you turn a page with a particularly vivid illustration.
The girls’ words echo in your head about going slow, relaxing, and breathing, but the memory of that one painful, and bloody attempt years ago still makes your stomach knot.
Finally, on a quiet Saturday evening, and you can’t ignore the ache anymore. The house is empty, the street outside silent.
You sigh heavily, close the book, and whisper to yourself, “ Nothing bad will happen if you just…follow the instructions.”
First things first: privacy. You triple-check the front door (locked), every window (curtained), and your bedroom door (locked twice).
You even wedge a chair under the knob for good measure.
No one is catching you this time.
The embarrassment would kill you faster than anything else. You stand in front of the full-length mirror, slowly peeling off your clothes.
The soft light from your lamp doesn’t hide anything. Thick thighs that touch, the gentle swell of your belly, and stretch marks like silver lightning on your hips. You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly small.
“ No one would want this.” You think, the old voice loud in your head.
But the warmth low in your stomach pushes back harder.
You want to feel good.
Just once.
For you.
You climb onto the bed, heart hammering, and lie back against the pillows. Knees up, legs apart exactly like the diagram on page forty-seven.
The book rests open beside you. You take a shaky breath and let your fingers trail down, tentative, barely there.
The first touch is electric.
A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it.
You circle slowly, just like the instructions say about gentle pressure, no rushing. Warmth spreads fast as you feel yourself getting slick, and the realization makes you bite your lip hard.
It doesn’t hurt. It feels…good. Really good.
Your hips shift without permission. You glance at the book again about encouragement to keep going, to explore what feels best.
Your eyes flutter shut.
The room fills with soft, wet sounds and your own uneven breathing.
Downstairs, König stands on your porch, shifting his weight.
He knocks once, twice.
No answer.
He tries the knob and it's unlocked, as usual. You always forget. He mutters under his breath in German and steps inside.
“ Liebling?” He calls quietly. Nothing.
He only came for the cordless drill you borrowed last month. He needs it tonight for a rush job.
He’ll grab it from the kitchen counter and leave.
That’s the plan.
Then he hears it.
A faint, breathy sound from upstairs.
His head tilts. Another soft noise, higher this time. His instinct kicks in soldier mode. Quiet footsteps on the stairs, hand hovering near the knife he always carries.
If someone’s hurting you…
He reaches your door. The sounds are unmistakable now in small whimpers and rhythmic. His brain short-circuits for half a second before protective panic surges again.
He doesn’t knock.
He kicks.
The door flies open with a bang.
You’re sprawled on the bed, fingers buried between your thighs, back arched, eyes squeezed shut at the perfect, overwhelming moment—
Your orgasm crashes over you just as the door hits the wall.
Instead of a scream of terror, what rips out of you is a long, broken moan in loud, helpless, and mortifying.
Your eyes snap open. König fills the doorway, massive and frozen, blue eyes wide beneath the black mask he always wears.
His gaze locks on you.
You're naked, flushed, and trembling through the aftershocks.
Realization hits a second later. You shriek, scrambling for the blanket, and yanking it over yourself like it’ll erase the last ten seconds.
“ What the fuck, König?!” Your voice cracks, half fury, half pure humiliation.
He stands there, stunned, chest rising fast. You see the exact moment his brain reboots as his gloved hand twitches, then clenches at his side.
His pants are…noticeably tighter.
He clears his throat, the sound rough.
“ I—Scheiße…I came for the drill.” He stammers in that deep, accented voice.
“ You borrowed it. I knocked. The door was open. I thought—” He gestures vaguely, as if danger still lingers in the air.
“ I thought someone was hurting you.”
“ Get out!” You yell, clutching the blanket to your chin.
“ Let me get dressed, then we’ll talk…downstairs!”
He nods jerkily, backs out, and pulls the broken door closed as best he can. You hear his heavy steps retreat down the hall.
Outside your room, König leans against the wall, head thudding back.
“ Verdammt nochmal.” He curses under his breath.
His cock throbs painfully against his thigh, fully hard from one single image burned into his mind.
You, cumming apart, moaning his name…
No, not his name, but still, because of your own touch, legs spread, beautiful and unguarded.
He’s wanted you for months. It's quietly, desperately, and every time you smile at him over the fence or bring him baked goods “just because.”
He jerked off to thoughts of you more times than he’ll ever admit, always feeling like a creep after.
Now he’s seen the real thing.
And you came right as he walked in.
He palms himself once through his pants, hissing.
“ Beruhig dich, verdammt.” He mutters, willing the erection down.
It doesn’t listen.
Downstairs, he waits, heart pounding, mind racing.
This obsession just got a thousand times worse and he’s not sure he wants it any other way.
…
You hide in your room for a full twenty minutes, face buried in a pillow, replaying the disaster on loop. Your skin still tingles from the orgasm, traitorous body refusing to forget that the peak happened right as König’s massive frame filled the doorway.
Eventually you force yourself to dress in loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, armor against the world, and trudge downstairs.
He’s sitting on the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, looking comically large in the small space.
The moment he spots you, he shoots to his feet like he’s been caught stealing.
“ Entschuldigung.” He starts, voice low and rough.
“ I am so sorry. I should not have barged in like that. You were…busy. Private.”
Your cheeks flame again. “ Yeah, private is the word. Just…forget you saw anything, okay? Pretend it never happened.”
He nods quickly, the black mask shifting with the motion. “ Ja, of course. Next time I will knock. Loudly. Many times.”
A pause.
“ I heard noises. Strange noises. I thought someone was hurting you. My training…it took over.”
You soften despite yourself. “ I get it. You were worried. It’s fine. Really.”
You grab the cordless drill from the kitchen counter and hold it out. “ Here. Sorry I kept it so long.”
His gloved hand closes over yours as he takes it. A big, warm, and calloused fingers brushing your smaller ones.
A jolt shoots straight up your arm, pooling hot and low in your belly.
You both freeze for half a second too long.
“ Danke.” He murmurs.
Then, clearing his throat. “ I should go. Before I embarrass you more.”
“ You better.” You mutter, face burning again, but there’s a tiny smile you can’t quite hide.
He turns, shoulders stiff, and strides to the door. You watch the broad line of his back disappear outside, then slam the deadbolt and slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, knees to chest.
A mortified groan escapes. You thump your head gently against the wood.
How are you ever going to look at him again?
Across the hedge, König shoulders into his own house, tosses the drill onto the couch without a glance, and takes the stairs two at a time.
He drops onto his bed, back hitting the mattress hard. The erection that started in your bedroom hasn’t flagged once.
It’s worse now, straining painfully against his zipper, leaking steadily.
“ Scheiße, verdammt.” He growls, yanking the zipper down.
His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. He hisses at the cool air, wraps a big fist around himself, and starts stroking roughly, fastly, and with no finesse.
In his mind it’s you.
Your legs spread on that bed, fingers buried in your wet cunt, moaning so prettily as you came.
He imagines replacing your hand with his own, then his tongue, then his cock is stretching you open, making you take every inch until you’re sobbing his name.
“ Du kleine Schlampe.” He whispers harshly to the empty room, hips bucking into his fist.
“ So desperate you fuck yourself where anyone could walk in. Should’ve been my cock ruining that pretty hole. Should’ve been me making you scream.”
The fantasy sharpens in your soft thighs wrapped around his waist, your nails digging into his back, your voice begging please, König, more.
He pumps faster, grip bruising, breath ragged under the mask he hasn’t bothered to remove.
It hits him like a freight train.
Three minutes or maybe less and he’s coming hard, thick ropes spilling over his fist, splattering his shirt and the front of his pants.
He groans long and low, hips jerking through it, milking every pulse.
When it’s over he’s panting, chest heaving. He stares at the mess, dazed. Then he looks down and he is still hard.
It's twitching, angry red, and demanding more like it didn’t just empty itself.
“ Un-fucking-believable.” He mutters and grabs yesterday’s workout shirt from the floor to wipe his hand and stomach.
The fabric comes away sticky. He forces his sensitive length back into his pants, wincing at the friction, and sits up.
He drags a hand over his masked face.
The want is worse now in sharper and vicious.
He doesn’t just want to fuck you anymore.
He wants to own you.
He wants to pin you down and sink into that soft, untouched body until the only thought in your head is how perfectly you’re filled with him.
He wants to ruin you for anyone else, ever.
König exhales slowly, steadying himself.
He’s a patient man.
He can wait.
But not forever.
…
The next afternoon, you’re crammed into your usual corner booth at the café, iced lattes sweating rings onto the table. The girls are already halfway through their drinks when you finally blurt it out.
“ So…yesterday. After I went home. I, uh…tried it. Like, really tried. Following the book.”
Four heads snap up. Puma chokes on her straw.
“ You finally got yourself off?” Lila squeals.
You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “ Yes. And no. Because right as I…right at the good part, my neighbor kicked the door in.”
Dead silence. Then the collective gasping so loud the barista looks over.
“ HE WHAT?” Puma shrieks.
“ Kicked. The. Door. In.” You repeat miserably.
“ He thought someone was attacking me because of the…noises. I was literally coming when he barged in. Instead of screaming in terror, I moaned. Loudly. In front of him.”
The table erupts. Lila slaps the table so hard her coffee sloshes. Gina wheezes into her sleeve.
“ I’m sorry, babe.” Puma says, wiping tears.
“ But that is the most tragic comedy I’ve heard all year. Your first real orgasm was ruined by a home invasion.”
“ It’s not funny!” You wail.
“ Every time I try to touch myself, the universe sends a disaster. First blood and pain, now a six-foot-five Austrian commando getting a front-row seat. Clearly I’m cursed.”
They’re still howling when Lila catches her breath enough to ask. “ Wait, wait…who is this neighbor?”
You mumble into your cup. “ König.”
Four blank stares.
“ King?” Puma translates, eyebrow raised.
“ That’s his actual name?”
“ Code name, maybe.” You shrug.
“ He’s literally special forces. Always in tactical pants and that black sniper mask thing.”
The mood shifts from hysterical to hungry in a heartbeat.
Puma leans forward. “ Hold up. Big scary soldier guy? European accent? Wears a mask?”
You nod reluctantly.
“ Oh my Gosh.” Lila whispers.
“ Those guys are animals in bed. Like…they are aggressive and focused with zero-chill animals. I hooked up with a Marine once and he rearranged my organs.”
“ Lila!” You hiss, face on fire.
“ What? It’s true! And this König guy, bet he’s stupid hot under that mask. Strong jaw, blue eyes, the whole brooding package.”
Gina nod vigorously.
“ Definitely.” Puma agrees.
“ You can’t hide a face like that forever. He’s probably gorgeous and just socially awkward.”
“ Or hiding scars.” Gina offers.
“ Which is even hotter.”
You sink lower in your seat. “ Can we not objectify my neighbor who’s seen me naked?”
“ Too late.” Lila grins, already pulling out her phone.
“ Does he have Insta? TikTok? Anything? We need visual evidence for science.”
“ I don’t know!” You protest.
“ I don’t stalk his socials. We just say hi over the fence and borrow tools.”
They all cackle again.
“ Borrow tools.” Puma repeats, waggling her eyebrows.
“ That’s foreplay, sweetie.”
“ Stop!”
“ No, seriously.” Gina added.
“ You realize he’s replaying that scene in 4K right now, right? Man walked in on you mid-orgasm. That’s burned into his brain forever. He’s probably jerking off to it as we speak.”
“ Gina!"
“ What? Soldiers have needs. And stamina. And big—”
You throw a napkin at her head. “ I hate all of you.”
Puma dodges the napkin and leans in conspiratorially.
“ Real talk, though. You better lock your windows. One day that man’s gonna snap, climb through your bedroom, and devour you whole. Mask and all.”
The table loses it again. You bury your face in your arms on the table, groaning dramatically.
“ He’s not gonna devour me.” You mutter.
“ He was mortified. Apologized like crazy and practically ran away.”
“ Uh-huh…” Puma says knowingly.
“ That’s restraint. Give it a week. You’ll be watering plants in booty shorts and he’ll be over the fence like a heat-seeking missile.”
“ I do not own booty shorts!”
“ You should!” They chorus.
You flip them off, but you can’t stop the tiny, traitorous flutter in your stomach.
Because now every time you picture König in tall, broad, quiet, and those pale eyes flicking away politely yesterday.
You remember the way he’d frozen in the doorway.
The way his shoulders had tensed.
The subtle shift in how he’d held the drill when he left.
The girls keep teasing, voices overlapping in delighted chaos, but you’re only half-listening.
Because maybe, they’re not entirely wrong. And that thought terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
…
Days blur into a week, then two. You turn into a professional avoider.
Groceries? Only after dark, when his truck isn’t in the driveway.
Trash day? You wait until you hear his garage door close.
When he rings your bell, once with a plate of homemade schnitzel, another time to borrow sugar as you freeze like a deer, heart hammering, and pretend you’re not home.
You even crawl on the floor to peek through the curtains before cracking the door to snatch whatever he left on the porch.
Immature? Absolutely. But the memory of his huge frame in your doorway while you were mid-orgasm is a permanent resident in your brain, rent-free and screaming.
You keep waiting for him to be repulsed.
Men don’t like desperate women, right? Women who can’t control themselves?
He should be keeping his distance, maybe nodding politely from across the street and never making eye contact again.
Instead, he still waves when he mows the lawn. He still leaves little notes on the food containers.
“Hope you like it – K.”
It makes no sense.
It makes your stomach flip in ways you refuse to examine.
Then the universe laughs in your face.
You’re washing dishes when the pipe under the sink gives a death rattle and explodes. Water gushes everywhere in the cold, relentlessly, and soaking your socks.
You yelp, grab every towel you own, and stuff them around the flood while frantically googling emergency plumbers.
Every company is booked solid or closed for the weekend.
You stand in your soggy kitchen, water dripping from the cabinets, stress climbing your throat.
There’s only one option left.
You pull on shoes, take the deepest breath of your life, and march next door.
You knock in three sharp raps.
No answer.
You knock harder, then call out. “ König? It’s me. From next door. I need help!”
A loud thump upstairs, like someone tripped over furniture. Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs.
The door yanks open.
König stands there in a tight black tank top clinging to damp skin, chest heaving, and hair messy under the edges of his mask.
A faint sheen of sweat glistens on the exposed strip of his neck.
He clearly wasn’t expecting company.
His pale eyes widened behind the mask.
“ You…” He says, voice rough and a little breathless.
“ What are you doing here?”
Heat floods your face.
Of course you interrupted something.
Probably push-ups.
Or…something else that makes a man sweaty and panting.
“ I...I’m sorry. I clearly disturbed you. I’ll just—” You spin to flee.
A massive hand closes gently but firmly around your wrist, stopping you cold.
“ Nein, wait.” His thumb brushes your pulse point without meaning to.
“ I’m not mad. Sorry if I sounded rude. I was…surprised. You’ve been avoiding me for days."
You swallow hard, staring at his fingers on your skin.
“ Yeah. About that. Um. My kitchen sink pipe burst. Water everywhere. Plumbers are all busy. I thought maybe… since you’re a guy and in the military. You might know how to fix pipes?”
The words tumble out, higher and faster than you want.
He huffs a low laugh that rumbles through his chest. “ I’m not a plumber, Liebling. I’m a soldier.”
Your cheeks burn hotter. “ Right. Stupid. Obviously. I’ll just call someone else—”
You try to pull away again.
This time his grip tightens just enough to tug you forward then off balance. You collide gently with the solid wall of his chest.
One of his arms steadies you instinctively, palm splayed across your lower back.
He’s warm.
Hard.
Everywhere.
You freeze, breath catching.
He smells like clean sweat and something faintly metallic in gun oil, maybe. His heart thuds fast under your cheek.
His voice drops, low and gravelly. “ I don’t mind fixing your pipes.”
The sentence hangs heavy in the air, dripping with unintended suggestion. Your brain short-circuits.
Pipes.
He said pipes. But the way it rolled off his tongue, rough and deliberate…
He seems to realize it the same second you do.
His grip loosens, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “ The water pipes. In your kitchen. I meant those.”
You jump back like you’ve been shocked, smoothing your shirt even though it’s already soaked at the hem. “ Right! Yes. Kitchen pipes. Thank you. That’s…really kind.”
He rubs the back of his neck, the movement making his bicep flex impressively.
“ I’ll try to be a good neighbor. If I can’t fix it, I have a friend who owes me a favor. Real plumber.” He pauses, blue eyes searching your face.
“ Give me two minutes to grab tools. I’ll follow you over.”
You nod, probably too eagerly. “ Okay. Great. I’ll…wait outside.”
You back down his porch steps, heart racing faster than when the pipe burst. Behind you, the door clicks shut.
Inside his house, König leans against it for a second, exhaling hard. The run he’d been doing upstairs to burn off the near-constant ache since ‘That Night’ had done nothing.
And now you are soft, flustered, finally talking to him again, and smell like vanilla and panic and something he wants to bottle.
He adjusts himself in his sweatpants with a muttered curse, grabs his toolbox, and heads out.
Slow, she’s skittish. But Gott, those pipes aren’t the only thing he wouldn’t mind fixing.
…
Minutes drag into what feels like hours. You pace the living-room carpet until you wear a groove in it, then finally give in and tiptoe back to the kitchen.
The leak has slowed to a pathetic drip, but König is still on the job, half his massive body wedged under the sink.
You stop in the doorway and immediately regret it.
He’s flat on his back, tank top riding up just enough to reveal a strip of hard, ridged abs glistening with effort.
One thick arm is braced overhead, muscles flexing as he twists a wrench. His tactical pants are pulled tight across powerful thighs, and lower, a prominent bulge strains against the fabric.
Your eyes snap away, but the image is seared in. Heat floods your belly, traitorous and sudden.
“ Is everything okay down there?” You ask, voice higher than intended.
“ Ja, almost.” He grunts.
“ One more turn and it’s fixed.”
“ Thank you again. Seriously.”
A pause. Then, “ Actually…could use your help. It’s dark under here. Can’t see the small fittings.”
You grab the flashlight from the junk drawer and kneel beside him, aiming the beam into the cabinet.
He squints, turning his masked face away. “ Too bright. It blinds me. Try the other side.”
You shuffle around his head to the opposite side.
He groans. “ Still bad.”
“ It’s literally right on the pipe.” You say, exasperation creeping in.
“ I can’t see the threads.” He mutters.
You huff. “ Fine. Scoot over…no, wait. I’ll just…”
You sigh dramatically. “ I’m going to sit on your chest so the light’s directly above. Okay?”
A low string of German rumbles out about something that sounds suspiciously like a curse and a prayer at once, but he answers.
“ Ja. Good idea.”
Careful not to knee him in the face, you swing a leg over and lower yourself onto his broad chest. The heat of him seeps through your thin leggings instantly.
He’s solid, warm, rising and falling a little faster than before.
Another mutter in German, softer this time.
You lean forward, flashlight steady. “ Better?”
“ Perfekt.” He rasps.
You stay bent over him, thighs framing his ribs, trying to ignore how intimate this feels.
Then he shifts.
“ Little farther back, bitte.”
You slide down an inch, then another until you’re straddling the lower part of his chest, almost on his stomach.
Still not quite right.
You wriggle, searching for balance.
A low groan vibrates under you.
“ You okay?” You ask, concerned.
“ Fine.” He says, voice noticeably deeper.
“ Close now.”
You nod, adjusting the position again and freeze.
Something hard presses firmly against your lower stomach.
You assume it’s his phone in his pocket.
Makes sense.
Big guy, big pockets.
But then you rock slightly to steady the flashlight, and the pressure feels…different.
Long, thick, unmistakable.
Heat surges between your legs. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp. Unintentionally or maybe not, you roll your hips again, and chase the friction.
It feels good.
Too good.
A small, helpless sound escapes before you can stop it. König’s hands, which had been working overhead, suddenly still.
You don’t notice at first as you’re too busy trying not to grind down again then the drip stops entirely.
The pipe is fixed.
You glance down and find both of his large, gloved hands now resting on your hips. His chest rises sharply beneath you.
When your eyes meet his, the pale blue is almost swallowed by blown-wide pupils.
You jolt, trying to scramble off. “ Sorry, it’s fixed, I’ll—”
His grip tightens, not painful but immovable. “ Stay.”
One word, low and rough, laced with command and something dangerously close to pleading.
The kitchen goes perfectly silent except for your shared breathing. You’re straddling his thighs now, bent forward, flashlight forgotten in your slack hand.
The hard length beneath you twitches unmistakably against your core, and this time there’s no pretending it’s a phone.
Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can feel it. His thumbs stroke slow circles on your hips, almost absentminded, like he’s testing whether you’re real.
“ König…” You whisper, not sure if it’s a protest or a question.
His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower, tracing the way your body curves over his. The mask hides everything except those eyes hungry, restrained, and burning.
Another small shift of his hips, deliberate this time, pressing up just enough to make you gasp softly. Your hands land on his chest for balance, and fingers curling into the damp fabric of his tank top.
The tension coils tight and electric between you, thick enough to taste.
One wrong move, one tiny rock forward, one squeeze of his hands, and the thin thread of control will snap.
Neither of you moves.
Not yet.
…
The air between you snaps like a frayed wire. One second you’re frozen, straddling his thighs, feeling the thick, and the unmistakable ridge of him pressed against you.
Next, König moves in fast, decisive, and pure soldier efficiency. Massive hands grip your hips, spin you, and suddenly the world flips.
Your back hits the kitchen floor with a soft thud, all the breath whooshing out of you as his enormous frame cages you in.
He hovers above, and forearms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving, blue eyes wild and dark. Your fingers clutch his soaked tank top like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.
“ W-what is this?” You stammer, voice small and trembling.
König growls, low and guttural, the sound vibrating straight to your core. “ I can’t take it anymore, Liebling. Too much. I’m too fucking hard right now.”
To prove it, he rolls his hips slowly and deliberately.
The rigid length of him drags against your clothed folds, and a loud, involuntary gasp tears from your throat. The heat floods you, shame and want to twisting together.
“ You have no idea…” He rasps, voice gravel-rough.
“ How you climbed on me earlier…squirming, grinding that sweet little cunt against me and nearly made me cum in my pants like a fucking teenager.”
Your eyes go wide.
He leans closer, mask brushing your temple.
“ Every night since I walked in on you…” He continues, words dark and filthy.
“ I see you on that bed, fingers buried deep, moaning so pretty as you cum. I’ve jerked my cock raw thinking about it. I cum so many times it still isn’t enough. Still wake up aching for you.”
He rocks again, harder, and you whimper.
“ I wanted to fuck you that night.” He confesses against your ear.
“ I wanted to pin you down and stuff you full right then. But I held back. Restraint.”
A bitter laugh.
“ Then you straddle me today, rubbing that wet pussy all over me like you need it…I’m done holding back. I need to take you. Right. Fucking. Now.”
You open your mouth to protest, but before a single word escapes, his arms band around you like steel. He stands effortlessly, hauling you up and slinging you over one broad shoulder.
You squeak, legs kicking uselessly.
“ König…put me down! This is a bad idea!”
He’s already moving, long strides carrying you out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“ Bad idea?” He laughs, dark and dangerous, one huge hand splayed possessively over your ass.
“ You want it just as much, kleine Schlampe. Don’t lie. I can smell how soaked you are my favorite fucking scent.”
You pound a fist against his back, mortified and throbbing. “ You’re insane!”
“ Ja.” He agrees easily.
“ Insane for you.”
He shoulders open your bedroom door. The same one he kicked in weeks ago and tosses you onto the bed like you weigh nothing.
You bounce once, hair fanning across the pillows, before he’s on you again. Knees bracket your thighs, one massive hand gathering both your wrists and pinning them above your head.
His weight settles over you, overwhelming, and perfect. German spills from him, low and filthy.
The degrading words you don’t understand but feel in your bones.
“ Du kleine, geile Hure…so nass für mich…treibst mich in den Wahnsinn…” (You little, horny whore...so wet for me...you're driving me crazy...)
He switches to English, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide. “ I’ve been obsessed with you for months."
" Since the day you moved in. Those soft curves, that shy smile…it caught me like a fucking trap. I tried to hide it. Be a good neighbor.”
His free hand trails down your side, thumb brushing the swell of your belly. “ Then I saw you that night, spread open, desperate. Everything snapped.”
You shake your head, old insecurities rising. “ I’m not…attractive like that. My body…men don’t want—”
A growl rips out of him. His hand moves lightning-fast, wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, and claiming.
The pressure steals your breath and sends sparks down your spine.
“ I don’t give a fuck what other men want.” He snarls.
“ I’m not them.” His grip tightens a fraction, eyes blazing.
“ Everything about you is perfect. These thighs—” He wedges a knee between them, spreading you roughly.
“ This belly—” His palm slides under your damp shirt, splaying possessively over the soft flesh.
“ These gorgeous rolls I want to bite. I’m starving for all of it. Starving for you.”
You whimper, hips arching without permission.
“ No more agreeing to stay away.” He says, voice dropping to something feral.
“ Tonight, I own you. Every inch. Every moan. You’re mine now, Liebling. And I’m going to ruin you so beautifully you’ll never want another man again.”
His thumb strokes your pulse point, gentle despite the threat in his words.
The contradiction is tender and brutal that makes you dizzy. You’re trembling beneath him, soaked, aching, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure.
And still, he waits in one heartbeat or two, watching your face, and giving you one last chance to say no.
But the word won’t come.
Because you don’t want it to.
…
König’s grip on your throat tightens is not enough to hurt, and just enough to remind you who’s in control. His thumb presses against your racing pulse.
“ Why did you touch yourself that night, hm?” He growls, voice dark and demanding.
“ Tell me, kleine Schlampe.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
Shame and heat battle in your chest.
He doesn’t wait. With a sharp tug, he rips your shirt clean down the middle. Fabric tears like paper. Cool air hits your bare chest as your breasts spill free.
Instinctively, you move to cover yourself.
His free hand snaps up, catching both wrists and pinning them back above your head.
“ Don’t you fucking dare hide from me.” He snarls.
“ I’ve waited too long to see all of you.”
Your cheeks burn.
He leans closer, mask brushing your cheek. “ Answer me. Why were you fucking that pretty little cunt with your fingers?”
You swallow, voice barely a whisper.
“ I…I’d never had an orgasm before. My friends kept talking about it and how good it feels. I got curious. That’s all.”
He groans low in his throat, eyes darkening further. “ So you sat there with that little book, studying how to cum like it was a fucking exam?”
You nod, mortified.
A dark chuckle rumbles out of him.
“ Adorable.” He shifts his weight, and the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.
“ I’m going to do better than that book, Liebling. I’m going to give you pleasure from a real man…one who’s been obsessed with you for months. One who dreams about ruining you every night.”
He releases your throat, hand sliding down to cup your jaw. “ Do you want that? Say yes.”
You hesitate, breath hitching.
He doesn’t like the silence.
His fingers find your nipple, pinching sharply and perfect pain that shoots straight between your legs.
You whine, back arching.
“ Say it.” He repeats, voice dangerous.
“ Yes.” You gasp.
“ König, please…yes.”
A feral growl tears from him. He yanks his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. It's scarred, stubbled, hungry, and crashes it against yours.
The kiss is brutal at first, all teeth and claiming. You freeze, unsure. He feels it, nips your lower lip hard enough to sting.
“ Open for me.” He mutters against your mouth.
“ Follow me.”
He slows, coaxing as his tongue slides along your lips, and teaches rhythm. You try, clumsy and eager. He hums approval when you finally match him, soft tongue meeting his, tentative then bolder.
Wet and filthy sounds fill the room.
“ Good girl.” He breathes, then dives back in deeper, slower, different angles, and different pressures.
“ So many kinds of kisses, ja? We’ll try them all.”
He moves lower, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. You cling to his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he marks you in the collarbone, throat, and the swell of each breast.
By the time he reaches your nipples you’re writhing.
He takes one into his mouth, hot and wet, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. His huge hand torments the other is rolling, tugging, and pinching until you’re sobbing his name.
He switches sides, relentless, until both peaks are swollen and shining with his spit.
Then lower.
He nips at the soft skin of your belly, growling appreciatively. Both hands seize your waist, fingers sinking into the plush flesh.
“ This…” He rasps, squeezing hard.
“ Drives me fucking insane. So soft. So much to grab.”
You whimper as he bites gently, then harder, leaving little crescents.
“ Schöne Fette.” He mutters in German, voice thick with lust. (Beautiful fats)
“ All mine.”
Your pants are gone before you register the motion and ripped away like everything else. He spreads your thighs wide, groaning at the sight of your soaked panties.
“ Look at you. Drenched for me.” He presses his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.
“ Best fucking smell in the world.”
The vibration of his words makes you jerk. Then he tears the last scrap of fabric away. Cool air, then hot mouth as he drags his tongue up your slit in one long and filthy lick.
You cry out, hips bucking.
He pins you down easily, tongue plunging inside, fucking you slow and deep. You fist the fabric of his mask, anchoring yourself as he devours you.
He's lapping, sucking, and teasing your clit until your legs shake. One thick finger circles your entrance, gathering slickness.
“ Relax, Liebling.” He murmurs against you.
“ Let me in.”
He pushes in slowly and carefully. Even one finger feels enormous, stretching you deliciously.
You moan, walls fluttering around him.
“ So tight.” He praises roughly.
“ Perfect little virgin cunt.”
He crooks his finger, finds that spot that makes you see stars. He added a second is a burning stretch and perfect fullness.
You arch hard, keening.
He crawls back up your body, fingers still buried deep, thrusting steadily. His mouth finds yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Between the kisses, he mutters in German filth, dirty and degrading, reverent.
“ Du kleine Hure…taking my fingers so greedily…made for this cock…”
His thumb circles your clit. Pace quickens. Knuckles deep, relentless, hitting that spot over and over.
“ I know you’re close.” He whispers, biting your earlobe.
“ I feel you squeezing me. Cum on my fingers, baby. Show me how you fall apart.”
The command undoes you. Pleasure coils tight, snaps as your orgasm crashes through you harder than anything you’ve ever felt.
You scream into his shoulder, legs trembling violently, walls pulsing around his fingers. He works you through it, slowing only when you sag, boneless and gasping.
Finally he pulls out gently and brings his glistening fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, eyes locked on yours, groaning deep in his chest.
“ Verdammt nochmal.” He rasps.
“ You taste like heaven, you filthy little thing.”
He collapses half on top of you, still fully clothed, cock throbbing against your hip.
The storm has passed and for now, but the hunger in his eyes promises this is only the beginning.
…
König’s eyes are still glazed with satisfaction as he licks his lips, tasting you on them. But the hunger hasn’t dimmed.
If anything, it’s sharper now.
He slides back down your body without warning, massive hands clamping onto your thighs and spreading them wide, almost painfully wide until you’re completely open to him again.
“ König…wait, I’m still—” You gasp, oversensitive and trembling from the last orgasm.
He doesn’t wait. His mouth seals over your soaked folds, tongue plunging deep, fucking into you with slow, deliberate strokes.
The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room.
You curse loudly, back bowing off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets.
“ It's too much…fuck—”
He groans against you, the vibration making your hips jerk. “ Give me another, Liebling. I want you dripping down my chin.”
His tongue curls, ruthless, lapping and thrusting until your thighs quake uncontrollably. When you come again, it’s explosive as your whole body seizes, a shocked cry tearing from your throat as you squirt, hot and helpless.
König growls like an animal, drinking every drop, nipping your swollen clit once, twice, before finally pulling away.
He rises slowly, face and mask soaked, and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm like a satisfied predator.
“ Now…” He rasps, voice gravel-rough.
“ It’s your turn to please me.”
You blink up at him, chest heaving. “ I…I don’t know how.”
A dark chuckle rumbles out of him. He pinches your chin playfully between thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up.
“ That’s why I’m here, kleine Schlampe. I’ll teach you exactly how to worship a cock.”
He shifts off you, climbing properly onto the bed. In one smooth motion he peels off the tank top, revealing miles of scarred, muscled torso. Then the pants and boxer briefs follow, kicked somewhere into the corner.
Your breath catches hard.
His cock slaps heavily against his abs. It's thick, veiny, and angrily red at the tip, already leaking steadily.
It twitches like it’s alive and too heavy to stand fully upright.
You’ve never seen anything so intimidating in real life.
He settles back against the headboard, legs spread, and crooks a finger. “ Come here. Straddle me.”
You crawl over on shaky limbs, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Up close it looks even bigger.
“ It’s not gonna fit in my mouth.” You blurt, half-panicked.
He laughs softly, brushing your messy hair back from your face. “ I'm not asking you to deepthroat me yet, baby. This is training day. I’ll be gentle.”
His hand wraps around yours, guiding it to his shaft. The heat of him makes you gasp. He’s velvet over steel and pulsing in your grip.
He groans deep in his chest, head falling back against the headboard. “ Just like that. Up and down. Slow at first.”
You stroke him tentatively. His hips twitch and pre-cum beads at the slit and smears over your fingers.
“ Your other hand too.” He orders, voice strained.
“ You need both to cover me.”
You obey, wrapping your second hand above the first. Now both fists work him in tandem, barely meeting around his girth.
He hisses, abs flexing.
“ Good girl…faster now. Twist a little at the top.”
You find a rhythm, guided by the small thrusts of his hips and the filthy praise spilling from his mouth in two languages.
“ Ja, genau so…look at you, jerking my cock like a greedy little slut. Made for this, weren’t you?”
His big hand fists gently in your hair, not pushing, just holding. “ Time to taste me. Open that pretty mouth.”
You lean down, nervous.
He guides the fat head past your lips.
“ Teeth back…suck like it’s a lollipop. Swirl your tongue.”
You do your best, cheeks hollowing, tongue tracing the ridge. Salty precome coats your mouth. He groans long and low, hips rocking carefully.
“ Scheiße…solche eine geile, kleine Hure…taking my cock so well for your first time.”
You bob faster, sloppy and eager, drool escaping the corners of your mouth. You only manage half his length, lips stretched wide, but the sounds he makes.
The grunts, curses, and your name broken on his tongue that spur you on.
“ I'm close…” He warns suddenly, voice ragged.
“ I'm gonna cum Can I finish in your mouth, baby? I want you to swallow every drop.”
You pull off with a wet pop, gasping. “ Yes…please.”
He guides you back down instantly. You suck harder, hands twisting in sync, until his thighs tense under you.
With a guttural, loud grunt he holds your head steady and erupts.
The thick and hot pulses are flooding your mouth. There’s so much you almost choke, swallowing frantically as he keeps coming, hips jerking through it.
Finally spent, he eases you off gently. A stray drop clings to your lower lip as he wipes it with his thumb and pushes it back into your mouth.
“ Swallow.” He murmurs.
You do, throat working.
He exhales shakily, muttering more German in half degradation and half worship then pulls you up against his sweat-slick chest.
His mouth finds yours, kissing deep and filthy, tasting himself on your tongue. When you break apart, both breathless, he smirks against your lips.
“ That was just the starter, Liebling. We’ve got all night.”
His cock that is still half-hard and twitches against your thigh like it’s already impatient for round two.
…
König shifts, rolling you beneath him again with effortless strength. Your legs are trembling, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.
Large hands hook under your knees and pull until your thighs wrap around his hips, ankles locking at the small of his back.
The position opens you completely, and the blunt head of his cock slides teasingly through your soaked folds.
You whimper while he hisses through clenched teeth.
“ Look at you…” He murmurs, voice low and rough.
He drags his length upward, laying the heavy shaft along your soft belly. The tip reaches past your navel is farther than should be possible.
“ Tell me, Liebling…think this will fit inside your tight little cunt?”
You shake your head frantically, eyes wide. “ No way…”
He laughs, dark and fond, the sound vibrating against your skin. “ Trust me. Trust my cock.”
He tucks a strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek. “ You were made for me. Every inch of you was built to take me. I’ll prove it.”
He wraps a fist around himself, stroking lazily, eyes never leaving yours. The fat head dips lower, sliding through your slickness, nudging your entrance.
It's poking, retreating then poking again until you’re squirming and whining.
“ Stay calm, baby.” He soothes, leaning down until his forehead almost touches yours.
“ Tell me something…” His tongue flicks out, tracing your lower lip.
“ Did you ever fantasize about this? About being fucked properly?”
You hesitate. He grips your chin, forcing your gaze to his.
“ Be honest.”
“ Y-yes.” You admit in a broken whisper.
“ But…I never thought it would be you.”
A slow, wicked grin spreads beneath the mask.
“ I’m honored to be the only man who gets to ruin you.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and is almost tender then lines himself up again.
The blunt tip breaches you slowly, stretching, burning. You hiss sharply, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“ Breathe.” He whispers, kissing you deep and slow to distract you.
“ It hurts at first. I know. But I promise, but soon you’ll be addicted to this feeling. Addicted to me.”
One sharp, controlled thrust and he sinks halfway in. The stretch is overwhelming and tears prick your eyes as something inside gives way.
You cry out, half pain and half shock.
“ Shh, shh…” He hushes immediately, stilling, buried deep.
His arms wrap around you, holding you close. “ Good girl. So fucking good. Taking me so well already.”
He buries his face in your neck, lips brushing the marks he left earlier. “ I’ve got you.”
He doesn’t move, letting your body adjust around the impossible girth. You cling to him, breathing ragged, feeling every throb of his cock inside you.
Minutes pass, two or maybe three until the burn fades into a heavy, aching fullness.
Your nails scrape lightly down his back, a tentative signal.
He lifts his head, searching your face. “ Ready?”
You nod, biting your lip.
He groans like a dying man and starts to move slowly and deliberately drags that make you feel every ridge and vein. Your walls flutter around him, gripping so tightly he curses under his breath.
“ Scheiße…so verdammt eng. Sucking me in like you never want me to leave.”
His pace builds gradually, thrusts deepening until he’s seated fully on every stroke. You cling harder, moaning into his shoulder as pleasure finally overtakes the pain.
Suddenly he pulls out completely.
You gasp at the emptiness, hips chasing him instinctively.
“ Turn over.” He orders, voice rough.
“ Ass up for me.”
You roll onto your stomach, face pressed to the sheets. He strokes himself once, twice, then lands sharp slaps across your ass and thighs.
It's stinging, and possessive marks that make you yelp and arch. Before the sting fades, he’s pushing back in from behind.
The new angle takes him deeper and impossibly deep. You cry out, muffled by the mattress, as he bottoms out against your cervix.
“ Fuck…yes.” He growls, collapsing over your back, one arm banding across your chest.
“ Feel that? That’s me owning you.”
He fucks you hard and steady, hips snapping, skin slapping skin.
Every thrust punches the air from your lungs.
You moan helplessly, fingers clawing the sheets. He shifts again then suddenly, strong arms are flipping you both until he’s sitting against the headboard and you’re straddling him once more.
“ Your turn…” He says, eyes blazing.
“ Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you want it.”
You whimper, but his hands guide your hips. You grip his shaft that is still slick with you and sink down slowly.
The position drives him even deeper as the head kisses your womb. You collapse forward onto his chest with a broken cry.
“ That’s it.” He praises, voice strained.
“ Ride me.”
You start moving. It's awkward at first, then bolder by rolling your hips, and grinding down. His huge hands seize your ass, kneading roughly, then spanking until your skin burns with handprints.
“ Good girl…faster…ja, just like that—”
Pleasure coils tight again. You’re so close when he suddenly stills you.
“ Enough.” He snarls.
“ Let me finish this.”
His arms wrap around your waist like iron bands, hugging you tight to his chest. Then he takes over in brutal, and upward thrusts that drill into you relentlessly.
The headboard bangs against the wall.
“ Cum with me.” He demands between gritted teeth.
“ Milk my cock…let me feel you fall apart.”
One final, deep thrust and you shatter.
The orgasm is ripping through you harder than any before. Your legs quake uncontrollably, walls clamping down in waves. König roars your name, hips jerking erratically as he cums in hot, thick pulses flooding you, and marking you inside just like he promised.
You feel every spurt while his cock throbbing deep.
Finally spent, you collapse fully onto his chest, both of you panting, sweat-slick and trembling. After a long moment, a soft, incredulous laugh rumbles from him.
He strokes your back gently, almost reverently.
“ I can’t believe it.” He murmurs against your temple.
“ I finally got to own you. Thought you’d stay a fantasy forever.” His lips brush your skin.
“ Thank God for that night I walked in on you. It gave me the push I needed to claim what’s mine.”
You’re too boneless to answer, but you press closer, feeling his heartbeat thunder under your cheek.
He holds you tighter, possessive and content.
Mine as the embrace says.
And for the first time, you don’t want to argue.
…
The fairy lights are back on at Puma’s, bottles scattered across the carpet like always. The girls are deep in their usual chaos.
They recapping bad dates, mediocre hookups, and one disastrous attempt at anal that has everyone howling.
You sit tucked into the corner of the sectional, knees drawn up, sipping your drink slowly.
You're quiet. Too quiet.
Your body still remembers yesterday in aching detail.
The stretch, the burn, and the way König filled you so completely you saw stars.
Every time you shift, a dull throb between your legs reminds you exactly how big he is. You’re sore in places you didn’t know could be sore.
And yet…you can’t stop the tiny, secret smile that keeps tugging at your lips.
Lila stops mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “ Hold up. Why are you glowing like you swallowed a ring light?”
Puma leans forward, smirking. “ And why are you sitting like you rode a horse for twelve hours straight?”
Heat floods your face. “ It’s just…natural glow. Good skincare.”
Four sets of eyes roll in perfect synchronization.
“ Girl, we know post-dick glow when we see it.” Puma says flatly.
“ That’s not La Mer. That’s laid.”
You hide behind your cup, mumbling, “ Fine. I…finally did it. The other day.”
The room explodes.
“ YES!” Lila throws both hands up like her team just scored.
“ About damn time!” Gina cheers.
“ Details!” Puma demands, crawling closer.
“ Who? When? How many times? Spill!”
You bite your lip, cheeks burning hotter. “ It was…König.”
Silence. Then four jaws drop in unison.
“ Your scary-hot soldier neighbor?” Lila squeaks.
“ THE NEIGHBOR?!”
“ MASK GUY?!”
“ SPECIAL FORCES HULK?!”
“ The one who kicked in your door during solo orgasm hour?” Puma adds.
You nod miserably.
“ How the hell did that happen?” Someone demands.
You exhale, defeated. “ My kitchen sink pipe burst. Plumbers were booked. I went next door…asked if he could fix it.”
The room goes dead quiet for half a second then erupts again.
“ Oh my God, he fixed your pipe.” Puma cackles, falling sideways into Lila.
“ He really fixed it well, huh?”
You groan, covering your face. “ Stop.”
“ No, no, continue.” Lila says, wiping tears.
“ What happened next?”
You peek through your fingers. “ He came over. Got under the sink. I tried to help with the flashlight. Ended up…straddling his chest to get the angle right.”
They lose it again.
“ Then?” Puma prompts, eyes gleaming.
“ Then he kind of…lost control. Carried me upstairs. And…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely.
“ And?” They chorus.
You drop your voice to a whisper. “ He was…huge. Like…scary huge. I didn’t think it would fit. He had to go really slow at first. But then…”
You blow out a breath. “ It was intense. He was intense. Aggressive but careful. Kept calling me filthy things in German. Marked me everywhere. Made me come so many times I lost count.”
Puma fans herself dramatically. “ Soldiers, man. Built like tanks, fuck like they’re storming a beach.”
Lila leans in. “ Scale of one to ten?”
You hesitate. “...Twenty.”
They scream.
“ Details on the size.” Puma demands.
“ We need visuals.”
You hold your hands apart like an embarrassing distance.
Their eyes widened.
“ No fucking way.” Someone breathes.
“ He reached here…” You admit, pressing a palm low on your belly.
“ Every time. I felt him for hours after.”
Lila pretends to faint.
“ And the stamina?” Puma asks.
You laugh, shy and giddy at once. “ We went until I literally couldn’t move. He carried me to the bathroom after because my legs were jelly.”
The teasing comes fast and relentless.
“ Guess he really did come running when he heard you needed your pipes cleaned.”
“ Bet he used all his special forces training and precision insertion.”
“ Careful, babe, you keep limping like that and he’s gonna come fix round two.”
“ Look at you…” Puma teases.
“ Walking around bow-legged because your soldier neighbor rearranged your guts. Bet you can still feel him when you sit down.”
You groan, hiding your face in a pillow, but you’re smiling. “ Shut up.”
“ No chance, girl.” Lila laughs.
“ This is prime teasing material for life. You went from virgin queen to getting absolutely wrecked by Captain Austria in one afternoon.”
“ Bet he ruined you for normal-sized men forever.” Someone else chimes in.
You don’t deny it.
You can’t.
Because every time you close your eyes, you feel him.
König stretching you open, growling your name, and filling you so completely the world narrowed to just the two of you.
You throw a pillow at them, face on fire, but you’re laughing too.
Because yeah, in every ache, every mark, and every sore muscle feels like a badge.
Puma raises her glass. “ To our girl who is finally properly railed by the masked mountain next door.”
Glasses clink. You duck your head, smiling into your drink. And between your thighs, the delicious throb echoes.
changing is scary but so is staying the same changing is scary but so is staying the same changing is scary but so is staying the same changing is scary but so is staying the samechanging is scary but so is staying the same changing is scary but so is staying the same
