Fic and Social links here, just tap
Most works are cross posted on Ao3. Please be warned, pretty much everything is NSFW. I'm not sorry and neither are you.
I honestly kind of really dislike the idea of robots built specifically for sex. Like. If I'm going to fuck a robot it will be a robot that was not DESIGNED to be fucked. I want to expand a random military robot's horizons. I want to toy with a sentient AI that has never had human touch before. I want SCREENS! I want WIRES! I want SPARKS! I want OIL! I want GEARS and PISTONS!
> An original fic, full story posted on Ao3, but tumblr deserves more wireplay too⊠and apparently I have to do everything myself.
> Fic might not make much sense, but this can be read without the full story if you just want to get off to some robot fingering ;)
> NSFW! Also⊠spoilers if youâve yet to read the whole thing.
â.â.â.â.â
Saint did not move away right after.
For a moment, he stayed with the warm edge of his visor resting against your forehead, his hand still wrapped around yours, the blue room holding quiet peace around both of you.
When Saint finally drew back, his visor was dimmer than before, but not calm. You could tell the difference now. Calm on him was smooth and distant. This was more contained.
âBefore the alignment,â Saint said, and then stopped.
You looked up at him. âYeah?â
He lowered his hand from yours, then flexed his fingers once as if checking whether they belonged to him. âI want to request something that is not required.â
The words made your stomach tighten.
âWhat do you mean?â you asked, though you had a feeling you knew.
Saintâs visor stayed on you. âI do not know what the alignment will change. Maybe nothing essential. Maybe enough that wanting this now will seem different afterward. I do not want to make fear into pressure, so I am trying to say this plainly.â His voice was quiet, a little uneven in a way he might not have allowed himself last night. âI want to touch you. I want you to touch me. Not because I am failing. Not because you are repairing me. Because I want the experience while I know I want it.â
Your pulse went very loud in your ears.
The Chapel, with horrible timing and perfect sincerity, said, âPrivacy modulation can extend to the auxiliary calibration room.â
You closed your eyes. âI need this building to stop having customer service.â
Saintâs throat light brightened. âI am sorry.â
âYou didnât do anything.â You looked at him again, and the embarrassment settled into something warmer, more honest. âI want that too. But I need you to understand that wanting because youâre scared still counts as wanting. It just means we have to be careful with it.â
âI am scared,â Saint said. âI am also not only scared.â
You nodded once. âOkay.â
The auxiliary room was behind a narrow door off the main chamber. It was not romantic, because nothing about the city had ever learned how to be romantic without turning it into a subscription tier. It had a diagnostic bench, a wall of old manual switches, and a privacy field that hummed softly after the door closed. The blue light was dimmer here. Just enough room for the two of you, and a recessed charging nook where Sprout immediately rolled himself in, displayed NO COMMENT, and turned his screen away with dramatic force.
âThank you,â you told him.
Saint stood near the bench, suddenly very still. His hood had fallen back. The signal wrap made him look darker in the low light, but the gold beneath his mantle glowed through in thin lines where his chest panel sat cracked and waiting.
You stepped closer. âSame rules.â
âStop. Pause. Slow. Keep going,â Saint said. His hands were at his sides, but his fingers were already flexing, opening and closing like he was trying not to reach too soon.
âGood.â You swallowed, because saying good while looking at him like this felt ridiculous and not nearly enough. âYou can ask too. You donât have to make it sound so perfect.â
Saint looked down at your jacket, your bag strap, the messy layers of your clothing still stained from last night. âMay I undress you?â
The question went straight through you.
âYes,â you said, and your voice came out softer than expected. âBut slowly.â
Saintâs hands rose to your jacket seal with the seriousness of someone opening something sacred. He did not rush. He drew the fastening down, watched your face when the fabric parted, and paused when your breath changed. You nearly told him not to stop every time, but the pause was not hesitation exactly.
âYou can keep going,â you said.
His fingers moved again. He pushed the jacket off your shoulders, one side and then the other, untangling the strap of your bag with more patience than you had ever given it. When the jacket fell onto the bench, he looked at you with such quiet attention that you folded your arms halfway before you could stop yourself.
Saint noticed and did not touch you. âDo you want to stop?â
âNo,â you said, then forced your arms back down. âNo. I just feel⊠seen.â
His visor warmed faintly. âYou are.â
âIt isnât any less embarrassing.â
âNo,â Saint said. âBut I do not think less of you for being embarrassed.â
You let out a breath that almost shook. âYouâre getting very good at saying things that make this worse.â
âWorse meaning better?â
âYes.â
âThen I am glad,â he said, and this time there was no joke in it.
You reached for his mantle because if he was going to look at you like that, he did not get to stay wrapped up and impossible. âMy turn.â
Saint went still, but when you paused with your fingers at the clasp, he said, âYes.â
You opened the mantle carefully. The gold light spilled out between you, warm and low, catching on your hands. His chest panel was still cracked along the lower edge, still held partly shut by Ibisâs temporary work. You released the brace. The panel opened with a soft mechanical click, exposing the gold lattice beneath.
Saintâs hands curled at his sides.
You looked up. âOkay?â
âYes,â he said, then corrected himself, quieter. âI am very aware of you.â
You set your palm against the outer casing first, not inside yet. The contact made his visor brighten, but he stayed with you, head angled down, watching. You could feel the difference in him from last night. Not less sensitive. More willing to let the reaction happen.
Then he touched your waist.
You had given him permission already, but the first contact still made your breath catch. His palms were warm through your shirt, firm and careful at your sides. He only watched your face, then moved again when you leaned closer.
âTell me where,â he said.
That almost undid you by itself.
You took one of his hands and guided it under the hem of your shirt, to the bare skin at your waist. His fingers spread there, the smooth warmth of them making your stomach pull tight.
âHere,â you said. âAnd you can touch like you mean it. Iâm not going to break.â
Saintâs hand pressed more firmly against you.
You inhaled, and his chest lit brighter under your palm.
âThere,â he said, voice lower. âThat sound.â
âDonât get obsessed.â
âI am already past that point.â
The honesty made you laugh once, breathless and hot-faced, and then he leaned closer. His visor touched the side of your neck, warm glass against skin, not a mouth but close enough that your body did not care about the technicalities. Your hand slipped inside his chest on instinct and found the safe sensory line near the shunt.
Saint made a quiet, broken sound.
You froze.
âKeep going,â he said immediately, his hand tightening at your waist, then loosening like he remembered himself. âPlease. I am not hurt.â
You moved your fingers once over the line.
He leaned into you.
The two of you stood like that for a few seconds.
Saintâs other hand moved to your hip. âMay I bring you closer?â
âYes,â you said, and he did.
He sat on the diagnostic bench and drew you into the space between his knees. You followed too easily. That was the embarrassing part. Not the position itself, not his hands, not the open glow of his chest. It was how little convincing you needed. One careful pull, one warm visor against your jaw, one low sound when your fingers brushed the line again, and you were climbing onto his lap like you had been thinking about it for hours.
You had been thinking about it for hours.
Saintâs hands settled at your hips. âIs this acceptable?â
You looked down at him. His visor was bright blue, his open chest between you, gold light spilling onto your bare wrist where your sleeve had ridden up. He looked careful and wrecked by wanting, and somehow both made you want him more.
âItâs very acceptable,â you said.
He held you more firmly then. His fingers pressed into your hips, learning the weight of you on his lap, the give of your body against the colder structure of his. You shifted, and the movement pressed you against him in a way that made both of you stop. The smooth metal cup between his legs rubbed up against you through your clothes, not soft, not human, but shaped enough and hard enough beneath you that your body reacted before your brain could decide whether to be embarrassed. The pressure landed dead center, obscene in its simplicity, and the tiny wet sound your own body made against fabric seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room.
Saintâs visor flared.
Your fingers tightened at the edge of his open panel.
âOh,â you said, brilliantly.
Saintâs voice came out rougher than before. âThat changed several things.â
âYeah,â you said. âI noticed.â
His hands flexed at your hips, not pulling yet, but wanting to. You could feel the restraint in the way his fingers held and released, held and released, as if he had to remind himself that your weight in his lap was not something he got to keep by force. âThe pressure is different there,â he said, and the words sounded dragged out of him, less like observation and more like confession. âNot like your hand on my chest. It is external, but my system is still routing it inward.â
Your face burned. âThat is a very technical way of saying you like it.â
âI like it,â Saint said immediately. Then, after a beat, his visor lowered toward where your bodies met. âI want to do it again.â
Your stomach tightened so hard it was almost painful. âThen ask.â
His hands flexed at your hips. âMay I?â
You leaned forward and kissed the warm glass of his visor instead of answering right away. When you finally pulled back, your voice was not steady. âYes. Slowly.â
Saint moved beneath you, flexing upward through his hips with careful mechanical intention, and the motion jostled you in his lap. It was awkward for half a second, because of course it was. He had no instinct to fall back on, no human rhythm stored in muscle and want. He lifted too carefully at first, more like testing range of motion than chasing pleasure, and the sweet, strange clumsiness of it should not have made you wetter. It did anyway. Then your hand slid deeper into his chest and stroked the sensitive line in time with the movement, and his whole body answered.
His hips rose under you.
You gasped, sharp and humiliating.
Saint stopped immediately.
âNot stop,â you said, grabbing at his shoulder. Your fingers slipped against the smooth plating there, desperate for purchase. âThat was not stop.â
His hands tightened again. âThen what was it?â
âGood,â you said, embarrassed by how needy the word sounded. âIt was good. Keep going.â
He did.
The rhythm built slowly, messily, between your body and his learning. His hands guided your hips, then followed when you moved on your own. The pressure of him beneath you, the heat of his chest under your fingers, the low hum that started somewhere inside him and carried into your own body made the room feel smaller and warmer than it was. You were still half-dressed, shirt shoved up, jacket gone, belt digging into your side until you cursed under your breath and fumbled at it.
Saint paused, his visor bright. âDo you want assistance?â
âYes,â you said, and the word came out too fast. âBelt. Please.â
Please did something to him. You felt it in the flare of the line beneath your fingertips before he even moved.
His hands went to your belt with careful speed. He unfastened it, set it aside with your jacket, then returned to your hips like he had been waiting to come back to them. Without the belt, you felt too exposed and not exposed enough. Your uniform loosened at your waist. His fingers found the bare skin above it, thumbs pressing there as he pulled you down into the next slow lift of his body.
You made a sound you could not hide.
Saintâs head tipped back. âAgain?â
You nodded, then remembered words. âAgain.â
He moved again. Firmer.
Your fingers slid over the private sensory line by accident or not accident; you were not sure anymore, and the distinction was becoming difficult. Saintâs body lit under you, gold flooding through the open panel. His hands tightened at your hips hard enough that you felt the strength in them, then immediately softened before it could become too much.
You bent closer, breathing against his visor. âYou can hold me. Iâll tell you if itâs too hard.â
âI want to hold you harder than I should,â Saint said, the words low and messy, not polished at all. âI want your weight. I want you to make that sound again. I want to feel you move because of me while your hand is inside me.â
Your whole body went hot.
âSaint.â
âI am sorry.â
âDonât be sorry,â you said, and kissed him hard enough that his visor flashed. âJust keep talking if thatâs whatâs real.â
His hands slid from your hips to your lower back and pulled you into another slow roll of pressure. He said against your mouth, voice frayed with static at the edges, âI want to touch you there. I want you to tell me to continue. I want to be the reason you cannot sound composed.â
You were absolutely not composed.
Your clothes were twisted. Your hair had come loose. Your knees were braced on either side of his hips, and every slow upward movement of his body made your fingers twitch inside his chest. The private line pulsed under your touch, warm and responsive, and each time you stroked it, Saint moved into you like he could not help it, like pleasure had become a language his body was learning faster than his thoughts.
His hand slid between you.
He stopped before going farther, palm hovering at the loosened edge of your uniform. âMay I touch you more intimately?â
Your mouth went dry.
âYes,â you practically pleaded. âOver the fabric first.â
Saintâs hand settled between your legs, cupping your sex gently.
Even through fabric, the contact made your breath break. He felt that, he had to. His fingers moved slowly at first, too cautious, and you almost sobbed from the restraint of it. You put your hand over his and guided the pressure, showed him where, showed him how much, showed him the difference between careful and too careful until his fingers learned the rhythm your words could barely hold.
Saint repeated the motion, careful and intent. His other arm held you steady at the waist while his body kept that slow, rough rhythm beneath you. You touched the line inside him in answer. He bucked up harder, a startled movement that made both of you gasp. The cup between his legs pressed firmly against you, and the wet sound of your body against fabric returned, louder this time, impossible to ignore.
He froze.
You grabbed the edge of his shoulder. âDo that again.â
Saintâs visor went bright enough to light your face. âYes?â
âYes.â
He did.
The next few minutes became something neither of you could have made elegant if you tried. You were too tired, too scared for any elegance. Your hand inside his open chest, his hand between your legs, his hips lifting under yours in uneven, hungry movements that grew steadier when you moved with him. He learned pressure from your voice. You learned the private line from the way his body answered. Sometimes he asked. Sometimes you answered before he could. Sometimes the only language either of you had was a broken yes, a hand tightening, a pause that meant too much and then not enough.
âYou are close,â Saint said, then made a rough sound when your fingers stroked the line again. âI am not saying that as data. I can feel it in how you move. You are holding me like you might fall.â
âI might,â you said, almost laughing, almost pleading.
âI have you.â
That should not have pushed you closer, but it did.
âMay I touch you inside?â he asked, with a hesitation that made the question somehow filthier. As if after everything, after your wet clothes and shaking thighs and your hand buried in his chest, he still needed the words.
You nodded too quickly, then forced yourself to speak. âYes. Yes, Saint.â
Your hands fumbled at your waistband, dragging the loosened fabric down just enough. It was not graceful. It was awful, actually, a half-dressed, desperate little adjustment that left your uniform caught around your hips and your shirt twisted up over your ribs. But it gave him room. Just enough room for the cool pads of his fingers to slide beneath the fabric and find you properly.
Saint went utterly still when he felt how wet you were.
You could see him processing it in real time: the heat, the slickness, the way your body opened around the lightest touch. His visor brightened, then dimmed at the edges, as if the intimacy of it had struck him harder than the mechanics.
âYou areââ he started, then stopped.
âIf you say something scientific right now, I will die.â
âI was going to say beautiful,â he said.
That was worse.
You made a small, wrecked sound and dropped your forehead to the side of his visor. âThat is also dangerous.â
âI will accept the risk,â Saint said, and then his fingers moved.
Slow at first. Careful. Learning. The coolness of them made your hips jerk, and his arm locked around your waist immediately, holding you steady without stopping you. You showed him the angle with your hand over his wrist. He listened so closely it was almost unbearable, changing pressure when you gasped, slowing when your thighs tightened, repeating the motion that made your hand clench in his open chest.
His fingers warmed as he touched you.
For a moment you wondered if he did it on purpose. Then the thought vanished when two of them slipped inside you, slick and smooth, curling exactly where your own guidance had led him. You clenched around him before you could stop yourself.
Saintâs visor flashed white-blue.
âOh,â he said, and there was nothing polished left in him. âYou are holding my fingers.â
You could barely breathe. âThat happens.â
âI like it.â
âSaint.â
âI like it too much,â he said, and his hips lifted under you again, rougher this time. âYou are touching me inside while I am touching you inside. I can feel both. I can feel you around my hand and your hand in my chest, and I do not know which sensation belongs to which want.â
You stroked the private line in time with him, and the rhythm caught hard enough that both of you lost the ability to make it pretty. His fingers curled inside you again. His thumb found you where you were most sensitive and rubbed with the pressure you had shown him. His hips bucked up beneath you, meeting the grind of your body against the metal cup. His visor pressed to your mouth, then your jaw, then the side of your neck. He was not kissing like a human, but his whole body was trying to answer yours, and the strangeness of it only made it hotter.
You felt desired in pieces and all at once: your sounds, your weight, your mess, the way you had stopped being useful and started being needy in his hands.
âSaint,â you said, and his name came out wrecked.
His chest flared under your hand.
âI am here,â he said. âI amâ I am close too. I think. It is building. It is everywhere you touch and where I touch you and where you are against me. I do not know how to separate it.â
âDonât,â you said. âNot right now.â
He moved beneath you again, rougher but still careful, his hand steady between your legs, his fingers inside you and his thumb working slick circles that made your whole body go tight. You stroked the private line in time with him, and his body answered every pass with a pulse of gold and a helpless upward buck. His other arm locked around your waist when he felt you start to shake, holding you through the rhythm rather than stopping it.
âKeep going?â he asked, voice breaking.
âYes,â you gasped. âYes, keep going.â
He did.
You peaked first, but only by a breath. It hit messy and hard, your face pressed against the side of his visor, your hand still inside his chest, your body shaking in his lap while he held you through it with one arm and kept touching you with the other. His fingers moved through the wet clench of you, slower when you jolted, firmer when you begged without words, until you made a sound that was almost his name and almost nothing at all.
The sound was what took him with you.
Saintâs body arched beneath yours, not violent or uncontrolled, but helpless in a way that made your chest ache even while you were still trembling. His visor went bright white-blue, then deep violet at the edges. Every gold line in his open chest flared at once under your hand. His fingers spread wide against your back like he was forcing himself not to grip too hard, and his voice fractured into static and feeling, your designation broken inside it.
Then the light softened.
For a while, neither of you moved.
You stayed folded against him, breathing hard, your face hot, your hand still resting carefully near the edge of his open panel now rather than on the line. His other hand withdrew from between your legs slowly, like he was afraid moving too fast would break the quiet after. His fingers were slick. He looked at them for one dazed second, visor brightening with something too new to be smug and too overwhelmed to be shame.
âIs that part of human pleasure?â he asked, voice low and unsteady.
You laughed once into his shoulder, ruined and embarrassed and still half shaking. âUnfortunately, yes.â
Saintâs hand hovered, uncertain now in a way it had not been when he was touching you. âIt is⊠evidence of wanting?â
Your face burned. âSaint.â
âI am asking badly.â
âYouâre asking filthy.â
His visor warmed. âIs that bad?â
You groaned and hid your face against him again. âNo.â
He seemed to absorb that with dangerous interest, but he did not push. His arms held you, less tightly than before, but with no hurry to let go. The room hummed softly around you. The privacy field stayed blessedly silent. Sprout remained pointed at the wall, either asleep again or committed to the bit.
Saintâs voice came after a long time, quiet and unsteady. âI remained.â
You lifted your head enough to look at him. His visor had dimmed to a soft blue, the edges still faintly violet. âYeah,â you said, still breathless. âYou did.â
âI wanted it very much,â he said. âMore than I expected. I thought I might overheat or.â His hand shifted at your back. âI wanted to hold on to you too tightly.â
âBut you didnât.â
âI wanted to make you keep touching me. I wanted to continue after⊠because you soundedââ He stopped, visor brightening again, embarrassed and honest. âI want to be the cause of you sounding like that again.â
Your face heated all over again. âThat is⊠not aftercare appropriate.â
âShould I stop?â
You laughed weakly and let your forehead rest against his visor. âNot forever. Just maybe give me thirty seconds before you say something that makes me want to climb back into your lap.â
Saint was quiet for approximately three seconds.
âYou are still in my lap,â he said.
You groaned into his shoulder.
You pinched the edge of his mantle, very gently. âDo not get smug after your first orgasmic event.â
His visor softened with that almost-smile you still refused to name. âIs that what happened?â
âI am not qualified to define robot orgasms.â
âYou contributed significantly.â
âSaint.â
âI will stop.â
He did, and the quiet that followed was warmer than before. You sat there with him, both of you partly undone, the future still waiting outside the room with cables and choices and no guarantees. But for this one stolen pocket of time, Saintâs hand moved slowly along your back, not seeking anything, just touching because he could. Because you let him. Because both of you had wanted something useless and human and strange before the next necessary thing.
Eventually, you kissed his visor once, soft and tired.
His lights answered gently.
âWe should go back,â you said, though you did not move.
âYes,â Saint said, also not moving.
âWe have to do the alignment.â
âYes.â
âIâm afraid again.â
His arms held you a little closer, not enough to trap you, just enough to be there. âSo am I.â
You closed your eyes.
âOkay,â you said. âThen weâll be scared after one more minute.â
Saint rested his visor against your temple. âOne minute,â he agreed.
summary: after a long day of work, you try to unwind by watching your comfort show, but your solitude is interrupted by yet another visit from noir, who seems to be finding more and more excuses to spend time with you⊠(includes a C.AI bot as part 2 below!)
wordcount: 2k
tags: brief mention of NSFW pop-up ads, nerdy nâ socially awkward reader, noirâs disdain for almond joys but he makes up for it at the end <3
It had been a long day at the crime analytics office in Vought. As the sun began to set, exhaustion crept over you after reviewing incident report after report. Your eyes strained from the blue glare of your computer screen. You knew you had promised your boss you would organize the ever-growing database, but the tiny voice of procrastination was pleading for rest before your overworked brain turned into a pile of mush.
Rather than more paperworkâyou, being the slacker of all slackers in this department, decided a well-deserved break was in order. And what better way to recharge than turning off the noggin and filling it with good olâ fashioned mindless entertainment?
With a few tired clicks of your mouse, you booted up your go-to streaming site, which was none other than 123movies. Scrolling through the options, your cursor hovered over the play button of your favorite trashy drama. The kind of cheesy, perfectly predictable melodrama spun from the worst of amateur YA plots. It was practically comfort food for your fatigued mind, just what you needed to loosen up after the mental marathon that was this long day.
First of all, what the absolute living hell is an âaquatic fuckâ??
Did you even want to know? And most importantly, what happened to the ad blocker you installed just the other day? Judging by the contents, you had a sneaking suspicion that slimy, sea-dwelling degenerate, The Deep, had tampered with your computer⊠yet again.
âFor the love of-⊠whatâs with all these pop-up ads?â you muttered under your breath as excessively explicit ads crowded out the episode. Your eyes darted furtively around the room to check for wandering glances, hoping against hope that none of your coworkers had noticed the unwanted filth invading your screen. Heart pounding, you squeezed your chair closer to your monitor into a makeshift barricade, shielding the display as best you could while hastily clicking away at the intrusive ads.
As you hurriedly closed the remaining windows, an ominous shadow fell across the screen. Dreading whatâor whoâmight be behind you, you slowly swiveled your chair around to find Black Noir's stoic stare boring into your own.
You stifled a yelp as you instinctively clutched the armrests, catching yourself on the edge of your seat before an ungainly spill to the floor. Noir had a way of materializing without warning, and it never failed to unnerve.
âN-Noir!â you managed, inwardly cringing as your voice broke on his name. âFancy seeing you in these parts. I was just taking a quick break and yâknow- stretching âem brain cells.â You tried for a lighthearted chuckle, but it emerged as more of a strained squeak that faded into an anxious hum.
With a jerky flurry of clicks and the browser minimized from view, whatever dignity you still retained disappearing along with it. All that did remain was you praying to the heavens above that he hadn't noticed its questionable contents (even if he most definitely had and simply chose not to comment)
When Noir offered no response, you of course charmingly barreled ahead in your frazzled daze. âBut anyways, s-sorry about that⊠how uh, can I help you today?â your words tumbled out in a breathless rush, punctuated by a shrill laugh you hoped disguised the mortification simmering beneath.
Noir cocked his head, observing you with that same silent intensity. You fidgeted, hands twisting in knotted discomfort, the heat in your ears now engulfing your entire face. Was it the invasive pop-ups that had you squirming in your seat? Or the fact he could snuff out your existence faster than you can say âworkersâ compâ?
Either way, beneath the weight of his stare, you already felt as if you were some peculiar, freakish creature pinned for study, rather than some bumbling employee just trying to unwind and watch their comfort show.
And to him, you indeed were a fascinating, bizarre little human.
Mercifully, Noir chose to extend a folder toward you, putting an end to your somewhat pathetic withering. You accepted it with a wordless nod, nearly sagging in your chair as tension drained from your shoulders.
Whirling towards the familiar clutter of your desk once more, you pretended absorption in the folderâs material, hoping this signaled Noirâs leave. After all, has anyone seen the state of you? It certainly wasnât a flattering one. Yet from the corner of your eye, you detected no movement, no receding footstepsâhis shadowy form remained statuesquely in place.
Believe it or not, this has been becoming a thing, a growing habit of lateâand a suspicious one at that. Lately his breaks had grown longer, minutes lengthening to quarters of an hour, all spent hovering at your desk as you worked. However, his focus was solely on watching and observing you. He never exhibited a hint of thought or motive for his reason there, only leaving you with questions that seemed to multiply by each and every visit.
Noir, on the other hand, was somehow utterly convinced that you and him were two peas in a tightly-knit pod. He swore you two were best of buds for lifeâeven if "life" so far had only amounted to the past two weeks' worth of half-hour stretches where he silently observed your work from the corner.
Ironically, you didnât have the slightest inkling of how he really felt. Instead, you always assumed that he, like most supes, regarded you as little more than a puny mortalâa fragile, near-useless sack of flesh and bones whose skull he was one misstep away from caving in with bare hands.
But nope, Noir was simply here to bless you, the nerdy but cute crime analyst, with his presenceâhis rather⊠unsettling presence.
The familiar hush settled as you reluctantly returned focus to the task at hand. Hocus-pocus-focus, you chanted mentally, peeling away the last shreds of stray thoughts to tap into the zone of productivity. Unfurling the dossier Noir provided, you began sifting through documents for insight on his purpose in approaching you. Meanwhile, a flick of movement in the edge of your vision revealed Noir's attention veer off course, the almond joy perched beside your keyboard capturing his notice.
You tensed, hocus-pocus-focus breaking, all too aware of past disappearances of snacks in these briefings. Sure enough, his hand drifted noiselessly toward the candy bar, no doubt spurred by ingrained impulse to dispose of it per his usual custom. But you'd grown wise to his methods by now.
Not again, you sighed inwardly, snatching the almond joy and cradling it protectively as if it were your dear, beloved child.
Noir made no move to withdraw, palm outstretched expectantly. You frowned, struggling to keep frustration at bay. "Please, come on- not this time!.. It's my last one for the day." Brows pinching, your tone threatened to rise before steadying with a slow and calm inhale. No use losing composure over candy, no matter the principle. So all you could do was peer beseechingly at Noir in silent appeal, legs jittering restlessly under your desk in building apprehension.
Unfortunately, you found no signs of leniency in his obscured faceâonly his hand beckoning relentlessly for the almond joy. You plea was once again met with stony resolve, as if he was internally distressed by the mere presence of it. What was he? Deathly allergic to almond joys or something?
With a resigned breath, you delivered the almond joy towards Noir's waiting glove, unable to hide the disappointment dimming your features. Your lips curled into a slight pout, gaze sinking heavy into your lap at being parted from the treat. Though Noir was never one for words, it really didnât take a rocket scientist to see you felt bullied into submission by his demands. At the end of the day, what power did a measly analyst like yourself hold against one of the Seven? As your fingers uncurled, releasing the candy into Noir's grasp, you couldn't help but feel a bit put upon, even if that wasnât his intention at all.
Noir was well aware of the upset feelings his request had caused, so in an attempt to remedy the situation, his arm was sent in a backwards reach for the notepad he often used to communicate. However, he found himself at a loss as words eluded him, his thoughts swirling in frustrating circles of âWhat should I even say?ââmuddled and incoherent. For a moment he stared at you, mask betraying no emotion as he grappled to find the right words, despite the prick of guilt nibbling at his conscience. Then, lacking any better option, he simply tossed the offending candy into the trash, perhaps with more force than intended.
Clearly, socializing was not Noirâs strong suit.
With no further acknowledgment, Noir spun on his heel and marched away. You watched his retreating, rigid form with discomfort clenching your insides, eyes falling onto the lonely candy discarded in the trash, its colorful wrapper mocking your current disheartened state.
Wearily, you turned away from the almond joy, redirecting your attention toward the computer as a means to divert your now soured mood. Maximizing the browser, you hoped that your planned show may have had time to load during the interaction. But upon inspecting the screen, you found the video remained stubbornly stalled, stuck on buffering dots and refusing to roll despite the minutes passed.
Just. Peachy.
One (super)human encounter had sucked the very life source out of your dog-tired body, and now this. It was really shaping up to be one of those days.
Thoroughly worn out, you gently laid your head down onto the desk, pillowing it against the crook of your folded arms as eyelids slid shut. All you craved was to simply sleep away the remaining time until you could finally escape this wretched shift and retreat to the sanctuary of your home sweet home.
As your shift wound down to its end, you were finally stirring from your slumber. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes, your blurred vision sharpened to show your colleagues had long since departed while you were snoozing away.
Rising and squaring your shoulders, you began to gather your belongings in preparation to leave as well. Once you had collected everything and lifted to your feet, something in the far corner of your desk caught your eye. Approaching for a closer look in the dim lighting, the fuzzy outline gradually came into focusâa cluttered collection of Hershey's Kisses, their jumbled placement grouped to form the shape of a heart.
You blinked in bewilderment, rubbing your eyes once more to ensure you weren't imagining things. Stepping closer, you spotted a sticky note nestled within the heart of chocolates, scrawled upon in a crude, blocky hand. At first, you assumed it was some silly prank from one of your coworkers, but you knew you recognized the handwriting anywhereâit was Noir's.
Gingerly, you plucked the sticky note from the desk, lifting it to your line of sight to read the message. âKisses taste better than almond joysâŠSorry.â you read softly, your voice trailing off as confusion crept in.
Designed as a very apparent flirty gesture, the intent behind the note and chocolates still managed to whoosh straight over your head. As always seemed the case, even the most painfully obvious social cues could so easily evade your understandingâthis proving no exception.
You slipped the sticky note into your pocket, then selected a foil-wrapped Kiss from the pile. Gently rolling the chocolate between your fingers, you unwrapped it and popped one into your mouth. You took time to savor its light cream filling beneath a smooth outer shell, face crinkling in thought and head tilting as you considered your verdict. âEh⊠Iâd beg to differ.â you mused with a shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you took your leave from the office.
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Pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3
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a C.AI bot as your very own part 2 where you thank Noir the following day:
Meet AIs that feel alive. Chat with anyone, anywhere, anytime. Experience the power of super-intelligent chat bots that hear you, understand
a/n: saw somewhere that kisses donât contain nuts but then I also saw someone else say they actually do??? So letâs just pretend the kisses Noir chose are completely nut-free for the sake of the plot đ
also, the reader is very much based off Anika if it wasnât obvious enough haha! Sheâs so y/n coded đ€đ
Here are some cheat sheets with general information about the Greek Gods which you might find useful in worship but not only!
There is plenty of information I did not include. These are just simple cheat sheets. I could not fit everything in there but this might come in handy if youâre just starting out or want to get to know the Hellenic Gods.
For more information about them, I highly recommend you check out the websites or books I listed in sources!
PSA: Some of the things listed in offerings and associations section are more modern, thus could be regarded as UPGs/SPGs
⥠The Olympians âĄ
Zeus
Hera
Poseidon
Demeter
Athena
Apollo
Artemis
Ares
Hephaestus
Aphrodite
Hermes
Hestia
Dionysus
Mount Olympus - Home of the Gods
Hyperborea
đŠŽThe UnderworldđŠŽ
Hades
Persephone
Hekate
Hypnos
Thanatos
Erinyes
House of Hades & the Afterlife
đ± Minor deities & daimones đ«
Nemesis
Eris
Phobos & Deimos - bonus info
Eros
Nike
Asklepios
Pan
Iris
Hebe
Priapus
Amphitrite
Aristaios
Thetis
Tyche
Mousai [Muses]
Moirai [Fates]
Charites [Graces]
Anemoi [The Winds]
đŸ Titan & Primordial Gods đ
Helios
Selene
Hekate
Eos
Leto
Themis
Rhea
Cronus
Nyx
Gaia
đ Heroes & deified mortals â
Achilles
Heracles
Asklepios
Ganymede
Dioskouroi
Adonis
Hyacinthus
If you like my content consider supporting me on: https://ko-fi.com/screeching0wlet
My longest work yet! 22k and counting. Welcome to a new kind of dreaming :) Iâve been obsessed with The Sandman since season 2 came out, and had to write until every inch of it is ripped from my head.
You travel across the ocean to study myths, ancient gods and forgotten symbols. But you didnât expect the myths to notice you back, and when it does something stirs beneath the city, behind the fog, and within you.
âShe was here again,â Lucienne says, matter-of-factly.
âYes.â
There is a pause. Lucienneâs silence is not empty. It is always full of the things she chooses not to say.
âShe is not like the others,â she says after a moment, eyes glinting.
He nods. The admission costs him more than it should. âNo. She is not.â
Lucienneâs voice tightens. âYou cannot let this continue.â
He still does not look at her. âI am not letting anything.â
âYou are not stopping it, either,â she says. âYou know what happened last time. You know what it cost. If she is pulled deeper into this realmââ
âShe is already here,â he interrupts. The words come low and final.
Lucienne narrows her eyes. âThen perhaps it is not her being pulled deeper, but you.â
When Price retired everyone knew what to expect. He would find a rustic cabin somewhere in the woods, settle down with a pretty bird and maybe pop out a few babies while he still had it in him.
The cabin was the easy part. John was quick to make the secluded lodge home. Deep in the woods, but still a reasonable drive to the nearest small town for any supplies he couldn't get himself. Something about chopping a log for his fire made him feel more masculine than any shot he had ever fired. It was peaceful.
But rather lonely.
John was just too old now for 'dating'. He didn't understand the apps. And any of the eligible ladies in the nearby town were pushing eighty.
Then you showed up. John spotted you on a monthly shopping run. You had just moved into town. A bit frazzled, out of place, but still the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. He managed to chat you up by the till. And every time you would giggle so sweetly at his lame jokes he could feel his cock twitch in his pants.
He just had to have you.
Despite having been a few years out of the military, his skills hadn't faded. And it was nice to have a mission once again. It was only a matter of days before he knew where you lived, your daily routine. Even that you barely knew anyone in town, no one would notice. Everything he needed to snatch you out of the monotony.
It was almost too easy to break into your little flat. He picked through your belongings silently. Pocketing anything he thought you might want in your new home with him. A nice photo of you and some friends on holiday. A well used mug on the shelf. A book you had left lying open on the couch.
You didn't even wake up. Eyes only fluttering briefly as he placed the chloroformed rag over your mouth.
When you finally wake you're groggy. Looking around the unfamiliar room. Your vision so blurry you almost miss the figure sitting near you on the edge of the bed. It takes a moment to focus on him.
"John?" You mumbled, confused. Barely recognising the nice man you met a few days ago. You start to sit up but can't get far, realising your wrists are cuffed to either side of the bed.
John shushes you gently and pecks the top of your head.
"Relax, love. I've got you."
He does take care of you. Feeds you the most wonderful food, helps you bathe, brings you just about anything you could ever need. It would be nice, if you had asked for it.
Part of you pitied this man. He was clearly lonely. But that didn't excuse his actions. At least he never forced himself on you. Though his teasing words and light touches weren't much better. Despite yourself, your body reacted. You spent much of your time embarrasingly wet in your panties. Still he never went further than teasing.
He wanted to though. Boy did he want to. Every time he looked at you he could feel the ache. The need to claim you fully and totally. Maybe put a baby in that belly of yours. But it had to be right. He had a vision.
It had been a few months since John had taken you away from your old life. He knew you still wanted to escape. You were just biding your time until he let his guard down. Silly bird. He had given you everything. The perfect life. All the pretty dresses you could ever want. He loved to dress you up like a doll. Make you a proper wife. But he couldn't have that yet. He needed to make sure you knew you could never leave.
One day he left the keys to the front door unattended. All he had to do was wait. Soon enough you had slipped out. Sprinting into the woods in your lovely heels. He gave you a head start, checking his watch as he pulled up the tracker on his phone. Watching as you stumbled your way through the trees. Silly doll. You couldn't run from him.
When enough time passed he set out after you. Hunting rifle with him. He would never hurt you, never. But he needed you to understand he wasn't playing around. He loved you. Well and truly.
You would love him too.
He fired into the air, just to freak you out. Chuckling as he heard you running ahead of him. You terrified squeal as you dived for cover behind a tree.
He caught up with you easily. Of course he did. He was trained for this sort of thing. It came as naturally to him as breathing.
A firm hand tugged your hair, drawing a cry from your lips as you were pulled to the ground. John's large form gripped you from behind. His breath heavy and hot against your ear.
"Sweetheart..." he growled, and fuck if that didn't make you clench. He sounded amused. "Where do you think you're going..."
He rolled his hips upwards and you gasped. Trying desperately to squirm away from him.
"Can't let my pretty wife go running out in the woods all on her own..." He continued. Shoving you down so your face was pressed into the dirt. Back arched so your ass was pressed against him. He was obviously rock hard. Excited by the hunt.
"Stupid thing..." he mumbled. More to himself than to you as his flipped your skirt up to expose you. "Don't you love me?"
He tugged your panties to the side. Grinding his clothed cock against your bare cunt. The rough fabric of his jeans making you sob.
He was getting greedy. Quick to unbuckle his pants and rub the tip of his cock through your folds. Chuckling roughly at the slick gathered there.
You hated yourself for being so aroused by this. You hated him for turning you on so much. But when his cock notched at your entrance you whimpered. Rocking back against him without thinking. He laughed. Both of you knowing how useless it was for you to fight.
He held you still, hands firm on your hips as he slid in slow. The stretch was almost too much. But he did give you time to adjust at least. Resting inside you. The sound of both of your heavy breaths filling the silent night air.
It was you who caved first. Starting to press back against him. Unable to handle the stillness any longer. You needed him.
The second you moved he was off. Bullying his cock deeper with every thrust. Fucking you into the mud. All you could do was frantically claw at the ground and try your best to keep your mind in one piece.
You were quick to cum. The adrenaline, fear, and his incredible cock too much for your body to handle. Sending you reeling over the edge. Going totally boneless as he fucked you through your orgasm until you were crying and begging him to slow down.
He ignored you. Making sure to hit each thrust as deep as he possibly could. Fully intent on cumming straight into your very womb. He had to make sure it stuck. You couldn't possibly leave him if you had his baby in you.
The thought alone was enough to make him stall. Pressed deep inside you as he came. Leaning over you to hug you close, one hand running over your stomach.
"Can't way till you're swollen with me..."
The gruff, fucked out tone of his voice made you shudder. You didn't want this. But you couldn't deny that the idea had some kind of insane appeal.
He was making you crazy.
"Let's go home, luvie. I'll draw you a bath before we go for round two."
âLittle fuckinâ...â Ghost groaned softly, voice strained from the pain. Holding you in place for a few moments before releasing you. Dragging you up by your hair and pressing you against the wall of the small bunk. âThatâs a mean right hook youâve gotâŠâÂ
High praise from the usually so stoic man. But you didnât have the thought to dwell on it as a firm thigh slotted between your legs. Pressing upwards hard until you gasped.
---
Angry at what they had done to you, you decide to show them you're not such an easy target.
---
idk how good this is i feel like i wrote it in a stupor. have fun pervs
---
All my fics are also on AO3
Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 3275. Ship: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You x König . Fem!Reader. Tags: Overstimulation, P in V Sex, Konig is a huge creep, Simon and Konig have huge dicks, Cock Stepping, Cunnilingus
Part 1
The flight back to base was, to say the very least, mortifying. Sandwiched between your superiors. Feeling Ghostâs cum still pooling out of you into your panties. König pressed his leg against yours insistently. As if urging you to do something. Tell him off perhaps. You knew he was grinning below his hood. The bastard.
On more than one occasion his hand would brush your thigh. Playing it off like he was simply adjusting the gear placed around you. But the firm squeeze every now and then told you it was very much on purpose. You knew if there werenât other operators in the chopper he probably would have had his large fingers in your cunt by now.Â
Thank goodness Ghost was being as silent and bloody eerie as usual. Staring straight ahead. You wondered if he was aware of what the sergeant was doing next to him. Surely he was. That man was aware of everything around him.Â
As soon as the chopper landed you jumped up. You were the rookie, so luckily you wouldnât be needed for debrief. Rushing past Price, earning a raised eyebrow from the captain, and hurrying to your barracks. At least you were sure they wouldnât follow you. You had about an hour or two before they were out of the debrief. Would they come for you? You wouldnât put it past König to try something on base. Perhaps even in front of other soldiers. But Ghost, he was an enigma. Maybe he would avoid you like he avoided everyone else. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But the more you thought about it, the more you wanted them to come find you. Back you into a secluded room for another go of it.
Not because you wanted them, no. Because you wanted to put all your training to good use if, when, they tried it again. They had caught you off guard last time. You had been at a disadvantage. But now you would be ready. They were both much larger than you, but you were quick. And you had anger fueling you. How dare those men use you like that. They were supposed to be your superior officers. They were supposed to protect you, train you, ensure you were ready to join their special little task force when the time came.Â
You stormed into the showers. Your glare dark enough to scare off the only other rookie in there, leaving you alone in the tiled room. You had to scrub their touch off you. Let the hot water wash away the filth they had left on you. And the longer you stood under the cascade the angrier you got. Fury bubbling in your stomach. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes but you pushed them down. Focused on the rage. Fuck it. You would find them. You would find them and make them sorry.
König was practically buzzing. Dick already leaking as he followed Ghost into his private room. The second the door closed behind him he started to palm himself.
âOh, sir, her face, so red. Mien Gott⊠We must play with her again⊠mein EngelâŠâ
He shuddered, leaning back against the door with a sigh that was almost wistful. Like he was imagining a long lost love rather than a woman he had essentially assaulted just a few hours before. Just the thought of her squirming below him. He would do anything for that again.
âI have to have a turnâŠâÂ
âKönig.â The quiet voice drew him out of his fantasies.Â
The Austrian gazed at him through half lidded eyes as he rutted into his own hand needily.Â
âFuckinâ hellâŠâ
Ghost sat at the edge of the bed. Slowly. Deliberately. He patted his knee and König was on the ground in front of the man in an instant. Hands flat against the Britâs thighs as he gazed upwards with those pretty blue eyes.
âI can still taste her, LeutnantâŠâ He whined, licking his lips under the mask. Rocking his hips against the air as he remembered how he had gagged on Ghostâs fingers. The taste of sweat and metal mixing with his pretty Angelâs juices. A strained whine left him.
Above him, Ghost watched silently. Watching as König worked himself up. He didnât even have to do anything to help. Just sit there as the taller man rutted against nothing like a dog.
Ghost slowly raised his hand, sliding under the sniper hood and grazing the back of Königâs neck. Careful enough for the man to stop him if he went too far. Both of them understood the significance of the mask. Though often König reveled in being revealed by his superior. The Brit tugged his hair until his head was forced back and he keened. Before pulling the hood off entirely. Gazing down upon his bared face. Flushed and sweaty. Lips parted in a desperate pant.
âYouâre fuckinâ patheticâŠâ Ghost mumbled. Watching as Königâs face twisted in pleasure. He half expected him to cum in his pants at just that. It wouldnât be the first time. âYou want to play with her? You wouldnât believe how perfect that cunt was⊠think you deserve a tight cunt like that?â
He couldnât help the smirk that spread across his lips as the Austrianâs head ducked lower. Nodding as he rolled his hips, using the mild pressure of his pants against his cock to get off.
You were on a war path. Storming through the halls to 141âs barracks. Earning concerned, and some fearful, glances on your way. But no one tried to stop you. You steeled yourself outside Ghostâs door. Picturing that stupid mask of his. Fistâs clenched, you barged inside without knocking.
And immediately froze. Brain short circuiting as you took in the scene before you.Â
König, unmasked, very obviously rock hard in his pants, kneeling before the Lieutenant like he was worshipping him. He most likely was worshipping. Hands stilled in their movements to unbuckle Ghostâs belt as they both turned to look at you.
âOh look, Leutnant⊠Engelchen came to join usâŠâÂ
He was handsome. And you despised yourself for thinking it so quickly, but it was true. Face slimmer than you expected, given his stature. Hair longer than was typically allowed on base. Sweaty strands hanging over his face. Eye black smudged down his sharp cheekbones. He looked a bit like a wet dog. Pathetic in a cute kind of way. Ghostâs voice drew you out of your musing.
âDidnât think youâd be back for more so quickly, Angel.â He sounded amused. And all that rage came rushing back to you.Â
You stepped inside, letting the door shut heavily behind you.
âIâm not here to join you bastards.â You narrowed your eyes at the Brit. Youâd deal with König later. âIâm here to punch you.âÂ
You had expected some kind of reprimand. Threatening your superior. Maybe even a laugh. But instead Ghost stood from the bed swiftly. Brushing König aside, making him fall heavily on his side. He stayed there, propped up on one elbow and watching Ghost stalk towards you. For a moment you thought he would grab you, hurt you and punish you for daring to threaten him. But he stopped. Just within arms reach. Leaning down slightly to give you easier access.
âWell go on then, luvie.â
König was, once again, palming himself. Was there anything that didnât turn this man on? He bit his lip, legs twitching where he lay.Â
âHit him hard, Engel. Make him bleed. He likes itâŠâÂ
You rolled your eyes. Shifting from foot to foot as you took a breath. Then you swung. Harder than Ghost was expecting because he staggered back, clutching his jaw where you had hit him. But you didnât let him move far. Stepping in, grabbing his shoulder and kneeing him in the stomach. Relishing in the pained grunt elicited from the much larger man. You moved to swing again but he caught your wrist, twisting your arm until you cried out and fell to your knees.
âLittle fuckinâ...â Ghost groaned softly, voice strained from the pain. Holding you in place for a few moments before releasing you. Dragging you up by your hair and pressing you against the wall of the small bunk. âThatâs a mean right hook youâve gotâŠâÂ
High praise from the usually so stoic man. But you didnât have the thought to dwell on it as a firm thigh slotted between your legs. Pressing upwards hard until you gasped. You shoved at his chest. But it was about as effective as pushing at a brick wall. He didnât budge. The restraint in his voice when he grunted in your ear through grit teeth made your heart race. Unsure whether he wanted to fuck you or hurt you. Probably both. Preferably at the same time.
âYou know it wasnât even me⊠that bastard started itâŠâ He jerked his head towards the Austrian on the ground behind him. âShould be punishing him⊠He couldnât keep his hands to himself. I jusâ had to finish what he started.â
He let go, shoving you over to König where he lay. âSo go on. Beat the shit outta him.â
König was a sight to behold. Grinning up at you. Brows knit close together as he struggled to keep his composure. Still shamelessly groping his cock. Getting off more to your anger than actually touching himself. You scowled. This perverted monster had touched you in your sleep. Even if your body had responded, he was still a beast.Â
âMy turn in that pretty cunt, Engel?â He cooed.
With a sneer you knocked his hand away with your boot and pressed down hard. He jolted. It must have hurt. But the broken whine he let out almost convinced you it felt good. So just for good measure you pushed harder. Crushing his cock under nearly your full weight. Behind the fog of pleasure in his gaze was a mild fear. As good as it felt he wasnât sure he wanted to get some kind of permanent injury. So why was he rutting up against the hard soles of your combat boots.
âYou think you deserve my cunt? After what you did? Why would I let a depraved freak like you have the fuckinâ honour of bedding me?â
His eyes rolled back into his head. The painful pressure, degradation, and heated gaze from Ghost over your shoulder too much. His body seized. Pathetic whimpers escaping his lips as he came in his pants. Rolling his hips helplessly. He hissed through his teeth when the pleasure subsided and all that was left was the pain. But you still didnât let him. Leaning over him with a cruel smirk.
âYou seriously came from just that? I barely even touched you.âÂ
His face flushed bright red. The post orgasm fog was still heavy in his mind. His head rolled back against the floor as he panted heavily.Â
âBitte⊠too much.â Tears rolled down his face. A truly pathetic image. This giant man crumbled to helpless sobs as you ground your heel against his poor balls.Â
You tutted softly. Finally stepping back. Allowing him to suck in a deep breath, clutching his sore groin as he twisted onto his side.Â
Ghost placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently. You could hear the smile in his voice. His dark gaze never leaving Königâs curled up form.
âYou handle him wellâŠâ He moved closed, pressing against you from behind. Slow. Surprisingly gentle. You had earned his respect. Not the typical, fake submission he gave his superiors when they were talking crap. Real respect. He knew he had hurt you. And in response you got angry, defended yourself, proved yourself worthy of all of him, not just the brutal parts.
One hand snaked around your waist, splaying over your stomach and pulling you back against him. His chin tucked comfortably against your shoulder. You didnât tense, or fight back. Despite yourself you relaxed a little in his hold.
âIâm still mad at you.â You growled.
His laugh was low. A pleasingly gruff noise that rumbled from his chest against your back. Nosing gently against your neck. The rough fabric of the mask tickling your sensitive skin.
âCan I make it up to you?â
âBetter be bloody good.â
You sighed, rolling your eyes. But you still smiled. Allowing him to haul you off your feet and press you against the bed. You could feel Königâs hazy gaze tracking you across the room. But you no longer cared. Not when Ghost was tugging off your fatigues and running his hands down your bare thighs. His big calloused hands were much more gentle this time. Pressing in places that made you shiver happily.Â
He didnât fuck you gently though. Of course he didnât. But he at least gave you time to adjust. Carefully prepping you with two, then three fingers. Drawing needy whines out of you no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. The stretch was nowhere near as painful as last time when he finally slid in. Taking it slow. Inch by inch until your thighs were shaking. It had been less than twenty four hours since you had last had his cock. And still you werenât prepared for how much he filled you. It was dizzying.Â
He allowed you plenty of time to get used to him. Chuckling when eventually the stillness wasnât enough. You started to grind against him. Eager to get him moving. He watched you struggle to make him start for at least a full minute. Relishing in how desperate you were to be fucked.
Then he pulled out, slow. Till the tip was barely inside. Just when you thought he was about to pull out entirely his hips snapped forward. The strangled cry drawn from your throat echoing around the small room. His pace was brutal. Relentless. This position allowing him to thrust faster, harder, and so much deeper than the night before. In just a matter of moments you were practically crying. Incomprehensible begs spilling from your lips as he fucked you for your forgiveness.
The bed dipped next to you and through the tears on your lashes you could just about see König. Leaning close to brush the hair out of your eyes.
âHe is good, ja?â He mumbled as he peppered kisses across your cheeks.Â
You didnât have the brains to reply. They had long since leaked out of your cunt. Mixing with Ghostâs precum down your thighs and onto the sheets below.
You were growing steadily closer. The Lieutenantâs quiet grunts making that coil in your stomach twist ever tighter. But it finally snapped when you felt large fingers brush over your clit. You didnât even know which one of them did it. Far too distracted by the mindblowing spasms that ripped through your body. You didnât think it was possible to have another orgasm as strong as the one you had had the night before, but boy you were wrong.Â
A soft grunt sounded from above you as Ghostâs hips faltered. The rhythmic clenching of your walls too much for even his restraint. His pace stuttered before he pushed deep. Filling your sensitive cunt for the second time in the last day. He leaned down. Kissing you through the mask. You could only whine against the rough fabric. You could feel his lips moving against yours, but couldnât taste him. It was an odd feeling. Senses filled with the musky scent of sweat and the lingering tang of cigarettes. Gross. Yet you still kissed back.
Your eyes fluttered open when he finally pulled back. Gripping Königâs hair and pulling him in for another messy masked kiss. Before pushing the taller man down between your legs as he slid out of you. His cum following suit and making you shiver.
âGo on, mutt. Apologise to her. Show her you mean it.â
The Austrian needed no further urging. Diving into your cunt like it was his last meal. Lapping at the cum leaking out of you, then dragging his tongue up to your clit just to hear your whimpers. You reached down to tug at his hair, drawing his attention just for a moment.Â
âDo a good job, Sarge, and I just might let you inside me.â
He returned to his movements with renewed vigor. Tongue curling against your clit. He knew that was where you liked it most from your noises, but he couldnât stop himself from dipping down to flick his tongue inside you. Tasting his Leutnantâs cum mixed with your own sweet arousal. He was obsessed. His own desperate huffs and groans against your cunt, loving it almost as much as you were.Â
You let yourself get lost in the sensations. It wasnât rough or brutal. Just a steady buildup of wonderful pleasure as König worked over you. Reaching a peak that had you gasping his name, arching off the bed as you came yet again.Â
Before you had even fully come down from your high, König was above you, frantically unbuckling his pants. And bloody hell was he big. Ghost may have been thicker, but König was longer. If you could barely take the Lieutenant, how could you possibly fit all that inside you. He was too eager as he notched the tip at your entrance. Pushing in before you had the chance to chide him. You pressed a hand over his stomach to keep him away before he slid in past the tip.
âAh ahâŠâ You tutted, your blissed out smile turning cruel again. âThatâll do.â
And boy, you wished you had a camera so you could see the look of despair that broke across the Austrianâs face for the rest of your life. Devastated as he rolled his hips barely, but didnât move closer. You jerked your head towards Ghost, not taking your eyes off König.
âHelp him.â
Ghost raised an eyebrow below the mask, but followed your command. Shifting slowly behind König and gripping his cock at the base. His large hand just about covering everything that wasnât inside you. The Austrian whined, dropping his head back against Ghostâs shoulder.Â
âEngel⊠bitteâŠâÂ
His hips rocked forward to chase whatever pleasure he was given. But he couldnât move far as Ghost wrapped an iron hold around his waist. Keeping him in place as he jerked the poor man off. Rubbing the aching tip through your slick folds. Dipping it inside you every now and then just to get a taste of what he was being denied.
Königâs moans were loud. One hand gripping Ghostâs arm while the other held your thigh hard enough to leave a bruise, another mark to join the others. He came embarrassingly fast. A high whine breaking through his sobs. Shaking in the Lieutenantâs grip. He technically came inside you. But not deep enough to feel any of the pleasure he thought he had been promised. Overall an unsatisfying orgasm. But in that filthy little brain of his, that was exactly what he wanted.Â
You laid back, relaxing as you watched the giant man come undone. So easily too, you didnât even have to do anything. You pecked the Austrian on the cheek when Ghost let him fall down heavily onto the bed. Receiving a small smile and a hum in return. Just as you started to stand, his large arms wrapped around you, trapping you against his body. He was sweaty, covered in cum, and by the smell of it, still hadnât showered from the op. But you didnât complain.
thinking about fucking your lieutenant but now he won't leave you alone. (18+)
you thought he'd want to keep it a secret. ghost is the most quiet, secretive, mysterious man you know. he won't even eat in the same room as you to avoid showing you any part of his face.
you don't really know why it happened. you suppose, at the end of the day, ghost is just the kind of man you always gravitate towardsâoff-putting, angry, sarcastically nasty with the thickest thighs and an eager tongue. he's big all-over, and that might just be your weakness. big hands, pudgy stomach, long legs, perfect cockâthe kind that stretches your insides and makes your tummy feel full.
ghost is mean, though. he doesn't play favorites. you've seen others try to get on his good side, try to kiss his ass, but he has none of it. he doesn't give anyone special treatment, and you don't expect it from him now. you don't expect him to even acknowledge you. you let him come inside of you, but that doesn't mean he won't make you run laps or drop and give him an agonizing amount of push-ups.
when you leave his room, you keep your mouth shut. you expect nothing but his back.
color you surprised when a whole group of people stop talking while you're sitting with them. your head in your hands, coffee cooling in front of you, and suddenly the lively table is clearing their throats and looking anywhere but up. when you turn your head, ghost is standing there, staring at you like a hungry animal.
he makes you stay behind after drills. corners you into closets, shoves you behind walls. you're so swept up in the butterflies as he hoists you up against the wall that you don't remember which round it is that dayâcan't get enough o'me, can ya?
but you don't expect the display. you're running through your demolitions training, soap at your side, and when you manage to untangle the wires and solder a few pieces together successfully, you were not expecting the heat at your back coming to praise you. the grip on your neck, the pull on you until your head snaps back, and then the hard kiss through the mask.
the most embarrassing part is soap who just grins like he expected it. like he knows a secret about you that you didn't even know yourself. when ghost pulls back, dark eyes lidded and heavy, you nearly fall through the floor when he kisses his teeth under the mask and mumbles the most diabolical, "tha's a good girl, int'she, johnny?"
ghost doesn't want to keep it quiet. ghost doesn't want to keep you a secret. in fact, ghost grabs your ass right in front of his captain, thick gloved hand in the back pocket of your cargoes that squeezes so hard, you squeak audibly in the mess hall line.
it makes other soldiers angryâso she gets special treatment cause she opened her fucking legs? it makes others jealousâwhy is she the only one that gets to have a piece? it makes a small number morbidly curiousâwhat does she have that's good enough to come back for?
it doesn't matter what they say. it doesn't matter what they think. it doesn't matter if they hate you or want to be you or want to kill you. lieutenant simon "ghost" riley has all but claimed you, and that means no one puts a hand on you unless they want to lose it.
"why me?"
it's a simple question, but why is it so difficult?
you have such sad eyes. all wet, lips trembling. you're frustrated. did ghost know the implications of being less than discreet? did he know how people would treat you when they knew you let your lieutenant into your bed and kept him there? did he realize that parading you around like this would only make things worse?
"no one looks at me," ghost says. he says it with his face against the line of your jaw. he says it with his cock still inside of you, cum leaking down your thighs as he pulls out just to fuck himself back in to keep it there.
but you do, is what he doesn't say, and you know it, and it makes the butterflies turn into an ache, one that slips around your heart and tugs it low.
it makes you feel new again. it feels good.
so when a private with too much ego spits at your feet, you don't flinchâ"i don't take orders from ghost's bitch."
he brushes a thumb across your cheek, touching where the bruising is starting to bloom. skeleton glove tracing a line down your face, over the split in your lip, over the bleeding cut across your brow.
"you give it back?" ghost asks. he leans down, crowding your space, forehead nearly against yours. you nod, lifting your hand, putting a hand on his wrist as he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip. "he broken?"
"fought a little dirty," you mumble, blinking up at him. you remember the look on the guy's face when the metal folding chair came flying towards his face. "but he had a mouth on him."
"'n 'ow is he now?"
"eating through a straw, sir."
ghost nearly purrs. it must take an enormous amount of self-discipline for him not to force you to bend overâhe's done it for less, in more public places, but he's looking at you now, and you wonder if he loves you.
you wonder if he's capable of that.
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