#German Simmer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noctiva · 3 months ago

Note

How about Toby with a reader that has a cigarette kink? Like just gets turned on by him taking a hit during sex haha (maybe putting it out on them idk 👀)

I love when me and my readers are on the exact same wavelength <3 Toby smoking!! helloooo sailor!!

Inhale, Exhale

Toby Rogers x F!Reader

WC: 7.3k

Summary: There’s a lot of things you find hot about your boyfriend. Him smoking, though? That might just take the cake. Good thing that he’s on board when you tell him about it.

CW: Explicit sexual content, 18+ content, unsafe sex, smoking kink?? idk the name for it, slight masochism and sadism, reader gets a cigarette put out on her, Toby speaking german, oral sex (male receiving), deepthroating, messy sweaty sex, dirty talk, a little bit of mocking, big dick toby bc duh, hair pulling, creampie, praise kink, multiple orgasms, size kink I suppose

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Some of the acts written here aren’t meant to be replicated irl! Stay safe!

for any german just highlight then click translate!! <3

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

Everyone has something (or maybe multiple things) they find strangely attractive about their significant other.

Maybe it’s the way they laugh - the way their eyes crinkle up and their breathing turns into a wheeze. Maybe it’s how they look when they’re freshly rolled out of bed, with hair mussed up and drooping bleary eyes. Maybe, it’s something a bit more obvious, like the curve of their hips or the slope of their neck - both looking best adorned with splotchy marks of your desire.

For you, it was something you refused to bring up to him. Because it just seemed so… Oddly embarrassing. So strange in the way such a simple habit of his made your skin heat up just from watching him partake in it.

But was it really your fault, that Toby looked so agonizingly good when he smoked?

There was just something about it. Keeping the cigarette perched between his lips as he exhaled the smoke through his nose, hands busied as he sharpened his hatchets in the backyard. The way his cheeks hollowed when he took a drag, or how runaway smoke would always drift out the gash on the side of his face. Maybe it was how serene he always looked while doing it - nicotine being the perfect bandaid for all of his wearies and troubles, leaving him with not even a wrinkle of stress as he filled his lungs to the brim with miasma.

It was cute, how he always kept one tucked behind his ear in case of ‘emergencies’ as he had put it. It was even cuter, how he’d nibble of the filter of one but not light it when he was getting close to running out.

You know that you probably shouldn’t find it hot. Shouldn’t encourage it, definitely, because it surely wasn’t a healthy habit (especially with the rate at which he partook in it) but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He made it look so effortlessly good. Unaware that he was even brewing these thoughts within you as he flicked his lighter for the millionth time that day - casting a golden glow against the features of his face.

Every time he lit up, you had to clench your fists to try and negate the urge to jump his bones right then and there. It was maddening really, how such a simple act could turn you into a simmering puddle of desire. It was even more maddening, that Toby was none the wiser.

You’d think that it would get obvious, but as much as you loved him, Toby wasn’t exactly the best at picking up on social cues. It had taken you literal months of dropping the most obvious hints known to man before he realized that you actually liked him. So it’s not really a surprise at all, that he hadn’t caught on to your sick desire yet.

If anything, he thought that you were just thinking about picking up a smoking for yourself. Whenever he caught you staring a little too long, or fixating on the sight of the cigarette slotted between his lips, all you’d get in return was a raised eyebrow and his hand extending it to you as an offer.

You’d always refuse. You didn’t want to smoke for yourself, you just wanted to lick the taste of tobacco off of his lips.

Which, was precisely what you were doing right now.

Sat on Toby’s lap, your arms lay resting around his shoulders, lips slotted against his as he lets out little rumbles of appreciation against you. His hands rest of your hips, squeezing softly, pulling you in closer and closer with each second that passed by.

He had gotten home from a mission a few hours ago, and you had barely given him time to dry off from his shower before you were preying on him - watching him from the bed as he tugged a pair of baggy sweatpants over his hips, his still damp hair dripping onto his skin and rolling down the slope of his back.

Toby didn’t complain, of course, how could he? Coming home from the brutality of his job, just to be showered with attention and affection from the woman he loved most. It didn’t take long for him to join you on the bed, took even less time for innocent cuddling to escalate into something more, and from there it took mere seconds before you found yourself perched on his lap - running your hands down his bare chest to feel each groove and dip of his muscles and scars.

“Y-You’re needy today.” He murmured softly against your lips, unable to help the sly smile that stretched across his face as you slowly began to rock against him. Barely there movements of your hips, like maybe if you’re sneaky enough about it he won’t notice. “What’s g-gotten into you, pretty girl?”

What’s gotten into you, indeed. Well, maybe the fact that you can still taste the smoke on his lips. Maybe it’s because despite the clean, crisp scent of soap and shampoo that was wafting off of him, it was bordered with that familiar twang of burnt tobacco. Why? Well because he had slotted a cigarette between his lips before he had even gotten dressed properly, puffing away at it to ease away the unspent nerves from his mission. Something that might’ve been a nuisance to anyone else, but to you? It was the cherry on top to having him finally home.

“Nothin’.” You answer back softly as your lips slowly trail from his mouth, down the curve of his jaw. God, you can taste it on his skin too. That smoky musk that coated him completely. The perfect accent to the squeaky clean scent it was covering up. You feel goosebumps rise on the back of your neck before a shiver goes down your spine, and the you let out a shuddering breath just next to his ear. “Just missed you.” That was an understatement, and you knew he could tell. You had barely done anything more than kiss him, and yet you were burning up beneath your clothes - sweat beading up on your brow just from being so close to him. “And… You taste good.”

Toby’s eyebrows shoot up, and he pauses for a second before letting out a deep chuckle that rumbles out from his chest. One of the hands gripping your waist slides upwards, cupping the back of your neck as your nose into his hair and nip at his earlobe. He couldn’t deny how intoxicating this felt, being the object of your unwavering desire. He barely even had to do anything and yet you were melting into him - the movements of your hips growing more obvious as you pressed your body further against him.

He was a lucky, lucky man. If only he knew he was just about to get luckier.

“I taste g-good?” He laughs softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your hipbone as his other hand curls into your hair. He could feel the heat radiating off of you, permeating through your clothes to beat against his bare skin. Your attraction towards him was always obvious, but right now it was palpable - thickening the air around the two of you, shallowing his breathing as you pulled him further and further down into your pool of desire. “Baby, I p-probably taste like an ashtray right n-now.”

And he wasn’t wrong. He did. It coated his skin like a film, sunk into his hair and clung to his very essence no matter how many times he scrubbed himself clean. You loved it. Loved how musky and raw it was, how it left your tongue tasting bitter when you pulled away from him - like he was leaving a stain on you. It seeped out of his pores when his sweat mixed with yours, dirtying you from the inside out, stripping away the sweetness you sported and making you cohesive with his scent instead.

“You do.” You murmur as your lips drag against his neck. Back up his jawline, across his cheek, finding a home against his once more. “I like it.”

So intoxicated, you just couldn’t help but finally let the cat out of the bag. In your opinion, it’s been out for a very long time, Toby’s just been too oblivious to realize. You supposed you couldn’t blame him. He viewed his smoking as a troublesome, dirty addiction. Of course he wouldn’t expect you to be into it.

As proven by the way his eyebrows immediately furrow once your words sunk in. Staring up into your eyes from below, you could see the mixture of shock and confusion swimming in his irises. His gaze darting around your face with a desperate need to figure you out.

Because, you liked it? Liked the taste of ash on your tongue? That couldn’t be right. Everyone else he came in contact to who wasn’t a smoker constantly complained about the smell. Scrunching their noses up when he got too close, letting out an annoyed scoff at the sound of his lighter flicking.

But you? You didn’t just… not mind it, like he had originally assumed. You were a fan of it. A big fan, actually, if the way you were turning to mush in his hands was anything yo go by. Was that why? Was it the ember at the tip of his cigarette, that ignited you?

Was it not because you were fighting the urge to indulge in smoking yourself? Was it because you wanted to indulge in him, instead?

His brain was struggling to compute all of it, but all of the answers he could possibly need were laid out clear as day in the depths of your eyes. He could drown in the potency of the desire swirling within them. Not trying to mask it at all anymore, letting him see just how deep your attraction for him ran.

From where he was sitting, it looked bottomless.

“You… You like it.” He breathes out those words in repetition, not as a question, because he knows the answer anyway. It’s a statement. An affirmation. An acceptance of something he never thought would be brewing in the pretty little head of yours.

His fingers dance against your waist, quivering as they sneak up and under the hem of your shirt - splaying against the warm skin hidden beneath before they’re smoothing up the expanse of your back. You’re burning up, he can feel it. He himself felt warm but compared to you? His palm felt cold against the all consuming heat you were coated in. “H-How much?”

Cradling your head with his other hand, he coaxes you in closer, not stopping until the tip of your nose was pressed to his. “How much do you l-like it?” He can hear his own voice quivering, buckling under the weight of the desire that was wrapping itself around his limbs. His head felt like it was underwater, and yet all of his senses had suddenly spiked. Every sound that wasn’t your heartbeat and breathing sounding muffled. His skin tingling wherever it met yours.

He has to hear you say it. Has to know just exactly what you’re getting at. Because he’ll give it to you - he’ll always give it to you. No order too tall, for the woman he loved the most.

And with him so clearly on board, it felt like a disservice to yourself to try and hide it any longer.

“I like it… A lot.” You whisper, breath fanning against his lips as you look into his eyes. Gaze unwavering. Really letting it sink in that this is nothing but the bare truth. “I like the taste of it. The smell of it.” You hesitate for just a moment before laying it all bare. “I like watching you do it. I think it’s really hot.”

Hook, line, and sinker - you got him good. It’s almost embarrassing how viscerally his body reacts to those softly spoken words. Feeling it immediately as all the blood in his brain rushes south so quickly it nearly makes him feel lightheaded. His already shaky breathing catches in his throat, lungs feeling tight as he stares up at you in a state of near awe.

You just got better and better every single day, didn’t you? Just when he thought he couldn’t win even more than he already had.

“You do?” You feel his fingers curl against your back, blunt fingernails scratching against your skin as he tries to reign himself in. It’s not working, and you can tell, because he’s just getting harder and harder beneath you. “Th-That why you’re always watchin’ me like a hawk when I do it?” His other hand frees itself from your hair only to grasp your chin, holding you in place. “I just thought y-you wanted a taste.” You watch as his lips curl up into a cocky grin. “You do, just n-not how I had thought.”

You could practically see it, the moment that switch flips in his brain. When the shock and disbelief subsided for something more heady. Something that deepened the darkness already present in his eyes. Something that makes his grip tighten minutely, but enough to be noticeable. Noticeable enough for the heat within you to migrate lower and lower. Swirling in your gut and weighing you down heavily. Making your hips press to his more firmly, shivering when you feel him throb beneath you.

The sweatpants he’s wearing aren’t doing a thing to conceal him. You can feel the shape of him, so hard and thick as he slots against your core - the only barrier being a few flimsy pieces of clothing. And you were impatient before, but now you really are. The clothes that you’re wearing feel like shackles, so irritating in the way they’re preventing you from feeling him fully. Skin to skin.

Your hands reach upwards to splay against his chest, feeling the heat of his bare skin against your palms. The lingering dampness from his shower had all dried up now, leaving just smooth soft skin behind. Marred by a multitude of scars and blights but you couldn’t care less. You would trace every scar with your lips without ever once growing bored. Count each once and marvel at the differences in them. Some small and thin, some deep and wide - all holding a story that Toby kept under lock and key.

All being proof of another foe he had slain, who stood in the way of making it home to you.

“I just…” You take in a shaky breath, your eyes dropping down to watch as your thumb smoothed against the biggest scar on his body. The symbol of the group he had been roped into, carved into his chest like a brand. “I don’t know how to describe it. You look really good while doing it.”

You feel it against your palm as Toby hums softly, vibrating through your hand.

“A-Alright.” He murmurs back to you, muscles twitching and tensing up beneath your ghostlike touch. “I’ll indulge you. Grab me my ss-smokes.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. Freezing for just a moment as your heart rate picks up to an almost dangerous degree. But once you break free from your state of shock, you’re moving faster than you ever have.

Wriggling out of his grasp to lean over to the nightstand, grabbing the pack of cigarettes that feels like gold in your palm. You grab his lighter too, and get settled back on his lap comfortably, before extending both items out to him. He doesn’t move. “Nuh uh.” He laughs softly, lips stretched into an absolutely shiteating grin. “D-Do it for me.”

Oh. Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to melt you even more? Of course he’d want you slipping between his fingers, nothing but a simmering pool of desire-filled mush. And you know deep down, that you want that just as badly.

So you oblige. Holding his gaze as you tap a cigarette out of the pack and into your palm before tossing the carton onto the bed next to you. Then, you lean forwards, waiting a moment for Toby to part his lips before you slot the smoke between his teeth. And he’s watching you like a hawk. Tracking every little movement of yours - from the way your bottom lip trembles, to the way you nervously fumble with his lighter to try and get it lit. “W-Why’re you nervous, baby?” He asks softly, words partially muffled around the filter.

“Not nervous.” You breathe back to him, fingers trembling as you spark his lighter once - twice - before getting the flame to ignite. “Just… Excited.”

You lean forwards, watching the flickering golden light dance against his face as the flame hovers before it. And he looks so beautiful. Always looks so beautiful, but especially now. Bathed in hues of orange in yellow, a reflection of the fire glimmering in his eyes. So effortlessly subjugating you nearly fumble and drop the lighter completely, but luckily you manage to keep hold of it - even with sweat beading up on your palms.

Next, you lean forwards. The sound of tobacco fizzling under the heat when you catch the tip of his cigarette, it feels like a beckoning call. The scent that had already drawn you in seeping exponentially, sticking to your nostrils as runaway spirals of smoke drifted towards you.

But that’s not what you’re focused on. You’re focused on Toby. Toby, as his cheeks hollow to take a drag. Toby, as smoke puffs out of the corners of his lips while he gets the ember on the tip to really heat up. Toby, as he watches you with eyes so dark it makes you shiver, smoke leaving his lips to curl upwards towards the ceiling in winding tendrils.

You weren’t religious, but you might just consider it now, so long as your worship was directed towards the absolute god sat below you. “Hah, you really d-do like it.” Toby snickers softly, using his right hand to pluck the cigarette from his lips so that he could speak properly. “You’ve pretty much g-got hearts in your eyes.” He ashes the cigarette right above you, and the ash falls - landing right against your bare thigh. “E-Ein bisschen krank, f-findest du nicht?”

You’d think he was trying to kill you. He knew. He knew that the sound of his mother tongue always hit a sweet spot within you. But right now, with his voice gravelly, low, and thickened by smoke? You might just pass out on top of him. “P-Pretty girl’s gonna drool over it.” He lets out a laugh that’s downright cruel, before taking in another lungful of smoke. “W-Wanna do something about th-that?”

Of course you do. You had been wanting to before he had even sparked up, the weight of his hardened cock beneath you making you feel dizzy. But, you were glad that you waited, because now you were going to get a show along with it. Maybe you should learn to just voice all of your deepest desires, because doing so seemed to always really work in your favour.

You nod, and before Toby can even blink you’re shimmying down his body. Spreading his thighs with your hands so that you can comfortably kneel between them. You’re happy that he’s dressed comfortably, because you barely even have to work to get him bare. No belt, no zipper, just a stretchy elastic waistband that you couldn’t get pulled down quick enough.

And oh he must’ve been at least expecting this, because you’re very pleased to find that he’s not wearing any underwear beneath. Just one tug and you find yourself face to face with his bare cock, looking just as glorious as when you had last laid eyes on it.

You considered yourself lucky to be with Toby for a multitude of reasons. His undying devotion, his charisma and charm, the sweet side that he only ever showed to you, the fact that he would literally die to protect you. All, lovely things, but you’d be lying if you said that his dick didn’t make the top three. To say that he was well endowed would be an understatement. Long enough that you really had to work to take him all, thick enough that the stretch left you brainless. Flushed the prettiest shade of pink at the tip. Curved just enough to perfectly hit your gspot every time he sunk into you.

It should be illegal, really, to have a dick like this just walking the streets. But with that arrogant nature of his, you probably should’ve expected it when you first met him. He knew what he had, and he just loved to watch you drool over it.

Which you did, and were doing right now. You could feel it pooling in the corners of your lips as you reached forwards, curling your fingers into a fist around the base of his cock. Feeling how incredibly hard he was, how he throbbed against your palm. Then your eyes flick upwards, and you feel lightheaded. Because he’s watching you. Watching you through half-lidded eyes, that damn cigarette perched between his lips as smoke puffs out of the gash in his cheek.

His hands had come up to rest behind his head. Getting real comfortable for the best show ever, his girl and her pretty lips stretching around him - struggling to take him all but trying to so earnestly. The look in his eyes, equal parts lust-filled and amused makes your cheeks burn, but the words he speaks next absolutely set you alight. “Hübsches Mädchen. I-Ich will dich schmutzig machen.”

A full body shiver makes your thighs tremble, and your chest feels tight as you dip your head down low. Giving a few kitten licks to the tip to get acquainted, unable to hold back the soft moan you let out when his precum meets your tastebuds. It’s stupid, how absolutely enamoured you were with every single part of him. So much so that you haven’t even touched yourself, but you can feel the wetness accumulating between your thighs as your lips wrap around him.

Sucking him into the velvety warmth of your mouth, dragging your tongue against the underside of his cock as you do so. Fresh out of the shower, he tastes so good. So clean and fresh, and so him. Drunk on it, you sink down as low as you can, only stopping when the tip starts nudging against your gag reflex. “F-Feels so good, baby. L-Love that mouth of yours.” If you needed encouragement, that sure did the trick. Low and strained with pleasure Toby’s voice meets your ears. Breathless, eyebrows pinching together as his lips part. The saliva coating his lips lets the filter of the cigarette stick to it, dangling from his mouth as he takes in gasping breaths of air.

His vision is hazy, but he can see you clear as day, even through the streams of smoke clouding his view. Propped up on your elbows between his thighs, eyebrows furrowed as you try to sink down lower, nails sinking into his hips as you relax your throat as much as you can. “D-Don’t hurt yourself. Y-You don’t gotta take it all.”

Like hell you don’t. Especially when he says that, cooed out in a tone of near pity. You would, and you could take all of him. You’ve done it successfully before, and he clearly needs a reminder of that fact.

You shoot him a look that very clearly conveys that sentiment - pure, unrefined determination - before you take the plunge. Taking one last quivering breath in through your nose, then forcing your head down lower. Fighting against your aching throat as you let him in completely - sinking all the way down, not stopping until you find yourself nuzzling into the patch of fuzz at the base. “Scheiße-“

Toby gasps so harshly that the cigarette really does fall from his lips this time, hitting his chest and dirtying his skin with ash. It is the absolute least of his problems right now though, and he struggles to pick it up with quivering fingers as you slowly begin to bob your head. “J-Jesus christ-“ He can’t stop his hips from twitching and bucking, and can’t help the way his toes curl when you drag your tongue against him the whole way up.

You were heavenly. Drooling all over him but it didn’t fucking matter, because the sound of you slurping it all back up was so filthy it made his blood simmer in his veins. So quickly, you had flipped the script on him, turning him into just as much of a mess as you were - maybe even more.

But that was… Debatable, because you were definitely falling apart. Your panties were damn near soaked by now, clinging to your folds as more and more slick dripped out of your aching cunt. You loved going down on Toby, you really did, and it showed. From the way you were shifting and pressing your thighs together, to the moans slipping out of your lungs and vibrating around him.

You just couldn’t get enough of it. The drag of his length against your throat, the ache in your jaw as you stretched your mouth open to take him all. The feeling of all that filth. All the saliva that you couldn’t swallow back, pooling around the base of his cock and dripping down his thighs. The tears welling up in your eyes as you teetered on the edge of your limit, before they were bursting free and rolling down your cheeks.

It was hard to breathe, hard to suck in gasps of air everytime you pulled your head up, because your nose was all stuffed up and snotty. It only got harder, when an acrid cloud of smoke consumed your vision.

Toby, the absolute marvel of a man, had just taken a deep drag, filling his lungs up to the brim completely - before blowing it all out, right at you. It made your eyes burn, springing forth more tears that joined your already overflowing collection. It filled your nose and made your lungs ache, but it was everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and you didn’t even have to ask him.

He just knew.

And it just spurred you on more. With thighs quivering and your neglected cunt throbbing within the confines of your panties, you were moaning around him with each nod of your head. Being taken higher and higher just from the taste of him on your tongue, the smell of him filling your lungs. He was all consuming, completely drowning you in stimulation on every front. It was working. You were so wound up by now you were convinced you’d cum if he did so much as lay a finger on you. “B-Baby, baby-“ You feel his hand atop your head, gentle but insistent, before his fingers curl into your hair and tug you upwards. He drags you up his cock, until your mouth is left empty and it’s hitting his stomach with a wet slap. “Keep goin’ like that a-and I won’t get to f-fuck you.”

He lets out a breathless chuckle, his eyes gleaming with nothing but adoration as he gazed down at you. You were a mess, just how he wanted you to be. Lips swollen and glossy, cheeks streaked with tears. Chin smeared with drool. And yet, you looked so beautiful. So, incredibly beautiful. Because you were his mess. “C’mon.” His hand drifts down lower, before he’s pinching your slick cheek between two fingers. “G-Get that ass up here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You barely even needed to be asked at all. You’re moving before he even really finishes talking. Crawling back up his body, hastily tugging down your shorts and panties as you do so. Your desperation is obvious, and it just makes Toby love you even more. “You’re such a s-slut.” He laughs softly once you’re straddling his hips once more, your visibly aroused, glistening pussy hovering right above his cock. And his words are harsh, but his tone is soft. Enamoured even. “All I had to do was smoke a c-cig and let you suck me off, and luh-look at you.”

With the hand not holding his cigarette, he reaches down lower. Sliding between your thighs to really feel the effect he had on you. Slickness coating his fingers the moment he made contact. “Fuckin’ dripping all over me.”

“Don’t be mean.” You whine softly, hips bucking when his fingers leave you just moments later. In the wake of that lack of contact, you drop your hips down lower - sliding your cunt against his spit-slick length, shivering at the feeling of him beneath you. You grind against him like that. Back and forth, back and forth, slotting his cock between your folds with each rock of your hips.

And it’s enough to stoke the flame within you. Enough for you to just get even wetter. ‘Dripping all over him’, as he had put so eloquently.

“N-Not being mean. Just telling the t-truth.” He catches his cigarette between his teeth once more, now smoked down almost all the way to the filter. Another spot of ash falls off the tip when he takes a drag, joining the little pile that had accumulated on his pecs. “You g-gonna keep teasing me?” He asks as your hips roll against him once more, a slow drag of your hips that makes his own buck up towards you. “C’mon baby, let me g-give it to you.”

“You ever heard of patience?” You ask him softly, but you do listen. Reaching down between the two of you to take hold of his cock once more, lining it up with your entrance before teasing swiping the tip through your slick.

“Not with you.” Toby answers back almost immediately, before taking that last final drag off of his smoke. He plucks it from his lips and observes it for a second, before his gaze flickers back over to you. You can see the thought brew before he even moves next. But then he does, bringing the butt of the cigarette close to you. Closer. Close enough you can feel the heat on the still smouldering ember. Then, it touches you.

Presses into you. Right into your shoulder as it sizzles against your skin. Toby watches with a keen interest. How the smoke dissipates. How you tense up and falter where your hips hover over his. How your whole face scrunches up in pain from the feeling of his cigarette snuffing out against you - but most of all, how you don’t pull away. How you just take it. Lean into it, actually. Melting into his touch when he flicks the smoke away and wipes the ash from your skin.

The mark it leaves behind, a red angry little burn mark, is so beautiful to him that it makes his stomach twist.

Almost as much as when you start sinking down onto him. Spurred by the heat that burn had sunk into your bones, your hips lower. Not prepped even a little bit, but you don’t care - even if it’s a tough task to bear. “W-Woah, take it easy baby.” Toby has to gasp out, his hands flying down to grip your hips and slow your movements. “Take it slow, a-alright? I’m here all night.”

You knew he was right. Just a few inches in and your thighs were already shaking, your whole body quivering from the feeling of him stretching you open around him. He was almost too much to take. Almost. Easier on a night when he had fingered you open first, but you were too impatient for that today.

So instead, you reach up to grasp at his shoulders, nails digging into the muscles as you listened to what he said - and took it slow. Gently rocking your hips downwards. Revelling in the stretch with each inch he sunk into you. Giving yourself a moment to adjust before you let yourself take more. More, more, drooling all over him as your welcoming cunt swallowed him up - your jaw going slack the deeper that he got. “There you go. A-Always take me so well.”

Toby’s hands rub your hips soothingly, not rushing you, just encouraging you gently as you dropped down lower and lower. Holding back the need to buck up into you, even as his teeth grit from how fucking tight you were. Wrapping around him like a glove, this hot, velvety warmth that made his mind go blank. You were so perfect. He’d go as far to say that you were moulded to him, because it sure as hell felt like it. Your pussy was heaven on earth, and he’d swear it just got better every time he got the blessing of indulging in it.

It takes a considerable amount of time for you to finally take him all, but once you do, it’s euphoric. Your hips meet his and you melt - crumpling against his chest from the feeling of him nestled so deep inside you. Throbbing inside you. The head of his cock just barely kissing your cervix, filling you up to the brim. “O-Oh, there it is.” His arms come up to wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he gives you a moment to just feel it. Just feel him, right where he’s supposed to be. “So fuckin’ good.” His lips brush against your ear as he nuzzles into your hair, breathing quivering on exhale.

It’s hard not to just grip your waist and just start pounding up into you, but he knows you need a moment - so he gives it to you. Feeling how you tremble against his chest as your pussy twitches around him. Slowly, but surely, relaxing. “G-Gonna let me fuck you good?” He asks, once he’s sure you’re ready for it - able to feel how your cunt eased up around him. Still tight as a glove, but less tense. “I won’t make you do a th-thing.”

And that sounds lovely. So, you nod. Letting out a little whimper of agreement that meets his ears and immediately snaps whatever control he had been clinging on to.

You give him permission, and he takes it immediately. With arms around you, he pulls your body upwards, groaning into your neck at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. It was too good. Too good, and he had barely even started yet. “D-Du fühlst dich himmlisch.”

And once he’s sure you’re ready for it? When just the tip remains enveloped in your heat, but you’re whining for more - gasping against his neck for him to just give it to you? He delivers exactly what he said he would. He fucks you good. While barely letting you do a damn thing.

You don’t need to. His strong arms cradle you, bouncing you on his lap to a pace that makes your knees go weak. Slumped against him weakly, moaning desperately into the crook of his shoulder with each drop of your hips. Because he was everything. He left absolutely nothing to be desired, with the way each stroke left you breathless. With the way each thrust in made you gush around him even more.

He was gentle with it at first. As gentle as he could be. Rolling your hips up and down, up and down, slow enough to get you used to it, but with enough fervour to have you drooling for more.

“T-Toby-“ You gasp against his shoulder, barely even able to get his name out between moans with how delicious the drag of his cock was against your quivering walls. You had been so pent up already. So close to the edge just from tasting him, that lasting long enough to keep up with him was laughable at best. That heat within you was boiling over now. Consuming you completely as you clawed at his shoulders and sobbed against his neck.

You could feel him so deep it made your eyes roll back. So deep, you knew you’d be feeling him for days after this. But he just kept bucking into you, kept pulling your hips down to meet him, fucking up into you like he owned the cunt he was abusing. Because he did, and you both knew it.

“A-Ah, you’re gonna cum for me already, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice rough and gravelly against your ear - his once clean skin slick with sweat as it slid against yours. “G-Gettin’ so tight for me.” With one hand on your waist and one sliding up to grasp your hair, he plays your body like a fiddle. Moving you against him so perfectly, hitting that sweet spot within you on each stroke in. “Let me f-feel it, pretty girl.”

And how could you deny him? How could you even attempt to, when you could barely breathe from the intensity of your pleasure? So, just moments after he asks you to, you follow the command in stride.

The intensity of your orgasm is blinding. Makes your vision damn near go white as you absolutely crumble against him - your cunt pulsing around him through his never faltering thrusts, squeezing him so tight it makes him let out a hiss through his teeth. His nails bite into your hips, sinking in so deep there will probably (definitely) be bruises by the morning, but he doesn’t care - and you definitely don’t either.

How could you? You could barely think. Not when he gave you not a second of reprieve, just fucking you through your release with thrusts that make your whole body buzz. You can feel yourself just soaking him even more, the slickness of your fluids dirtying both of you and causing a filthy sound of stickiness every time his hips separated from yours. “F-Fuck-“

If you thought Toby was fucking you good before, the moment that your coil snapped and left your pussy spasming around him - whatever last vestiges of control he had been holding onto were gone. Completely thrown to the wind.

Now, with you all pliant and shaky on top of him, he was bouncing you on his lap like a doll. Drilling his cock up into you, sinking in to the hilt on every brutal thrust. Getting himself buried balls deep in the absolute heaven that was your cunt. So warm and wet he could fucking drool over it. The sound of skin on skin so loud it echoed off of your bedroom walls.

The once clean sheets? Sullied. Toby’s freshly washed skin? Dirtied and coated with a sheen on sweat and slickness. “Shoulda-“ His words cut off into a moan that’s muffled into your neck, an absolutely guttural sound. “Shoulda t-told me you luh-liked me smoking before.” And he’s panting against you. Heavy huffs of breath against your neck, littered with husky grunts and groans. “C-Coulda been fucking you like this a-ages ago.”

And you know he’s right, but better late than never, right? You can still feel the burn he placed upon you - stinging more and more with all the sweat accumulating on your skin - and you loved it. It was just one more intense sensation to add to the absolute heap of ecstasy you were being drowned in. “God, I just-“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because before he can he’s flipping the script. Sitting up then pushing you backwards - pinning you to the sheets without ever letting his cock slip out of you. And like this, he absolutely owns you. Lifting your legs until they’re slung over his shoulders, never once faltering in the absolutely brutal thrusts he was dealing upon you. Fucking out more wetness from you with each press in, this new angle getting him so deep it sprung tears to your eyes. “So good-“ His hands slip down and around to splay against each of your ass cheeks, spreading you apart even wider for his taking. “And ss-so fucking pretty, god-“

He was absolutely intoxicated by you. His mind turned to nothing but mush that sloshed around in his skull. A teeming pool of desire, saturated completely with thoughts of you. “You g-gonna let me fill you up?” He gasps against you, sweat dripping off of his hair and smearing against your skin. “G-Gonna let me get this pussy f-full of me?”

“Uh huh-“ You hiccup out, your whole body jolting from the force of each thrust he gave you. So sensitive that you were already beginning to twitch around him again, and the idea of him pumping you full of his cum? Yeah, that just took you higher. Just got you wetter. Just got you closer to a second release. “Give- Give it to me Toby, please.”

God, how did he get so lucky? How did he, a literal serial killer, land a woman so perfect it hurt? A woman so beautiful it made his chest ache? A woman who, was currently begging for his cum with tears in her eyes. Maybe, karma didn’t exist. It sure didn’t feel like it did right now.

“Scheiße-“ He hisses out, and he really only doubles his efforts from there. Feeling you starting to twitch around him and wanting to get you there again. Wanting to cum to the feeling of your pussy milking his cock like it was its job. “So eine d-dreckige Schlampe. Und du gehörst g-ganz mir.”

His right hand slips upwards, and it only takes a few tight circles rubbed against your clit before you’re coming apart for the second time.

And when you come apart, so does he. The tightness of your cunt nearly suffocates him, and he’s barely even able to continue thrusting into you - instead just rutting against you. Grinding his cock against the walls of your convulsing pussy until he’s falling apart right alongside you.

Toby cums with a long, drawn out groan against your neck. Lips dragging against your skin, hips stuttering as he empties his spend right up against your womb. Pumping it into you with lazily thrusts that leave you whimpering, cheeks heating up when you feel it gush out around you and drip down your thighs.

It’s a lot. You can tell it is. That warmth that flooded your cunt, stuffing you fuller than you already had been. And you love it. So much so, that when he tries to pull out you let out a whine - nails digging into his shoulders with a pout on your lips. “A-Alright, alright.” Toby chuckles breathlessly, choosing instead to just wrap his arms around you and pull you in close, even as his cock starts to soften inside you. “Fuck, you j-just get better every time, you know that?”

“Says you.” You murmur breathlessly, your voice strained and raspy - so raw from the cacophony of moans and sobs that had left your lungs. You sink into him easily, revelling in the feeling of his bare skin against yours. In the feeling of his seed dripping out of you - joining the mess that had already accumulated on the sheets beneath you.

“Mm, you’re j-just sayin’ that because I indulged in your sick little f-fantasies.” He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your neck. You can feel his hair tickle your skin, can feel his stubble scratch against you - and you can smell him. That musky smell of sweat and smoke. It’s almost enough to get you going all over again.

“Maybe.” You agree with a soft giggle. “But my point still stands.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You can’t see it, but you just know Toby’s rolling his eyes. Rightfully so, to be honest. “Next time, I’ll put out my c-cig on your tongue.”

And that, is a threat you can’t wait for.

—————————————————————————☆

okay! more filthy toby smut!

this was yummy lols thank you to my lovely anon for making this happen

thank you for reading!!

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meazalykov · 3 months ago

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crashout

parentalfigure!pernille harder x parentalfigure!magdalena erikkson x f!reader

warnings: swearing. mutual aggression with reader and opponent player. reader is intended to be between 17-20 years old. platonic fic!!!

sprinting across the pitch, the mia san mia in the crowd blasts into your ears, the 24/25 red kit sticks to your skin as sweat beads down your forehead. the red feels like a second skin at this point, a far cry from the blue you wore just over a season ago at chelsea.

london is a memory now… you’d packed your bags and traded it for munich’s crisp air before pernille made her own move herself. you beat her here by a year, a decision that felt right even if it meant leaving behind the familiarity of everything.

pernille’s been your anchor through it all. she’s more than a teammate…she’s the closest thing you’ve got to family or a parent figure. growing up, you didn’t have much of that. neglect left its mark, hollowed out spaces where parents should’ve been, and it’s shaped you in ways you don’t always like to admit.

emotionally, you’re a bit of a mess. you seem quick to flare, slow to settle. however, pernille’s steady. she’s got this quiet strength, a way of looking at you that makes you feel seen without being judged. you call her your parental figure, and she’s never shied away from the role.

also there’s magda, her partner, who’s just as much a part of your life now. you live next door to them in a cozy munich suburb, and magda’s warmth with her dry humor and gentle nudges has earned her a spot as another motherly presence.

still, it’s pernille you’re tighter with, the one you turn to when the world feels like it is too much.

every night, you’re at their place and having dinner together is an every evening occurance with pernille stirring something on the stove, magda setting the table, you sprawled on their couch like it’s your own. they’ve built a home around you, filled the gaps your childhood left behind.

today, it’s not about quiet evenings or shared meals. it’s wolfsburg, a match that’s got your pulse hammering from the first whistle.

hours before the stakes were high and the tackles were brutal. bayern was losing 1-0 and you were already on edge, frustration simmering beneath your skin. sometime right after the second half, lynn from wolfsburg catches you with a late challenge.

you stumble, boots skidding, and whip around to face her. she mutters something under her breath…the dutch word for stupid slicing through the noise.

you’re not fluent, but you’ve picked up enough from teammates and travels to know exactly what she said.

you knew she called you stupid from the look on her face. the dam breaks in that same moment. you storm toward her, chest heaving, and unleash a barrage of curses…english, german, a chaotic mix of whatever spills out in the heat of the moment.

your voice is sharp, venomous, cutting through the damp air as you close the distance between you. lynn’s eyes flash with surprise, then defiance, but before she can snap back, the pitch explodes into chaos.

teammates and opponents swarm in, shouts overlapping as hands from pernille and glodis grab at your arms, and your shoulders pulling you away. you’re still yelling, words tumbling out in a furious blur, when pernille’s voice cuts through like a blade.

“stop it, right now!” she says, her grip on your elbow unyielding. pernille’s tone’s not loud, but it’s heavy, serious in a way that makes your stomach twist. you shake your head, muttering under your breath, and wrench yourself free, stalking back to your position.

the ref’s already got the yellow card out, waving it in your face. you barely glance at it.

whatever.

the whistle blows later, and luckily you guys won 2-1 but you’re still pissed, pacing the locker room, boots scuffing the floor as you replay the clash in your head. pernille catches your eye across the room, her expression unreadable.

“we’ll talk at home,” she says simply, and you didn’t argue.

you know it’s coming.

many hours later, you’re still slouched on their couch, the familiar scent of magda’s cooking lingering in the air even though dinner’s long over. magda’s beside you, her presence a quiet comfort, her knee brushing yours as she scrolls through her phone.

pernille’s standing, arms crossed, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. she’s not mad, not exactly, but there’s a weight to her gaze that makes you shift uncomfortably.

“why’d you get so upset out there y/n?” she asks, her voice calm but direct, like she’s peeling back layers to get at the truth.

you shrug, staring at the floor.

“we were down 1-0. i was already pissed off. she was there, running her mouth. i had to let it out and put her in her place.” your words come out rough, still laced with that lingering heat.

pernille tilts her head, studying you.

“it’s football,” she says.

“things get heated. words get thrown around. but you don’t need to go off like that… cussing her out and somehow making it personal.” you scoff, rolling your eyes, the defiance bubbling up again.

“she did it first and called me stupid.”

“she said it in dutch,” pernille points out, stepping closer.

“she didn’t think you’d even understand. and since when do you know dutch anyway?” her brow arches, curious, but you dodge the question, jutting your chin out instead.

“doesn’t matter. she meant it and i felt it.”

magda sets her phone down, her voice softer as she chimes in.

“still doesn’t mean you have to match her fire with your own. you’re better than that.” you glance at her, her steady brown eyes meeting yours, and something in you softens, just a little. pernille nods, picking up the thread.

“you’ve got to control it,” she says.

“not every fight is worth picking. that yellow card is a warning. learn from it and don’t be stupid in the next game, yeah?”

you lean back, arms crossed, the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

“lynn started it,” you mutter, stubborn.

pernille sighs, crouching down so she’s at your level, her hands resting on her knees.

“maybe she did but you took it further and you know that you did not need to. you’re stronger than that…on the pitch, off it. you’ve got us to lean on, you know that.”

the room goes quiet, the weight of her words settling over you. magda reaches over, squeezes your shoulder lightly.

“we’ve all been there,” she says.

“losing your head’s easy but keeping it’s the hard part.”

you exhale, long and slow, the fight draining out of you bit by bit. pernille’s right…magda too.

you know it, even if it’s hard to swallow.

“fine,” you say finally, voice low.

“lesson learned. yes including the yellow card and all.”

pernille smiles, small but genuine, and straightens up.

“good. we’re settled then.” she moves to sit on the armrest of the couch, close enough that you feel her presence like a tether. magda nudges you with her elbow, a silent check-in, and you nod.

the anger’s still there. it is a faint ember, but it’s fading.

masterlist

#pernille harder #pernille harder x reader #platonic fanfic #bayern frauen #fc bayern women #fc bayern munich #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #magdalena eriksson #magdalena eriksson x reader #lynn wilms

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reminiscingtonight · 11 months ago

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You Should Talk

Georgia Stanway x Reader

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Inspired by the one and only Fletcher song

[WOSO Masterlist]

The room falls silent the second the door slams shut behind you.

An uncomfortable tension settles as you breathe out noisily through your nose.

It’s hard to temper the anger simmering in your veins, your glare sharp enough to shake even those who have attempted to stay on the sidelines.

“Out. All of you,” you bite out, eyes never leaving your target.

Georgia glares back, raising her chin just a bit back in challenge.

Your hackles rise on instinct, eyes flashing dangerously when no one moves.

“I said leave.”

Clothes are shoved haphazardly into bags as the last stragglers shoot out behind you, none of the girls daring to meet your eyes as they escape to safety.

The benefits of being one of the last ones to the locker room generally meant less girls hanging around while you get your things together. A downside is catching conversations that clearly weren’t meant for your own ears.

Keira pauses awkwardly in front of you, grimacing when you stare right through her, eyes never leaving Georgia’s. “Sorry. Don’t take it out too much on her. You know how she is when she’s unhappy.”

Sometimes you love how caring Keira is. How she’s always driven to mediate and fix things even if she’s not involved.

Today’s not one of those days.

Keira sighs when you don’t acknowledge her, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Georgia before slipping out behind you

You barely wait for the door to click shut before you’re stalking forward.

It’s no surprise that everything’s led to this. From the moment camp started things have been frosty. Leah and Keira have been doing their best to keep you two separate, nothing good ever coming out of a volatile break up. But that didn’t stop the snide comments, the muttered insults. Everywhere you turned it was like Georgia was there with her prickly tongue, each word cutting as much as the last.

The last straw were those words you heard her complaining to Keira just mere seconds ago.

“You're one to talk, Stanway. I’m the insane one?"

Georgia rolls her eyes, arms crossing in front of her.

“I’m the one who ruins everything? Tell me how exactly me wanting to spend time with my girlfriend ruins things.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“No I apparently don’t! Because why am I the insane one for being upset that you never wanted to spend time with me?”

Georgia scoffs, pushing up to meet your fire with fire. “I play in Germany! It’s not like I could pop over for an hour every time you wanted to see me!”

“Oh my god, that’s not what I meant and you know that.” You press an accusatory finger against her chest, making sure to add pressure every time Georgia tries to brush your hand aside. “All I wanted was more effort. You want to tell me how many video dates you blew off so you could be out with your German friends? Or how many times you canceled plans to come home so you could jet off somewhere else?”

“Well I’m sorry for actually having a life. When you have a girlfriend who spends her time bitching at you about everything she thinks you’re doing wrong you’d skip out on calls too.”

“Oh fuck you!”

“You wish!” Georgia shouts back.

Though you scrub angrily at your face, you’re not fast enough to hide the evidence of just how hard Georgia’s words have hurt you. Georgia’s face flickers a bit, her brash demeanor softening a bit when she catches the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Unable to stop the stinging in your eyes, you push past her to your locker before she can say anything else. If Georgia wants to act like you’re the worst person to ever walk the earth you’ll just have to do the exact same.

In the back of your anger hazed brain, you register the way Georgia lingers. She headed for the door the second you started shoving your clothes into your bag, neither of you wanting to spend more time arguing about how much you hated the other, but for some reason she just hasn’t left yet.

You throw your bag over your shoulder, rolling your eyes when you spot Georgia uselessly tugging at the door. “What are you doing? Just open it.”

“You think I’m trying to spend more time than necessary with you?” she shoots back. “This bloody door just won’t open.”

“What do you mean it won’t open?”

“What else could I mean?” Georgia scoffs before banging on the door again. “Hello? Can anyone hear us? We’re trapped in here!”

“Clearly no one can hear us otherwise we wouldn’t be locked in here.”

“Great. Just fucking great,” Georgia mutters before sliding down onto the floor. Might as well get comfortable if you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future.

“Being locked in a room with your ex girlfriend that miserable of an act for you?” you can’t help but laugh bitterly.

“You broke up with me,” she grits out, purposefully not looking your way.

You roll your eyes. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a child all camp? Because I broke up with you?”

If you cared more about your own personal safety and peace of mind you should maybe do a better job of keeping your mouth shut. Because the way Georgia’s nearly snapping her teeth at you tells you just exactly how endearing she finds the lip you’re giving her. But you're too far gone to care at this point, wanting Georgia to feel nothing if just a piece of how you've been feeling these past couple months.

Georgia scoffs but you cut her off before she can say another word.

“No, you listen to me, Georgia. I broke up with you because you gave up first. You clearly wanted an out so I gave it to you.”

“Don’t do that!” she snaps. “Don’t blame it all on me. It takes two to fuck things up.”

“Don’t give me that ‘woe is me’ crap. You gave up long before I did and you know it.”

“What did you want me to do? You kept pestering me about your mum and then you showed up where I work to fight about it! How am I the bad guy here? You’re the insane one for doing that!”

“For the last time, I didn’t go to Bayern to fight with you, you self-centered asshole!” You throw your hands up in frustration. What you really wanted to do was throw your boots at her, but the thought of having to help Georgia stop any bleeding if you actually made contact was the only thing stopping you from doing so. “I was touring the training grounds because they offered me a contract. I wanted to check it out before making any decisions.”

The day you landed in Germany still haunts you. You traveled straight from the Colney to the airport to Bayern’s practice grounds. It was only ever supposed to be a quick trip. Explore the training facility, talk with a few of the execs, maybe surprise Georgia with a quick dinner before returning to London.

What you didn’t expect was to run right into your girlfriend after making your first loop around the area.

Georgia was elated at first, but you could spot the apprehension settle in just as quick. Making your excuses she had grabbed your wrist and dragged you into a deserted room.

Accusations were thrown.

“Are you seriously here to lecture me in person about missing your mum’s birthday next week?”

“What’s so wrong with me being here? Got a secret girlfriend you’re trying to hide?”

Old wounds were rehashed.

“Stop being so bloody insecure!”

“Quit being such an attention whore then!”

By the time you left it was with a broken heart, a broken relationship, and a newfound resolve to stay the hell out of Germany. The national team was something you couldn’t, and wouldn’t, get out of, but spending everyday playing club level with your ex was something you’d never do.

When your words sink in, Georgia freezes. Her mouth drops open, face one of surprise and conflicted regret. “I didn’t-- You… No one told me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you mutter, picking at a thread on your sweater. “So much for that.”

The bad times were bad, you won’t deny it. Both you and Georgia are hotheaded enough that arguments weren’t rare to come around. You always end up resolving them, but frustrations about being so far away from each other mixed with emotions neither of you could adequately express bubbled over until you called it quits.

Yeah, maybe you should’ve tried harder, but in the end you were just too defeated to do so.

Although things crashed and burned horrifically, however, you couldn’t deny how much you still loved her. There would always be a part of you that belonged to Georgia, no matter how infuriating you found her.

You’ve known each other since you were children, the relationship something everyone expected to happen. Everyone always joked about the two of you dating when you were younger, the affection you had for each other always superseding those of regular friends. When Georgia asked you out in the middle of the night during one of your youth camps, you couldn’t help but say yes.

For years the two of you made the distance work. Georgia was always in and around the Manchester area while you were in London yourself. You always made sure to carve out enough time to still travel to see one another, quality time important to the two of you.

So no, distance wasn’t something new to your relationship. But for some reason the distance between England and Germany proved to be too much for the two of you to bear.

Germany was something you could never take away from Georgia. From the moment she told you about Bayern’s offer, you knew she was going to accept it. It was something you knew Georgia has always wanted to do, play in a new league, experience a different environment. And of course you were happy for her. You’d never be anything less than proud of everything your girlfriend has achieved. But if you had known just how badly the move would’ve messed up your relationship maybe you would’ve tried harder to convince her to stay.

So who knows, maybe in another universe the two of you made the distance work. Maybe you brought up the things that bugged you before they turned into something bigger than it was. Maybe you made the move to Germany and the two of you lived happily ever after.

But this is here and now, and there’s no denying how much Georgia’s hurt you (and how much you’ve hurt her back).

“You’re an asshole, Georgia Stanway.”

Georgia sighs, shutting her eyes as she lets her head thump against the locker behind her. It’s a thump of defeat, one that tells you everything you need to know about how much Georgia wished she did things differently. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You’re silent for a moment as you take her in. It’s hard to miss the bags under her eyes, the barely existent chewed down nails, the minute details that showed just how much Georgia’s been hurting too.

You let your head thump backward too.

“I’m sorry too.”

When the doors are unlocked hours later, Leah finally having enough mind to read her texts and discover the lock-in, she’s expecting nothing short of carnage. What she sees instead is the two of you asleep, your head on Georgia’s shoulder as your hands stay clasped together.

#georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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nef-ar10us · 1 year ago

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And Olive Specter's last name is 'Speck' (which translates to 'bacon'). 😐 Because the first syllable of Specter sounds similar, I suppose. Zero respect for the excellent Maxis punnery going on

i want you all to know that Oberon's name is Norbert in the German localization

#it's high time German simmers get the recognition we deserve for putting up with this for years lol

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bitchinbarzal · 3 months ago

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Verlangen | N Hischier

The hotel suite is bathed in dim, golden light, the skyline of New York glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air is thick with the lingering scent of expensive cologne and fine wine, the kind of atmosphere that makes everything feel heavier—more charged.

Nico stands near the minibar, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone just enough to tease the sharp lines of his collarbone. His fingers toy with the rim of a half-finished glass of whiskey, but his eyes—dark, smoldering—are locked on you.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice low, rich with something dangerous, “and I might start thinking you want something.”

You smirk, slow and knowing, settling against the sleek marble countertop. “Maybe I do.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, but beneath it, something deeper—a simmering heat, barely restrained. He moves toward you with deliberate slowness, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly what he does to you.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t touch—not yet. Instead, he leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the faint scent of whiskey on his breath. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, but there’s no kiss—just the ghost of a promise.

“Nächer rucke,” he murmurs, the Swiss German rolling off his tongue like silk. Move closer.

Your breath catches, and before you can even process it, you obey. It’s instinct.

The moment you do, his hands find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you flush against him. The contrast between the crisp fabric of his shirt and the heat of his body sends a shiver down your spine.

“See,” he muses, voice velvet-soft but laced with hunger, “I knew you wanted something.”

He tilts your chin up with the slightest pressure of his fingers, forcing your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes is enough to make your knees weak, to make you forget every clever retort you might have had.

Then, finally, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not soft.

It’s a slow, devastating claim—one that speaks of control, of pent-up tension unraveling all at once. His lips move against yours with precision, teasing, coaxing, but never giving too much too soon. He takes his time, savoring every stolen breath, every slight whimper you make against his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to let you catch your breath, his thumb brushes along your lower lip, his voice a dark whisper.

“Tell me, Liebling,” he breathes, fingers tightening at your waist, “how badly do you want me?”

And with the way his lips ghost along your jaw, the way his body presses into yours, you already know—tonight, he’s going to make you beg for it.

The answer is obvious, written in the way your breath stutters, in the way your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. But Nico isn’t the kind of man who settles for silence—he wants to hear it, to feel the words spill from your lips like a confession.

His thumb traces along your jaw, tilting your face up as he watches you with dark, knowing eyes. “Say it,” he murmurs, his voice laced with quiet demand. “I want to hear you say it.”

Your pulse hammers, your body caught between his warmth and the cool marble of the countertop. There’s something intoxicating about the way he holds you, the way he makes you feel both powerless and worshipped in the same breath.

“I want you,” you whisper, but it’s not enough for him.

Nico hums, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His hand slides down, fingers teasing along the fabric at your hip, his grip firm but measured. “I think you can do better than that.”

The bastard is toying with you, dragging this out like he has all the time in the world. And maybe he does—maybe this is the game he likes to play. Drawing out the tension until it’s unbearable, until you’re unraveling for him piece by piece.

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and need. You tilt your head, lips brushing just barely against his—taunting, testing. “I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

A low growl vibrates from his chest, and suddenly, his patience is gone. His hands grip your waist, lifting you onto the cool marble countertop as his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that is all hunger and possession.

His tongue sweeps against yours, claiming, teasing, taking. One hand slides up your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing even through the fabric of your dress. He groans when you press closer, when your fingers tangle into his dark hair, pulling just enough to make him hiss against your lips.

“Schön,” he murmurs between kisses, the Swiss German sending a shiver down your spine. Beautiful.

You barely have time to react before his lips leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He takes his time, savoring every little reaction, every shudder and sigh.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His fingers trace along the hem of your dress, teasing, waiting for permission.

You don’t hesitate. Your hands find his belt, tugging him flush against you, and the groan he lets out is pure sin.

“Nico,” you breathe, half a plea, half a demand.

He leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to ruin you tonight, Liebling,” he whispers, his voice dark and full of promise. “And you’re going to love every second of it.”

And with the way his hands grip your thighs, the way his mouth moves against yours like he never wants to stop, you already know—he’s right.

The air between you is charged, thick with anticipation and something darker—something dangerously intoxicating. Nico’s body is pressed against yours, his breath warm against your neck, his hands gripping your thighs as if he can’t stand even an inch of distance between you.

He tugs at the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath, teasing but never giving in just yet. His control is maddening, his patience agonizing. He’s savoring this, drawing out every little moment, every gasp, every tremble of your body beneath his touch.

“Nico,” you whisper, barely holding onto your composure, and that’s exactly what he wants.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice low, deep, filled with something dark and possessive. “You’re impatient tonight, hmm?”

You let out a shaky breath as he trails slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His tongue flicks over your pulse, and he groans softly when he feels the way it races beneath his lips.

“Tell me what you want, Liebling,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher.

You grip his shirt, nails digging in just enough to make him suck in a breath. “I want you.”

That earns you a smirk, his fingers tightening at your waist as he pulls you to the very edge of the countertop, making sure you feel just how much he wants you, too.

“You have me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, but it’s not enough—it’s never enough.

Then, in one swift movement, he lifts you off the countertop, his hands strong and sure as he carries you across the room. There’s something primal in the way he moves, in the way his lips never leave your skin, pressing fevered kisses along your collarbone, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The next thing you know, your back hits the plush sheets, Nico hovering above you, his gaze dark and hungry. He takes a moment, just looking at you, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip, his expression unreadable.

“You have no idea what you do to me” he murmurs, almost more to himself than to you.

You reach for him, pulling him down until your lips crash together once more, all heat and desperation. His weight presses into you, his hands exploring, teasing, driving you insane with every slow, deliberate touch.

Then, just as you’re about to beg for more, he pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes burning into yours.

“You’re mine tonight,” he whispers, his voice dark, filled with promise. “And I’m going to take my time proving it.”

And when his lips trail lower, when his hands slide beneath your dress with agonizing slowness, you know—Nico Hischier is a man who always keeps his promises.

Nico's hands are everywhere-sliding up your thighs, tracing the curve of your waist, teasing over the fabric of your dress with agonizing patience. He's drawing this out, savoring every second like he has all the time in the world.

"Nico” you whisper, a breathy plea that makes him groan low in his throat.

He leans down, lips ghosting over yours but not quite giving you what you want. "Tell me," he murmurs, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric at your hip. "What do you need, Liebling?"

"You," you breathe, nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."

That's all it takes.

In one swift motion, he peels away the last barrier between you, his body pressing against yours, bare skin meeting bare skin. His breath is heavy, his hands firm as he pins you beneath him, dark eyes drinking in every inch of you.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, over the swell of your chest, before his mouth finally claims you in a way that steals every thought from your mind.

He takes his time, his hands slow and deliberate as they map every inch of your body, his lips worshipping you with the kind of reverence that leaves you breathless.

Every kiss, every touch, every whispered word in Swiss German makes you unravel, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but pure, dizzying pleasure.

When he finally pushes into you, the world tilts, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he fills you, as he stretches you in the most devastating way. Nico groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his hands gripping your hips with barely restrained control.

"Scheisse" he breathes, his voice ragged "You feel-"

He doesn't finish the sentence, too lost in the way you move against him, in the way your body clings to his.

He sets a slow, torturous rhythm, each thrust deliberate, each movement designed to pull the most sinful sounds from your lips.

The way he whispers your name, the way he looks at you-like you're the only thing that has ever mattered- it's almost too much. And when he finally loses control, when his movements turn desperate and wild, when he growls your name like a prayer, you come undone beneath him, your body trembling as you fall apart together.

Afterward, he doesn't let you go. He keeps you close, his body still tangled with yours, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder.

"Mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice drowsy, possessive.

And with the way his arms tighten around you, the way his heartbeat steadies against your own, you know-tonight, and every night after, you belong to him.

#nhl imagine #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine

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quandledlngle69 · 4 months ago

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pretty please with whipped cream, a cherry ontop and rainbow sprinkles make me a kasier x reader where hes just totally whipped for the reader no explanation needed he just has his head on readers lap while looking up at them with humenigimornous giant puppy eyes and love hdhsksmhdkdhzhs

ur writing is so fire also pls dont explode

・. ★ Yes anon with whipped cream, a cherry ontop and rainbow sprinkles, i will do this for you :3 I promise i won't explode LMFAOOOOO

☆ CONTENT: domestic moments with Kaiser <3 ☆ GENRE/THEMES/WARNING: Just fluff and Kaiser daydreaming about you, and mentions of kaisers vulnerability. 'schatzi' – Sweetheart / darling. ☆ W.C. 0.7K

Kaiser will never admit it verbally, but he craves the small, domestic moments that he has reserved with you.

And every single time, he’d grasp the moment like a thread of a ribbon weaving through his fingers, soaking everything in like a sponge in water, his eyes forcing his mind to remember every visual detail, for his body to memorise every touch, and for his nose to tie a certain scent that grounds him so much–into something familiar, that reminds him of the home he never had.

The early morning sun poured itself directly on the end of the couch, a random German host show in the background, almost white noise to him. His glasses were boxed up neatly on the round wooden table next to the arm of the couch, a pink steaming coffee mug next to it.

He memorised it all–the way your manicured nails scratched his scalp that made euphoric goosebumps break out on the surface of his skin, the way he would always groan quietly when your thumbs danced themselves behind his ears, massaging an invisible pattern of circles. His head was laid on your bare thighs, turned away from the TV, his nose barely brushing where your belly button would be. He was only in sweatpants, his legs stretched out and hanging over the other arm of the couch, the warmth of the sun melting into the bare skin of his upper body. His hands clung fistfuls of fabric of the oversized shirt you wore–his shirt. Your mind seemed so invested in what was on the TV, he could see it on your sun–kissed features, your squinted eyes studying the pixelated screen, your eyebrows furrowed just a little, and your lips parted in concentration.

His eyes always softened when gazing at you, you noticed.

To others, they were a storm of cerulean, a swirling tropical cyclone no one could control. But you–you were the moon to his dark sea, the one that guided him, that made sure the baby waves never grew bigger than that when you were around.

The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted in the air, the tray settled nicely on the open window ledge to cool down, the open air leaving a simmering sound of the city of Berlin below. There was always a twinkle in your eyes, qualified and restricted just for him and no one else. His past self would never believe he had gotten this lucky to grab your attention. He would thank any God–if there was one–how lucky he was to be able to see you, feel you, touch you, breathe you.

“Mihya?” You hummed, interrupting his ceaseless daydreaming. Your honeyed voice a hushed melody to his ears as your head tilted down to peek at him, your knuckle brushing his cheek. “You okay? I can tell your mind’s wandering.”

His lips parted slowly, as if to say something, but nothing escaped from them. Hell–he didn’t know where to start. He wanted to tell you how you took his breath away, as if something was squeezing his lungs. How the sun rays marked and enhanced each curve and shape of your facial features, a face that renaissance sculptors would fight to be able to sculpt, that would be placed in a museum for centuries to come, he thinks. How he always internally thought love was a dead and long buried concept for him, until you got a shovel and dug it right out, shoving it back in his arms.

How he could comfortably be vulnerable, how he didn’t have to think around you, his mind never on edge or racing. Your mere presence a soothing balm to his soul. He wants to tell you how he could stare at you all day and never find a flaw, that the many girls before you that had tried and failed to get his fragile heart were faceless to him. How when he went to get a bouquet for you in some fancy florist shop for your anniversary, the owner mindlessly told him how complementary marigolds are with roses, and all he thought of was you.

But all he did was finally hum back in agreement, his cheek nuzzling in your open palm, lightly kissing it as his sun–lit blues focused in on your face. “Just admiring my pretty girl, schatzi.”

You beamed, his heart racing at the familiar sight of your cheeks puffing to accommodate your gorgeous smile, and the way your face flushed slightly whenever he complimented you. A giggle bubbled from your throat, teasingly calling him sappy, hands ruffling through his bedhead, but he didn’t even care.

He wouldn't mind being called sappy a million times if it meant he could witness your smile.

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ stardustmail #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ seaglasskisses #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ light!lock #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ milkywaywhispers #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #micheal kaiser x reader #micheal kaiser #kaiser x reader #bllk kaiser #anon ask #anonymous #thanks anon!#anons welcome #ask

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gloomwitchwrites · 6 months ago

Text

Ink & Needle // Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tattoo Artist Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, trauma, therapy, unprotected piv, oral sex

Word Count: 4k

The aftermath of Kit’s actions influences your daily life. You proposition Simon with the hope of moving forward.

Chapter Twenty-Seven // Chapter Twenty-Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Months Later

Healing isn’t linear. It is not kind or forgiving. The strangeness of therapy is how it resembles a spiderweb, beautiful at a glance but a lie. There is nothing beautiful in facing what you wish to leave behind. Sticky and lethal and pure carnage rehashed over and over again until talking it out becomes a numbing dullness.

Hope therapy goes well today. Love you.

Evie’s text stares up at you from the phone screen. She’s been a good friend through all of this, giving you space yet standing by your side. How the roles have reversed, become opposite from where it all started.

Bravo’s wet nose pushes into your palm, forcing your attention away from the phone screen.

“Hello, Bravo,” you croon softly, scratching the underside of his chin. “You good boy. Best boy!” His tail whips around in a circle, kicking up a breeze.

Simon’s dog has attended every therapy session with you. At first, you thought is strange that Simon insisted on it, but now you can’t imagine not having the German Shepherd there. Nearly all of your appointments occur during 141 Ink’s business hours. Simon cannot join you in person, but he can send a piece of himself along.

“Where’s your dad?” you tease. “Do you see him?”

Bravo stretches his neck, glancing around for Simon. It lasts only a moment. He is clearly far more interested in the attention you’re giving him.

“He is right here.”

Simon’s voice wraps around like a warm hug. You went without it for so long that now it’s a treat every time you hear him speak.

Bravo pivots out of your touch, taking a step forward to situate himself between you and Simon.

Simon’s eyebrows rise slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. The body language stands in stark contrast to his massive grin. “Protecting her, are you? Even from me?” Bravo half-whines, half-barks. Simon chuckles. “That’s my boy.”

He gives Bravo a quick pat on the head before stepping around the dog. You immediately lean into Simon, one hand pressing into his chest as he cups the side of your neck, his thumb resting on the front of your throat. There is a protective, nearly primal quality to the way Simon’s features shift as his attention turns to you

“Am I late?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.” Presenting your mouth, Simon descends slowly, meeting you with a serenely sensual kiss.

All the quiet, simmering anxiety that sits in the back of your mind melts away like a last snow, leaving behind a plethora of green grass that reaches for the sun. Simon is your beacon in the dark, the candle flame that lights your way.

One kiss is not enough. You need a second. A third.

The old flame of desire snakes upward, slithering between your bones to settle in your chest. It is asking for the thing you’ve denied yourself the last three months—an intimacy you had with Simon before everything happened.

A fourth kiss. A fifth. Desire tightens its languid body, constricting until your breath catches.

“Get a room!”

The voice of a passing stranger breaks the enchantment, the building desire retreating to hide amongst brown leaves and sticks.

Your cheeks grow hot just as a scowl appears on Simon’s face. Shoulder’s straightening, Simon is gearing to tell the interloper off, but you grab at Simon’s hand the second he begins to turn. A light tug is all it takes. Just your touch, and Simon’s scowl recedes to a soft smile that he only ever gives to you.

With a quick shrug of his shoulders, Simon clears his throat and takes Bravo’s offered leash, wrapping it around his tattooed knuckles. He places his hand low on your back, ushering you toward his parked car.

“How was therapy?”

Simon asks every time—a loaded question.

You exhale through your nostrils, briefly glancing away from him because telling the truth is fucking hard, especially when it involves him. You settle on a half-lie.

“Fine,” you reply. “Productive.”

Fine? Yes. Productive? No.

Simon’s head tilts slightly, gaze assessing like he doesn’t entirely believe you. “Up for company today?”

This you can appreciate it. Simon may always ask how therapy went but he never pushes further than you’re willing to give.

“Not really,” you answer, this time truthfully.

Evie’s unanswered text is as much a reminder as Simon’s questions. Things are different now. Normal cannot be what it once was. There are fractures you hold in your heart, memories that you wish you could erase with a quick snap of the fingers.

Simon nods, apparently content with your answer. “Then we’ll go home.”

It’s a short walk to the car, but you savor every second, leaning against Simon with each step. He talks your ear off about nothing, filling the air with what he did at the shop today, and the customers he had even as he helps you into the car.

It’s a lovely distraction. Which is why Simon is doing it at all. He knows. He understands. Simon is not a chatty person, he’s usually blunt with his words, more to the point than anything else. He prefers fewer words than long-winded nothings, and him keeping you distracted like this goes against everything he’s comfortable with.

But Simon doesn’t know what you talk about in those sessions with the therapist, and you refuse to share it with him. He also doesn’t ask, and for that, you’re fucking grateful. You’re still coming to terms with it yourself, shuffling through the two and a half months you were gone.

Sometimes, you think things would be easier if Kit had just hurt you. That’s the expected thing, to be mutilated in unforgiveable ways. You think about his choices often, what was going through his head, and why he never raised a single hand to you. The silence you received instead is almost worse somehow. Kit refused to speak with you, and the only other person who saw was the man that brought you your meal. He refused to say anything to you—refused to even glance in your direction. It wasn’t until the coffin that you heard the first human voice other than your own in two months.

And the voice was Simon’s. Not Kit’s. Simon’s.

Today, you talked about the coffin.

Not that you actually remember it. You only saw it after you were released from the hospital. Simon took you to some military base because Captain Price thought that seeing it in person might trigger a memory. He was firmly against it, insisted that you didn’t have to do this, but you pushed back, wanting to see what that monster put you in. Simon backed down, but setting your gaze on the thing that you nearly died in turned your limbs to stone and your mind to smeared jelly.

Simon was fucking furious. You’ve seen him upset—and you thought you knew what anger looked like on him. How wrong you were. Kyle stepped in and escorted you out of the room. You might have been on the other side of the wall but it only damped the screaming match that happened. Their words were heated, the exchange loud, and though you didn’t catch all of it, you picked up pieces.

Don’t involve her again.

This is my price to pay.

She’s suffered enough.

Kyle, while leaning against the wall next to you and fidgeting with his watch, had given you a solemn smile, an attempt to reassure but only left you feeling hollow.

“Don’t fret over it,” he had said. “Simon loves you is all. Price knows that.”

“They’re screaming at each other,” you murmured.

Kyle shrugged, the smile becoming more sincere and genuine. “Price will hug him after he’s done yelling. Simon will grunt.” He winked. “All good, love. Promise.”

Simon never brought you to another military base or anything to do with what happened again. If anyone reached out to him to insist, you never heard about it.

But of what you do remember, it’s of what happened before the coffin, how Kit smiled when he brought you your meal. You didn’t know it was drugged then. He hid it well, disguising the taste and texture. You should have known something was wrong when Kit sat on the floor across from you and watched you gobble up every bite. But you had been hungry, and having another person near felt so comforting in the moment.

“Movie sound good?”

You inhale sharply, turning toward Simon’s voice. He’s standing next to you, passenger door open, the middle of the brow creased with concern by your reaction. The two of you are already home.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “What did you ask?”

The corners of his lips turn downward. You’ve slipped off again—left reality for a bit.

“A movie,” repeats Simon. “After dinner. Thought we could stay in tonight.”

Bravo shoves his face between the front passenger seat and the interior of the car. His dark eyes dart between the two of you, impatience clear in the way his tail thump thump thumps against the backseat.

“Great,” you reply, slipping out of the car.

Simon’s gaze remains impassive, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes your hand, Bravo trotting along behind the two of you.

Inside, Simon takes your coat, hanging it up next to his before heading into the kitchen to start the kettle. It’s April now, but the weather is still chilly on occasion, and you could go for a tea.

“The new visa should arrive soon,” says Simon, flipping the tap on the electric kettle. “Price made a few calls.” Grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, he sets them down on the counter before turning around to face you. “Could get you a different one. A longer stay.” He pauses, a hopefulness twinkling in his eye. “Citizenship even.”

With everything that’s happened, Simon still wants you here, with him. Hands clasped in front of you, you meander into the kitchen, almost sauntering in the way you approach him. Simon’s eyelids grow heavy, that earlier desire forming in his gaze. The two of you have touched and kissed, but the few times any further intimacy has been initiated, it’s been by Simon. You weren’t committed then, still confused and dripping with a sense of being unclean.

When you’re ready. No rush.

Respect for you outweighs his desire. Simon made you aware in other ways—subtle glances and touches, gentle compliments—but never pushed, never made you feel like sex is an expectation. He handed you the ball and bat with the only request that you swing when ready.

“Is that what you want, Simon? For me to stay?”

As you draw closer, Simon’s hands instinctually reach out to you. You do not shy away but step into his embrace. Those large, tattooed hands of his clutch your waist, pulling you closer until you’re nearly flush against him.

“There are few things I want more.”

“Only a few?” you tease, and you’re greeted with a warm smile.

“Nothing, then.”

The kettle starts to boil, but Simon ignores his, all of his attention focused on you.

“I don’t want to watch a movie. Think I’d like to do something else.”

Simon shrugs. “Course, love. Whatever you want.” He shifts slightly to plop a teabag into each mug and then carefully pours the water over the top. “We can watch the next episode of that show—”

“No,” you interject, and Simon sets the kettle down. “I mean—” You lick your lips, unsure of how you want to approach this. “I want to…try.”

Simon blinks. “Try,” he says slowly. “Try…what?”

It takes every ounce of control to not laugh at Simon’s confusion. Placing your hand on his chest, you slide it lower, and lower still until the confusion on his face melts away and realization dawns. Without breaking eye contact, Simon grasps your wrist and draws your hand away as it falls dangerously close to brushing against his groin.

“Only if you’re ready,” he murmurs, though you hear the hunger. “Don’t do it on my account.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here, love.”

As you press into him, Simon’s resolve splinters. Your face is upturned, lips slightly parted in offer, and Simon’s mouth is just shy of connection. You breathe him in just as he does you. There is nothing you want more, to be consumed by him, to reconnect in the one way you’ve been without.

Simon lightly grasps the bottom-half of your face. “After dinner,” he says, and the curling need pooling low in your belly squirms with discontent.

“Now,” you breathe, a demand.

Simon’s eyelids flutter. Close. He takes a deep, steadying breath before opening them again. “If I sink inside you right now, I won’t last.”

The admission only enflames the already burning embers. You desperately need to cross this hurdle, to find this intimacy with Simon again. With one hand free, you gently cup him through his jeans, rubbing, finding him hard and wanton.

Simon growls, and then you’re being lifted. He shoves everything out of the way, hot water spilling into the sink and onto the floor. The tea is forgotten, the bags briefly floating in the sink before the water disappears down the drain.

“I’m not taking you like this,” says Simon, forehead pressing against yours. “We’re having tea. Dinner. And only after will I indulge you.”

“Think the tea is ruined, Simon.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, closing the distance to seize you in a fierce kiss.

Everything about it is honey-drenched. Sticky. Slightly sweet. You open for him, and he goes for a taste, his hand on your throat like a collar. This is the passion you remember; the wanton need you crave.

It is not gone. Only buried.

As your hands roam, the kissing only becomes more desperate. Your thighs trap his waist, but he makes no move to retreat. Not like you could stop him. He’s far stronger than you, and even in that strength he’s aware of it, not grasping too tightly.

Fingers delve, and in seconds you have the front of Simon’s jeans open, slipping your hand inside to find his warmth. As your fingers brush his skin, Simon breaks the kiss, nearly choking on his next breath as he draws back.

“Dinner first,” he groans, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand from his pants. “Food first.”

“You’re a tease, Simon Riley,” you whimper.

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Like making you squirm.”

Dinner is a much longer affair than you’d like, as if Simon has an eternity to feed you. Every time you try to help, he shoos you off, telling you to relax and enjoy your cuppa. You eventually give up, curling up with Bravo on the sofa watching reality television as Simon putters about.

When he finally hands you your plate, you scarf it down in record time, promptly setting it aside to stare at Simon longingly.

“After,” he repeats.

“Buzzkill.”

Simon reaches over and squeezes your thigh, returning to his meal, gaze locked on the television. You try to refocus, but your mind is locked on a singular goal like you’re a man thinking with his dick and not his brain.

With a final scrape of his fork across his plate, Simon clears it, sighing with contentment. Reaching for your plate, he starts cleaning up, still insisting that you don’t move from the couch at all. This time, you don’t put up a fight, deciding it is better to snuggle with Bravo.

“Bed, Bravo,” snaps Simon. The German Shepherd grumbles as he lifts his head from your lap and dramatically slides off the couch. “To think you used to sniff out bombs,” mutters Simon, shaking his head. “Off with you.”

Bravo disappears down the hall, and then Simon is turning to you, holding out a hand in offering. “Come here to me.”

The delivery in his voice leaves no room for denial. Pushing off from the couch and reaching for his hand is easy. You want this—need this.

Simon’s arms go around you, holding you close. That soft smile returns and you answer it with one of your own.

“Still want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

Simon’s thumb lightly grazes the line of your jaw. “Tell me if you want to stop. Promise me.”

“Promise,” you murmur.

“That’s my girl.”

With your hand in his, Simon walks backward into the bedroom. He pulls you in as he shuts the door, teasing a kiss but not giving it to you. You try to steal one anyway, but Simon knows you too well, leaning away at the last second as he slips his hand from yours.

There is no mask. No anymore. Haven’t seen it at all unless he’s at the shop, working. His sweatshirt goes, followed by his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. Even in the dark with a just a hint of moonlight, you can glimpse him.

Corded muscle. Endless tattoos.

Your hands copy his movements, removing an article of clothing one at a time. All this time you’ve been rushing, and now that you’re here, the undressing is slow. Languid. Simon is done before you, and even in the dark you notice the way his hands clench and unclench with the anticipation of touching you.

You barely have your socks and pants off before Simon is grasping for you, hands groping ass and hip, mouth coming down on yours with desperation. In this, you feel utterly wanted, as if there is nothing he requires more than to be one with you.

Simon’s erection presses into your lower stomach, an insistent thing that both of you ignore. His kisses are your favorite, you want them forever, and that is all you can focus on even as your grow slicker between the thighs.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and then connect them behind his neck, clinging like he’ll disappear if you don’t. Simon’s hands slide over your back and down to your ass, filling his hands as squeezing. Angling your hips up a bit, he rubs himself against you, a low groan leaving him as the base of his erection brushes the side of your clit.

Forget slow. Forget the fact that Simon admitted he wouldn’t last.

Unlocking your arms from around his neck, you reach back and grab one of Simon’s groping hands. Bringing it between your bodies, you guide his fingers to your pussy, desperately needing him to touch you. His thick fingers slide easily over your sex, your arousal apparent.

You shiver from the contact, but Simon? Simon growls, low and feral, and utterly primal. Flattening three fingers against your sex, Simon parts you, the middle finger teasing your entrance with a soft caress. It hovers, and then starts to slide in.

Simon’s lips move away from your mouth and to your chin, then to your jaw, and then your throat. More of his finger enters.

“I missed you,” you whimper as he settles to the knuckle. Simon’s teeth graze your neck as his finger begins to slide back out. “Every. Day.”

Simon adds a second finger, pumping both in perfect rhythm. “I’m here now, love. Right here. Not going anywhere.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as Simon’s palm rubs against your clit. “I—love—”

“Love, what?” coaxes Simon.

“You. I love you.”

Simon’s teeth no longer graze but they don’t bite down. They trace a line up your throat before taking a nip at your bottom lip. His fingers begin to retreat again but you grasp the back of his hand, pressing, urging him back inside.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmur, rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. “Fuck me the way you want to. Please.”

Simon’s head tilts to the side. “You sure about that, love?”

You whimper, nodding, pussy clenching around his fingers as his palm lightly rubs against your clit again. It’s lovely—slowly building that orgasm you so desperately crave. But then Simon’s fingers are gone and in his mouth, sucking them clean.

Your brain short circuits, unable to comprehend the change until Simon is guiding you onto all fours on the bed. He places a hand on your upper back, urging your front into the mattress as your ass stays up in the air. Guiding your legs apart, you expect him to settle between, to mount you and rut.

His mouth finds you instead, tongue parting your pussy from clit to opening then back again. You press back against his mouth and Simon makes a feast of you. The orgasm is a slap in the face. It doesn’t arrive slowly but as a thunderous force, nearly smashing you over the head with its intensity.

Thighs quiver. Legs shake. You cry out so loud you think Simon might stop. He doesn’t. He only continues through the ordeal, urging toward another and yet another until there are tears in your eyes. Only then does he draw back, wettened lips kissing the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

His strong hands rub up and down the length of your back. Soothing and comforting at first, but then demanding, helping you turn until you’re facing him. Limbs like jelly, you allow Simon to draw you into his lap, to ease your legs to fall on either side of him, to help guide you to and then onto his cock.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, voice gruff.

You vehemently shake your head. “No. Want you. Always.”

With a final effort, Simon rocks his hips up just as he presses down on your hips. Every inch is inside of you, stretching, filling. You’re full of him, but it’s not enough. You need him to move.

“Simon,” you beg.

Shifting his arms, he supports you with his hands and forearms as well as his thighs. It forces your legs up and open, ankles and feet dangling. A slice of moonlight cuts through the room, highlighting the space where your bodies meet. With your forehead resting against his cheek, you watch as Simon guides you up and down his length, disappearing and then reappearing with a shine.

Keeping one arm hooked behind his neck, you reach between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You create a v with index and middle finger, parting your pussy to open you up more, to capture the place where Simon’s cock penetrates you.

He’s hardly keeping it together as you tease the base of his cock with a fingernail Simon’s whimper instinctually has your pussy tightening around him.

“I want you to come inside me,” you whisper, breath brushing over his cheek. Simon’s hands tighten, fingers digging into your flesh as he ceases sliding and starts thrusting. “Please,” you add with a hint of longing.

He cannot say no. Simon never does.

In seconds, Simon has you on your back, flattening you against the bed. With one hand above your head, fisting the sheets, he rests the other on the inner thigh of your left leg, holding it wide and open for a better angle.

Simon’s first thrust is brutal. He buries his face against your neck, and doesn’t fucking stop. Every time your bodies connect, he grunts loudly. The muscles in his back bulge beneath your palms.

This is not healing. This is carnage. This is a burial.

Simon is digging your grave but not to leave you to rot. You are to be wholly submerged, wholly undone in the dark, to be thread unspooled. You will linger in this grave, in Simon’s arm, to know only of him. And then, only then, will you be unearthed from the dirt.

In the morning, with the light, there will be a calmness that smothers all. A closing of a door that will never be reopened. There is no definition in past, only a resounding future, and you must take it—seek it.

“I love you,” groans Simon.

His words are what does it, that breaks the flood, and shows you the way forward.

“You’re mine.”

These words are not a groan, more a plea. You’re mine because he wants it so, and all you need to do is agree.

Mine.

“Love you.”

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mivalyn · 7 months ago

Text

♡ His to command ♡

18+, mdni!

König x fem!reader (contains smut)

Word count: 1,912

You had quickly made a name for yourself in KorTac, your sniper skills earning the respect of even the most seasoned operatives. Precision, discipline, and a cool head under presure were your trademarks. You prided yourself on keeping things professional, always putting the mission first. Yet, there was one man who consistently disrupted your focus - König.

König was unlike anyone you´d ever worked with. Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a quiet authority, his commanding presence made it impossible to ignore him. With every step he took, the room seemed to shrink around him. His voice, deep and resonant, always carried the weight of someone used to giving orders. Oftel laced with a heavy German accent, his words carried an edge that made everything he said feel more pointed, more deliberate.

While the others in the team found him intimidating, you felt something else entirely: intrigue. He wasn't just a leader in the field-he was something more, someone who commanded not only respect but curiosity. And your curiosity had grown over the past few months of working with him. Your interactions started out as professional, respectful nods exchanged after successful missions, but over time, your conversations became more personal. It was in the way König would offer you his thoughts after missions - his sharp, almost clinical perspective softened by quiet moments of humor.

And then there was the way he looked at you. A glance that seemed to last just a moment too long. And his protection - always keeping an eye on you, his movements always ensuring your safety, even when you didn't need it. The gesture had started to feel personal, not just professional. It was a subtle kind of dominance, gentle yet commanding, and it made your pulse quicken whenever he was near.

It had been building for weeks. The unspoken tension between you and him, simmering just below the surface, was becoming impossible to ignore. Tonight, it would finally reach its breaking point.

───────────────────────────────────────────

You lay stretched out on your bed, the rare quiet of your quarters enveloping you. A book rested on your lap, though your attention kept drifting away from the pages. It was a luxury to have a day off - free from missions and responsibilities, and you intended to enjoy it. For once, there were no gunfire or the constant hum of tactical planning. Just peace.

That peace was abruptly shattered when your door swung open, and you looked up, startled, to see König standing in the doorway. His posture was stiff, as if he had just walked off the battlefield. He was still dressed in his combat gear, his gloves in one hand, his rifle slung across his back. His expression was grim, jaw clenched, and his normally composed demeanor was frayed, something darker simmering beneath the surface.

"König?" you asked, sitting up, your book forgotten.

He didn't respond at first. The door clicked shut behind him, and the heavy thud of his boots echoed through the room as he crossed toward you. Without a word, he dropped his gear in a pile against the wall. The action was deliberate, as though he had purposefully entered with an urgency that could not be ignored.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, a silent sigh escaping from his lips. His broad shoulders were tense, and you noticed the subtle shift in his stance - the subtle power that radiated from him as he stood in front of you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, rough around the edges. "Komm her, Liebling." The words slipped from his lips like velvet, yet the command behind them was unmistakable.

The effect of hearing the German endearment sent a thrill through you, your heart skipping a beat. You hesitated only for a moment, before rising from the bed to approach him.

As you came within reach, König´s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with surprising gentleness for a man of his size and strength. But there was no mistaking the force in his pull as he yanked you closer, his chest pressing against yours. His lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fierce, raw, and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. It was as if he had been holding back for far too long, and now he couldn't stop.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was heavy against your skin. His lips hovered near your ear as he whispered, the words thick with his accent. "Ich brauche dich, Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough, filled with hunger. "I can't wait any longer."

The rawness of his words sent a jolt of heat through your veins. But you didn't flinch. Instead, your lips curled into a confident smile. "Then don't," you whispered back, your voice steady but laden with anticipation.

König´s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as his hands moved with purpose. In one fluid motion, he shoved you backward onto the bed, his powerful frame pinning you beneath him. His hands were all over you, sliding under your shirt, pulling it off with quick efficiency, as though time were suddenly a luxury you couldn't afford.

"You drive me verrückt," he growled, his German accent thick as he straddled you. "Do you know that?"

You let out a low laugh, your hands sliding over his muscular chest. "I might have an idea," you teased, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

King smirked darkly, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Freches Mädchen," he muttered, his voice both scolding and affectionate.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring each inch of skin as he revealed you, inch by inch. When you were completely bare before him, he paused for a moment, his gaze scanning your body with a reverence that made you shiver.

"So schön," he murmured, his voice low with awe. The words sounded like a prayer as they slipped from his lips, his German accent making them sound even more intimate.

You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Then show me," you challenged, your voice sultry, daring him.

His eyes darkened, a predatory smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Oh, Liebling," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. "I'll do much more than show you."

His hands moved between your thighs, finding you already wet with anticipation. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his fingers circled you, his touch skilled, deliberate. "So eager for me already," he whispered, his accent making the words drip with dark promise.

Your breath caught as his fingers slipped inside you, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "Let me hear you."

His pace quickened, and soon you were arching your back, your body responding to his touch in ways that left you breathless. When you finally came, it was like a tidal wave crashing over you, and you trembled beneath him as you tried to regain control.

König removed his fingers slowly, bringing them to his lips and savoring the taste. "You taste so damn good," he groaned. But he wasn't finished. He lowered himself between you legs, his mouth following his hands as he tasted you. His tongue worked over you with precise skill, each stroke drawing another breathless cry from your lips.

"König," you gasped, your fingers threading into his hair as your body tensed with another approaching orgasm.

When he rose again, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes were dark with desire. "Are you ready for me, mein Schatz?" he asked, his voice thick with longing.

Your lips curled into a sultry smile. "Always," you whispered.

Without another word, König positioned himself between your thighs, his cock hard and ready, and with one swift motion, he entered you. The sensation was overwhelming, the sheer force of his thrust stealing your breath. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and purposeful.

"Verdammt," King growled, his hips slamming into yours. "You feel so good, Y/N. So perfect."

Every inch of him seemed to claim you, and your body responded eagerly to his touch. The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the rhythm of your coupling synchronized with the primal energy between you.

As his hand slid lower, teasing the sensitive ring of your ass, you gasped. "Do you like that, Liebling?" he teased, his voice dark and full of intent.

"Yes," you moaned, your body trembling with each motion.

King smirked, pressing a finger against your tight entrance before easing it inside. The sensation of dual penetration was overwhelming, and you cried out, your body writhing beneath him as you teetered on the edge.

"I will claim every inch of you today," King whispered in your ear, his voice a growl of need.

The intensity of his words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you surrendered completely, your body on fire as he took you to new heights.

Hours passed, the night stretching on as King kept his promise, exploring every part of you with unrelenting passion. When you finally collapsed together, your bodies slick with sweat and your breaths coming in heavy, uneven gasps, you felt a profound sense of exhaustion, mixed with the deep satisfaction of a night unlike any other. Your body ached in the best way possible, each muscle pleasantly sore from the intensity of their connection. You could barely move, but there was something about being in König's arms that made you feel safe, as if nothing else mattered in the world.

König, too, seemed spent, his chest rising and falling with each breath, but he didn't let go of you. He pulled you into his arms, his large hand stroking your back with a tenderness that contrasted with the force of your lovemaking just moments before. You nestled closer to him, yourr head resting against his broad chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The comfort of his presence enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at peace.

His voice, still deep and resonant, broke the silence. "You're mine," he whispered softly, the words a quiet declaration, though the possessiveness in them was unmistakable. "Mein Schatz."

You smiled against his skin, your hand tracing patterns on his chest as you looked up at him. You could feel the weight of his words, the depth of his feelings wrapped in the simple phrase. "Always," you whispered, your voice full of warmth, you fingers gently tracing the curve of his jaw.

The bond you shared felt irrevocable now, something solid and unbreakable. In the stillness of the room, you found yourself wrapped in his strength, not just physically but emotionally. It was a rare feeling for someone like you - so used to being in control, to relying only on yourself - but with him, you didn't need to be anything but yoursel. You were no longer just an operative in a world of danger; you were his, and he was yours.

You both lay there for a long while, basking in the afterglow, the world outside fading into insignificance. Even in the quiet, You knew that nothing would ever be the same again between you. This was more than a moment of passion - it was a shift in your relationship, one that went beyond the mission and the shared battlefield.

#call of duty #könig x reader #könig cod #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig smut #könig smut #cod smut #kortac #18+ mdni #mdni

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