hihi! i’m bvnny!! welcome to my little rabbit hole. i’m finally getting back into writing so bear with me a lil bit <3 feel free to send in requests or just chat after you’ve read my rules!! i do not have a master list just yet, but once i have more writing on here i will !! i pinkie promise !!
Last Updated: Oct. 15th 2024
What I write: headcanons (open), matchups (closed), fics (open) , drabbles (open)
Hashtags: bvnnyfics, bvnnyrambles, bvnnyreposts, bvnnyheadcanons, bvnnymatches, bvnnywrites, bvnnythirsts (mdni), dead dove (mdni)
Rules:
i can’t believe i even have to start with this but be respectful. like actually bc you can disagree and not be a dick.
i do NOT owe you a request- if it doesn’t interest me i’ll just delete it. respect my writing time homie.
on that note, be specific bc if i don’t understand it i’ll either not write it the way you want, or not at all.
Include trigger warnings for: bigotry or any kind, abuse, r@pe/noncon, ed not sheran, just honestly if think it needs one just put it down
main fandoms i’ll write for : call of duty • marble hornets • creepy pasta • sally face • stardew valley
If you’re curious about a fandom- ask! I dont have everything listed here :)
thank you for being here and reading through everything- send in an ask if you have any questions!! love ya!!
Hey so I thought we as userbase should organize spontaneous blackout protest against shapes inc ads here. I thought Feb 26th would be a good date (so ppl has 72 hrs notice if they want to participate), we would log off for 24hrs to show tumblr we are not okay with that (and also for shapes to get less ad revenue for a day in a process lol). Tag would be 'anti shapes inc protest'
If you like the idea/want to participate, help spread the word by reblogging this ask. Thanks <3
I would happily comply with this, hopefully enough people participate for it to make an impact!
very much down for this, will be posting my Valentine’s Day event post scheduled for the 26th on the 25th. letting ai advertise on a site/app known to be used by writers and artists is bullshit.
@ryosprincess @twitone @yunamoona @iheartanzai @oporotheca @astriiixx @splurtz @sweatingbulletss @dearsnow @gyarwu @getopied @himezoro @lunarkyn @loverboykirstein @l0tusblu @xqce @cloudykumo @chososkink @coffee-and-geto @brookaroo @mimiiis @mieleism (i tried to tag my moots that i haven’t seen tagged yet)
oh no! i dropped this screenshot that explains how to bypass this with a free adblocker! you shouldn’t reblog this or anything; it’d be terrible if people used this advice to watch ad-free youtube!!
the day that you realized that you liked it was sort of unintentional, that you know at least — simon’s hand climbing up the expanse of your body, brushing past your sternum, copping a feel of your tits, before hooking it around your throat.
that was new; unchartered territory of some sorts. simon’s never been that type of a lover, so used to bearing all his weight onto yours when he is taking you, and making you feel every pudge and every muscle; always skin on skin, meat on flesh, but a hand on your neck as you mount him, riding him with such finesse that he’d been reduced to breathless and trembling moans? yeah, that was new.
not unwanted, though. no.
not with the way your cunt convulsed, walls spasming around his girth, before your squirt was punched out of you. god, it felt so euphoric — stuffing yourself with his cock, gobbling it all up down to his pelvis, while the weight of his touch grounded you, constricting on the press of your throat because like that, just like that, simon was overwhelming.
like sure, you were the one on top, conquering him with a single-minded focus, but the ease in which simon had taken back his power — not that it was about that to him; hell, you know that simon would rather kneel by your feet if it really came down to it, but- but it was for you — so seeing simon work it; seeing simon take it from you with just a heavy hold– it unmade you. it ruined you.
it made your hunger more vicious; armed it with teeth.
it made you want to be—
collared.
.
simon’s thorough, of course he is.
he’s walked you through codes and signs — “green for go, yellow for pause, and red is full stop. if words are too much, three taps means out, okay, baby? no, i need to hear you say it– thank you, sweetheart.” — then told you the collar is a surprise when you asked him if you could pick one out right now.
your nose curls when he said that.
“i want it now, though,” you say, totally not whining. you’re wearing his shirt, legs and pussy still bare and sensitive after he’s fucked you on the couch. the ache is a pleasant thrum, and you feel like jelly with how sated you are down to your bones, but still, you refused even the softest of pyjama pants that simon’s pulled out for you.
he sighs, all patient, and scoops you to his lap.
“a collar’s a gift,” he says. “or, at least, let me gift it to you.”
he softly bites your cheek when your only reply is a pout. “don’t worry, i’ll choose a pretty one. you know that i will.”
you hum, nodding because of course simon will. he always has. the ring on your finger, the necklace you’ve got on, the lines of lingeries stuffed in your drawers, the jewelled plugs — simon knows that you want the pretty things. he knows that you love pretty things.
but the collar is—
you want it to mean something else. you want it to feel vitriolic. to feel dirty. like simon’s fully possessed you and that collar is proof of his claim. like he’s fully got you in the palm of his hand, sitting pretty for him.
that what was lovely was not the collar, but you.
“okay,” you say, still deep in thought.
(you don’t notice simon’s knowing stare or the way his eyes darkened, desire crashing into him with such ferocity. he knows you so well that it still surprises him when you think that he doesn’t. he knows what it is you want.
he knows what this means to you, or what you want it to mean.
what you want him to make it mean.
and simon’s so soft for you; would spoil you rotten if he could, and he will because you’ve promised yourself to him, so let him prove himself to you. let him show you how he will take care of you.)
.
the box is made of this green velvety material and it makes you pause midway through as you remove your coat. it’s on the dining table, stark above the rest of mundane things that belong in the room and on that oak, and it’s placed directly on your spot so it’s for you, you know, but simon’s been quiet since he followed you into the room, wordless as he watched you.
you turn to him, eyes wide and lips twitching with the thousands of things you want to say, but all you could croak out is, “is that—”
simon gives you a curt nod, the ends of his lips twitching slightly.
“go on,” he finally prods when you still remain frozen on your spot, arms still tensed, your jacket still half-slung on. “or would you want me to put it on for you?”
it’s like a switch was flicked on in your mind, like now that simon’s offered it, there’s nothing else that would suffice. so you give him a nod, quiet as you finally shuck off your coat before playing with the hems of its sleeves. he hums, just a soft curl of his deep voice, and ushers you forward, closer to the box. to the—
simon picks it up for you while you move to drape your jacket on the chair but even without baggage, you refuse to take it from him, lying in a limbo, waiting for him to decide for you. because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? this whole thing — the collar, simon’s hand around your throat, something you always fall back to obsessively, stuffing yourself full with your fingers — is because of control.
his control over you. his possession of you.
simon hums, like he knows where your mind has gone, and moves to open it for you. there’s no bloating of tension, simon opens it the way one would rip a bandaid off — quick, unthinkingly, and half-hungry for the sting.
you breathe in sharply at seeing it.
you expected softness, maybe even something pink or purple or anything that was light hues, with lacing and silk that would not chafe. not this — dark leather with thick and heavy buckles, and lined with three metal rings that you know is for nothing else but a leash.
“fuck—”
simon’s hand falls on the small of your back, his thumb digging into the dimples and rubbing softly. “d’y’like it?”
“yes,” you reply, breathless, not knowing how else to verbalize your desire or that swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach, feeling your heart thudding within your ribs, so deafening amidst the noise of your blood rushing to your ears. “simon, i– yes.”
simon huffs this pleased laugh, and you feel so shaken at feeling him tug you closer, urging you to look up at him.
“want t’wear it now, baby?”
you don’t even realize that you’re already lurching, gasping out your reply, so needy as you whimper out, “yes, please.”
simon doesn’t really murmur a comforting shh but he does act with that cadence — a gentle sort of coaxing as he pulls his free hand away from your back to pluck the collar off the box’s velvety lining. it looks even more beautiful in his hand like that, with the width of the collar almost more than half the size of simon’s palm and you remember the way he’s held your neck, the weight of it pressing on your throat, and god, you need.
you need.
he curls it around your neck, the leather sliding on your skin, and you try your best not to twitch in his hold as he fastens the end to the buckle, sliding until it’s a tight ring. but—
“tighter,” you rasp out, breathing from your mouth.
simon groans, and it’s a pained little thing, and you wonder how you look right now, begging him to tighten it more; asking him to dig it even deeper into your skin, until the collar etches trenches for you to trace in front of the mirror; until the sting forms new bruises for you to obsess over.
the collar is now a heavy press on your neck, consistent as it pinches the skin. you try to swallow only to feel a resistance that was never there before and this—
you have never felt so much freer. so much more desired.
“thank you,” you choke out, almost in tears, and simon looks just as overwhelmed.
he cups your jaw, thumb tracing the edges of your lips, before sliding his hand down to brush his fingers along the collar.
your collar.
“so beautiful,” he whispers, so soft like it was meant for himself.
.
the first time that simon fucked you with your collar was almost too much. it was too good. almost unbelievable with the way it scratches that itch burrowed in the pit of your stomach, unyielding and aching. and now, indulged fully by simon.
your collar is tight around your throat, a consistent weight that has you panting, mind slipping underneath the fog. your saliva pools in your jowls, and the pleasure burns, leaving you to splinter at the drag of it until you are suspended into that cataclysmic point.
you have never felt so small until that moment; tucked away into the softest of corners, shielded from anything and everything that isn’t simon and his greatness. you are reminded of the ease in which you've surrendered your control and the way he was hungry for it, wielding it as he tugs at the rings, forcing the collar to dig even further into the welts it’s created.
you are made, then unmade; forced to lick at the backs of your teeths to ground yourself — but why are you trying to?
the pleasure is filling. you do not remember how you used to be taken; how you were fucked without the weight — of simon as he drills his cock into you, the girth splitting your walls apart until they pulse around him as mini-orgasms burst in your core; of the collar, making every ragged gasp of air deliciously painful.
“where did you go?” simon grunts in your ears, his breath huffing out hotly. “come back t’me, love. t’me.”
you whine, split between sobbing out and moaning, and simon tugs and tugs, coaxing you above the fog, telling you when it is right to breach for a gasp.
“s’right, baby. jus’ like that.” simon is so patient, his words grounded, like his hips are not crazily pistoning, fucking his leaking cockhead further in, in, in, until it is kissing the pucker of your cervix.
it’s so—
it’s—
“go on,” simon rumbles. “cum f’r me.”
your orgasm is akin to a breaking, to a ripping of reality, like the fabrics that make you are split and turned, leaving you to find ecstasy bursting across your synapses. it feels too good. too much. too unreal. it feels like a fluke, a one-off—
but simon’s hand falls to your belly, pinning you close to him, and you are reminded that you are not done.
he hasn’t cum yet.
it’s not over yet.
this pleasure that you can’t really fathom, the one that you can’t even fully name, it hasn’t found its summit. you’re just there, at the throes.
Something about having cuteness agression with simon is that he fucking loves it. He should be worried really when your nails dig into his face, cheek smeared over every inch of his eyes nose cheek and all over while you gush about how "cute" he is. He just...can't find it in himself to care when he's under your attention like this.
Even if he wants to argue that he's not cute. He doesn't wanna miss the opportunity to nuzzle his own stubbly cheek back into yours. Stealing a kiss for himself in the middle of all the fervour.
He'll just nod and murmur yesses when you ask who's a good boy, ignoring the familiar call of his phone when you grab at his neck. Craning his head a bit so you can nibble and let out your energy on him. Just let it out lovie, just let it out. Ignore the hearts in his eyes and bite down harder wont you?
Simon's drunk and just wants to go to bed with his sweetheart.
cw: MDNI- gets a wee bit hot spicy , possible dub con (or is it?) 😏
>>>>>
It's after one in the morning when a heavy knock at the door startles you out of a sound sleep.
You sit up in bed, still half-asleep and confused, and squint at the clock on your nightstand. Not sure what woke you, you're about to lie back down when you hear the knock again. That's never a good thing this late at night.
Now wide awake and scared out of your wits, you slide out of bed and throw on your robe. Creeping through your flat, you tiptoe up to the door and peer through the peephole, seeing an all too familiar face blinking blearily at your door.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, you unlock the door, but leave the chain on, and open it just enough to peek through the gap. "Jesus, Simon. You scared the shit out of me!"
The big Manc is standing on your stoop, swaying in place, his dark brown eyes bloodshot and drooping. "'M sorry, sweet'art. Know it's late. Had a few wiff the lads an' now I can't find m'keys." He inhales a deep breath then hiccups and makes a face. "Will ya let me in?"
He's obviously drunk, but that pitiful, hangdog face gets to you. You slip the chain and open the door. "C'mon in."
Simon shuffles inside and immediately stoops to unlace his boots, nearly pitching face-first onto the floor. "Simon!" you gasp, grabbing his arm. "You're going to hurt yourself. Go sit on the couch."
Unsteady, he stumbles to the couch and basically falls onto it, grunting as he rights himself and drops his head back on the cushions.
"'M s'sorry, love. Shouldn't uh woke ya. Jus' missed ya. Needed t'see ya."
You quirk a brow, smirking. Yeah. Totally wasted. Probably best to let him sleep it off on the couch, then give him hell in the morning. You'll help get him comfortable then let him pass out.
"Let's get your boots off, Si."
Kneeling at his feet, you start working on the laces when you feel his big hand rest on the top of your head. You glance up and smile at him, amused. His hand slides down to cup your cheek, his dark eyes watery as he stares down at you.
"Yer too good t'me, sweet'art. Bess day uh my life is when I met ya."
That actually makes you melt a little. "Aw. That's sweet, Simon."
His brows scrunch together. "'S true, love. Knew the moment I saw ya, you was meant t'be mine."
"What?"
"'M gonna take care uh ya, sweet'art. Gonna take a post at base, trainin' recruits. No more leavin' ya all alone. Worries the hell outta me, doin' tha'."
"Simon, love, you're drunk, talking out of your head. You and me aren't—"
"I know, love. I know," he murmurs, cupping the back of your head. "We're not married yet, but we're gonna be. Be proud t'have ya as my missus. Olready think uh ya like m'wife, anyway. An' one day, ya'll be the mother uh my kids. Yer gonna make a damn good mum, sweet'art; I can tell."
You huff out an exasperated laugh. "Whoa, Simon! This is getting a little too—"
He presses his thumb over your lips and chuckles lowly. "I know, sweet girl. Gettin' ahead uh m'self. Don't worry, love. We'll find a nice place t'settle, first. One uh them quiet li'l villages near the base. Need t'put my pretty wife in a proper home a'fore we start makin' babies." He smirks. "Don't mean we can't practice, though, yeah?"
He reaches for you, but you crab walk backwards. "Si, you've been drinking. We can't—"
You bleat out a startled yelp when he grabs hold of your ankles and drags you back within his reach. Big hands gripping your waist, he picks you up off the floor like a toddler and plops you on his lap, then proceeds to kiss you stupid. Hands kneading and groping, tongue shoved down your throat, you can feel his erection pressing up into the thin material between your legs.
Oh, mercy!
Finally breaking the kiss, he stands in one swift motion, making your already spinning head reel. Pupils blown wide, he smirks down at you with a feral light smoldering in his eyes. "Never too drunk t'give my li'l woman a proper fuckin'," he purrs darkly, then his lips latch onto yours again.
Lying limp as a ragdoll in his arms, he carries you back to your bed and shows you just what a proper fucking is. Several times. He must not have been as drunk as you thought. Come to think of it, he didn't taste like alcohol at all.
The sky is beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn before he finally turns you on your side and curls himself around you. One hand wedged between your legs, the other holding onto your tit, he nuzzles the back of your neck until he eventually drops off into an exhausted sleep.
You blink tired eyes at your bedside clock, remembering you're scheduled to work. Your head flops back down on your pillow. There's no way you're making it into work in the morning. Hell, you're not even sure if you're going to be able to walk tomorrow— not normally, anyway. Even so, you can't be mad about it, not after all those orgasms. Simon truly had a gift; the man is a giver.
Feeling sated, safe and warm, you snuggle back into Simon, ready to fall asleep. Still, your hazy mind can't help but wonder...
What's he going to think when he wakes up next to his favorite barista and not in his own bed?
Maybe Konig and a very tired reader?..... someone who just needs him to help her get up in the morning and lay back down in the night. In return, she's the most affectionate towards him.
I also love (I mean obsess over) your works with him thank you so much<3
I am Sleepy!Reader, Sleepy!Reader is me - I feel them in my tired bones😔✨
König adores slow mornings with you - even if it’s a weekday, he’ll pause and hold you before needing to get up. his heart flutters when you ask for, “Jus’ a couple more minutes…”, squeezing when you tug the covers up over your head. he doesn’t have the heart to disturb you so he gets up, abandoning the warm sheets. he’ll get started on his morning routine while you doze, prepping breakfast, reading a couple pages from his latest book
König who gently stirs you from sleep, one big hand cupping your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. his mama always woke him up like this as a kid, cooing softly that it’s time to start the day, opposed to his father who would just knock loudly on his door. he wants you to wake up relaxed and happy, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn. you look so soft, pillow lines on your face and hair a little messy. his own Briar Rose, and he’s your Prince Charming bringing you something to drink - be it coffee or tea, water or juice, it doesn’t matter as long as you like it
König really shines with you after a deployment. achy and sore, he’ll collapse on the couch, tugging you down with him. early morning? midafternoon? dusk? I hope you’re ready for König, human furnace that he is, to cuddle up to you. he’s in a state of exhaustion and hunger after being in the field, half asleep and eating something. he runs incredibly warm, and being tucked against him? it’s nearly guaranteed to have you drifting off. the combination of his steady heartbeat and the warmth radiating off of him is wonderful, he takes his job as a pillow very seriously. if you fall asleep on or next to him he won’t move. does he have to use the bathroom? he can hold it, he doesn’t want to disturb you
once it’s time to actually get ready for bed he’s making sure you’re nice and relaxed. are his hands rough and calloused? yes they are, but if he puts a little lotion on them and gives you a massage? oh, it’s lights out for you. if you let him, König will work his hands from your shoulders to your feet, concentrating on making you go boneless. he’ll get you a cup of water in case you get thirsty in the middle of the night good luck getting to it if he has you locked against his chest. he lives for pampering his sleepy little Maus, tucks you against him while playing with your hair. combing through your hair with his fingers, gently scratching your scalp, it soothes him as much as it soothes you
König absolutely adores how clingy you get when you’re drowsy, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you seek him out. he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, he never will. his lap is always available to you, whether you want to use his thighs as a pillow or straddle them and lay against him. he’ll let you absentmindedly toy with him, enjoys the feeling of your hands messing with his hair or kneading his muscles. he lives for the way your eyes droop, eyelashes hanging low as you fight off a nap. if you want, he’ll let you dumbly suck on his neck or fingers, the soft repetitive feeling relaxing the both of you - he doesn’t mind a little drool, don’t worry Schatz
CW: Fem!Reader, safe, sane, consensual somno, sleepy sex, cockwarming, fingering (fem!receiving), handjob, no condom - wrap it before you tap it, manifesting needy gentle big guy König (my heart— [explodes])
König loves soft sex before going to bed or early in the morning when you wake up. if you need a little extra warmth, other than his body enveloping you, he’ll gently prep you before sinking into you. it always feels better when you’re both relaxed, König’s barely-there thrusting and your halfhearted grinding. delightfully full, warmth pooling in your gut, sometimes you both fall asleep before anything really gets going. it’s not something you can really escape in the middle of the night, König’s thick arms secure around your waist, his face pressed to your neck. he can get a little twitchy, lost in his dreams and breathing against you, he can’t help the way his hips jolt a little every once in a while
he’ll make it up to you in the morning if you’re in the mood, soft groans and choked moans leaving him as he gently works himself into you again and again. between your sleepy moans and how warm you are against him he doesn’t last long, overstimulated from being snug inside of you. he’ll go until you orgasm, muffling his whines against the crook of your neck. helps you clean up, sweetly kissing your thighs while gently cleaning up your slick skin. he’ll help you to the shower, both your heads a little fuzzy from a blissful morning. he’ll shampoo and condition your hair for you if you want, careful not to be too rough. it makes him smile when you yawn, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter shut - warm water lulling you back into a comfortable headspace
König who’s apprehensive about touching you purposely in your sleep - even when you tell him it’s okay, that you’d like him to. he just doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to ruin your beauty sleep and accidentally wake you up. “You don’t have to, you can if you want, König.”, your tired smile easing his nerves. nothing happens for a couple days, business as usual as you go about the normal routine. until one night, the cold air outside forgotten with the temperature of your room, the blankets draped over you warm and cozy. König stares at the ceiling, aching cock restrained by his boxers. five minutes, five horrible minutes of waking up and not moving, thinking about taxes and deployments - anything to get his early morning wood down. when you shift beside him he glances at you, heat rushing up his neck to his face
he’s quiet when he tugs his underwear down, wincing when the mattress dips as he shifts. his gaze lingers on your face, soft and calm as you breathe out. he doesn’t think he can properly fuck you, not like this, but he’ll make it work. careful as he shimmies your underwear down, breathing a little heavier as he runs his index finger across your slit. he’s a little mesmerized as he works his digit into you, gaze switching between your cunt and face whenever you make a small noise. his middle finger slips in too, coaxing you open as you sleep. honestly, he gets a little caught up in it, momentarily forgetting about his weepy cock. you’re just so pretty like this, body limp and relaxed, letting him touch you like glass. pulling his hand away, the moves a little closer, slowly rubbing his tip against your clit
he’s carefully, a little nervous as he presses himself to you. shuddering when he bullies his head into you, little, controlled bucks of his hips making him whine softly. he doesn’t want to push his luck, stilling himself as he breathes out. he can do it, he’ll make sure you don’t wake up. swallowing thickly, he moans quietly as he pumps his cock, shallow little movements as he fucks his tip into you. you feel so warm, slick around what he’s worked into you. just a little faster, he’ll be quick - jerking himself off with his leaky tip snug inside of you— you’ll wake up with him leaking out you. that’s what you want, right? your half-lidded eyes looking up at him when you told him, voice low and raspy from the nap you had taken, sleepy smile on your lips. it’s okay if he uses you a little, liebling, he’ll make it up to you when the sun rises, eat himself out of you if you want
the thought alone has König shuddering, his hand gripping himself a little firmer as he works just a little more of himself into you, nerves searing up his spine as he gasps. it’ll keep your tummy nice and warm, maybe you’ll thank him with a dopey little smile, soft spoken praise for doing a good job. he’s quick to pull out afterwards, gently tugging your underwear back up. chest raising and falling, he sits back, eyes glued to the little damp spot on your crotch. you were so good for him too, sleeping through his depravity and dreaming. he’s careful as he settles back under the covers, tucked himself back into his boxers. he’ll worship you in the morning, kiss you like porcelain and handle you with care. his sleepy girl deserves to be comfortable
bonus thought because the voices won’t shut up
CW: still Fem!Reader and sleepy sex, stuffed animal
König buying the softest, cutest stuffed animal. he knows you like them, and he thought it’d be a nice gift. it’s good to cuddle with at night, especially when König is on a deployment and can’t be there for you. it’s hardly a replacement for the behemoth of a man, not nearly as warm and firm as he is, but the little stuffie does it’s job. and, oh, is it worth it to come home to you padding around with it, tired little yawn leaving you as you hug it to your chest. he’s tired too, kicking off his boots as you happily approach him, a little lethargic and dreamy as you hug him, your precious little stuffie squished between him and you
it’s not his fault you look adorable, taking his hand before leading him to bed. resting sounds amazing, compared to the piss poor cot he had to sleep on while deployed, your shared bed is a luxury. but he isn’t lulled to sleep when he gets into bed, and it’s not too long until you’re moaning prettily for him. eyes fluttering closed and clinging to your gift from him, you look so soft. he’s a little rougher than usual, murmuring soft apologizes that are in one ear and out the other. he’s filling you up so nicely, his pace is still comfortable - a consistent rocking that leaves you dizzy and blissful. you’re sure that you’ll be drifting off as soon as you’re done, mind already foggy. content, his chapped lips pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead as you moan, stuffie held close to your chest as you nod off, König slowly pulling out and petting your hair
Uhmmmm I just want you to know that I read an article on German pet names (for no reason) a while ago that said schnecke (snail) is a pet name, usually for someone shy or reserved (because you want them to come out of their shell)
So imagine König calling you his schnecke, the way he always sees you curled up and hiding under the covers, making him coax you out slowly, gently from your little safe and cozy spot so you can start the day.
And you know what stop me if this is too crazy but I think sleepy!reader can fall asleep in snail pose. Face down, ass up, knees tucked under, soft belly pressed against soft thighs. Who said that
Also a firm believer that the most evil thing anyone can do to this man is interrupt him and his schnecke’s bedtime ritual. Almost crushes his phone when it rings right as you were drifting off, so relaxed after the dinner he made with you and the hot bath he drew for you. You wince like a fussy baby and burrow to hide from the sharp noise. Whoever called better watch their fucking back when he’s back at base.
Maybe Konig and a very tired reader?..... someone who just needs him to help her get up in the morning and lay back down in the night. In return, she's the most affectionate towards him.
I also love (I mean obsess over) your works with him thank you so much<3
I am Sleepy!Reader, Sleepy!Reader is me - I feel them in my tired bones😔✨
König adores slow mornings with you - even if it’s a weekday, he’ll pause and hold you before needing to get up. his heart flutters when you ask for, “Jus’ a couple more minutes…”, squeezing when you tug the covers up over your head. he doesn’t have the heart to disturb you so he gets up, abandoning the warm sheets. he’ll get started on his morning routine while you doze, prepping breakfast, reading a couple pages from his latest book
König who gently stirs you from sleep, one big hand cupping your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. his mama always woke him up like this as a kid, cooing softly that it’s time to start the day, opposed to his father who would just knock loudly on his door. he wants you to wake up relaxed and happy, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn. you look so soft, pillow lines on your face and hair a little messy. his own Briar Rose, and he’s your Prince Charming bringing you something to drink - be it coffee or tea, water or juice, it doesn’t matter as long as you like it
König really shines with you after a deployment. achy and sore, he’ll collapse on the couch, tugging you down with him. early morning? midafternoon? dusk? I hope you’re ready for König, human furnace that he is, to cuddle up to you. he’s in a state of exhaustion and hunger after being in the field, half asleep and eating something. he runs incredibly warm, and being tucked against him? it’s nearly guaranteed to have you drifting off. the combination of his steady heartbeat and the warmth radiating off of him is wonderful, he takes his job as a pillow very seriously. if you fall asleep on or next to him he won’t move. does he have to use the bathroom? he can hold it, he doesn’t want to disturb you
once it’s time to actually get ready for bed he’s making sure you’re nice and relaxed. are his hands rough and calloused? yes they are, but if he puts a little lotion on them and gives you a massage? oh, it’s lights out for you. if you let him, König will work his hands from your shoulders to your feet, concentrating on making you go boneless. he’ll get you a cup of water in case you get thirsty in the middle of the night good luck getting to it if he has you locked against his chest. he lives for pampering his sleepy little Maus, tucks you against him while playing with your hair. combing through your hair with his fingers, gently scratching your scalp, it soothes him as much as it soothes you
König absolutely adores how clingy you get when you’re drowsy, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you seek him out. he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, he never will. his lap is always available to you, whether you want to use his thighs as a pillow or straddle them and lay against him. he’ll let you absentmindedly toy with him, enjoys the feeling of your hands messing with his hair or kneading his muscles. he lives for the way your eyes droop, eyelashes hanging low as you fight off a nap. if you want, he’ll let you dumbly suck on his neck or fingers, the soft repetitive feeling relaxing the both of you - he doesn’t mind a little drool, don’t worry Schatz
CW: Fem!Reader, safe, sane, consensual somno, sleepy sex, cockwarming, fingering (fem!receiving), handjob, no condom - wrap it before you tap it, manifesting needy gentle big guy König (my heart— [explodes])
König loves soft sex before going to bed or early in the morning when you wake up. if you need a little extra warmth, other than his body enveloping you, he’ll gently prep you before sinking into you. it always feels better when you’re both relaxed, König’s barely-there thrusting and your halfhearted grinding. delightfully full, warmth pooling in your gut, sometimes you both fall asleep before anything really gets going. it’s not something you can really escape in the middle of the night, König’s thick arms secure around your waist, his face pressed to your neck. he can get a little twitchy, lost in his dreams and breathing against you, he can’t help the way his hips jolt a little every once in a while
he’ll make it up to you in the morning if you’re in the mood, soft groans and choked moans leaving him as he gently works himself into you again and again. between your sleepy moans and how warm you are against him he doesn’t last long, overstimulated from being snug inside of you. he’ll go until you orgasm, muffling his whines against the crook of your neck. helps you clean up, sweetly kissing your thighs while gently cleaning up your slick skin. he’ll help you to the shower, both your heads a little fuzzy from a blissful morning. he’ll shampoo and condition your hair for you if you want, careful not to be too rough. it makes him smile when you yawn, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter shut - warm water lulling you back into a comfortable headspace
König who’s apprehensive about touching you purposely in your sleep - even when you tell him it’s okay, that you’d like him to. he just doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to ruin your beauty sleep and accidentally wake you up. “You don’t have to, you can if you want, König.”, your tired smile easing his nerves. nothing happens for a couple days, business as usual as you go about the normal routine. until one night, the cold air outside forgotten with the temperature of your room, the blankets draped over you warm and cozy. König stares at the ceiling, aching cock restrained by his boxers. five minutes, five horrible minutes of waking up and not moving, thinking about taxes and deployments - anything to get his early morning wood down. when you shift beside him he glances at you, heat rushing up his neck to his face
he’s quiet when he tugs his underwear down, wincing when the mattress dips as he shifts. his gaze lingers on your face, soft and calm as you breathe out. he doesn’t think he can properly fuck you, not like this, but he’ll make it work. careful as he shimmies your underwear down, breathing a little heavier as he runs his index finger across your slit. he’s a little mesmerized as he works his digit into you, gaze switching between your cunt and face whenever you make a small noise. his middle finger slips in too, coaxing you open as you sleep. honestly, he gets a little caught up in it, momentarily forgetting about his weepy cock. you’re just so pretty like this, body limp and relaxed, letting him touch you like glass. pulling his hand away, the moves a little closer, slowly rubbing his tip against your clit
he’s carefully, a little nervous as he presses himself to you. shuddering when he bullies his head into you, little, controlled bucks of his hips making him whine softly. he doesn’t want to push his luck, stilling himself as he breathes out. he can do it, he’ll make sure you don’t wake up. swallowing thickly, he moans quietly as he pumps his cock, shallow little movements as he fucks his tip into you. you feel so warm, slick around what he’s worked into you. just a little faster, he’ll be quick - jerking himself off with his leaky tip snug inside of you— you’ll wake up with him leaking out you. that’s what you want, right? your half-lidded eyes looking up at him when you told him, voice low and raspy from the nap you had taken, sleepy smile on your lips. it’s okay if he uses you a little, liebling, he’ll make it up to you when the sun rises, eat himself out of you if you want
the thought alone has König shuddering, his hand gripping himself a little firmer as he works just a little more of himself into you, nerves searing up his spine as he gasps. it’ll keep your tummy nice and warm, maybe you’ll thank him with a dopey little smile, soft spoken praise for doing a good job. he’s quick to pull out afterwards, gently tugging your underwear back up. chest raising and falling, he sits back, eyes glued to the little damp spot on your crotch. you were so good for him too, sleeping through his depravity and dreaming. he’s careful as he settles back under the covers, tucked himself back into his boxers. he’ll worship you in the morning, kiss you like porcelain and handle you with care. his sleepy girl deserves to be comfortable
bonus thought because the voices won’t shut up
CW: still Fem!Reader and sleepy sex, stuffed animal
König buying the softest, cutest stuffed animal. he knows you like them, and he thought it’d be a nice gift. it’s good to cuddle with at night, especially when König is on a deployment and can’t be there for you. it’s hardly a replacement for the behemoth of a man, not nearly as warm and firm as he is, but the little stuffie does it’s job. and, oh, is it worth it to come home to you padding around with it, tired little yawn leaving you as you hug it to your chest. he’s tired too, kicking off his boots as you happily approach him, a little lethargic and dreamy as you hug him, your precious little stuffie squished between him and you
it’s not his fault you look adorable, taking his hand before leading him to bed. resting sounds amazing, compared to the piss poor cot he had to sleep on while deployed, your shared bed is a luxury. but he isn’t lulled to sleep when he gets into bed, and it’s not too long until you’re moaning prettily for him. eyes fluttering closed and clinging to your gift from him, you look so soft. he’s a little rougher than usual, murmuring soft apologizes that are in one ear and out the other. he’s filling you up so nicely, his pace is still comfortable - a consistent rocking that leaves you dizzy and blissful. you’re sure that you’ll be drifting off as soon as you’re done, mind already foggy. content, his chapped lips pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead as you moan, stuffie held close to your chest as you nod off, König slowly pulling out and petting your hair
Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!
cw: some daddy kink level stuff
Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.
Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.
Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.
Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.
König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.
Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.
Like what if she's at base in his office taking a nap and she gets scared awake by something/someone & Price gets very angry <333
(she's me fr bc when someone wakes me up I just start crying-)
Bro if you wake up Price’s babygirl from a nap YOURE the one who’s abt to say goodnight lmao
Price feels guilty over his work sometimes— you’ll often come to visit him for lunch, and he’ll often get tied up with something that was only brought to his attention at the last minute, something that has to be done immediately. Doesn’t help that he hates paperwork, and isn’t the fastest at filling it out.
So you usually crash on his couch while you wait for him to finish, you’ve even got your own set of blankets and pillows for his couch by now. His office has an exterior wall, so it can get cold as all fuck in the winter, so you’re bundled up tight beneath your comforters today.
And then a fight breaks out. Right outside of his door. Some pissant sergeant and a private who doesn’t know any better, slamming each other against the walls and shouting threats. Foolish enough to start a fight right in front of a captain’s office— but while his girl is on the premises? Rest in fucking pieces. You get teary when you wake up to loud sounds, to yelling— god, you could never handle the yelling. Too sensitive. Too wound up and skittish when you’re startled out of dreamland.
His first move is to throw open the door, which stops the commotion immediately.
“I’d choose your words very, very carefully, you lot,” he warns. They sputter excuses, apologies.
“This hallway had better become dead. Bloody. Silent in a moment. If not, I’ll be sending you back to your C.O. In a bloody heap. Your choice.” He’s got their names memorized from their uniforms— the discipline they receive will not be an enviable one.
With that done, he shuts the door quietly and he’s at your side in a few strides, bushing your hair from your face and wiping the couple stray tears you shed. “There now, darl’. Your man’s not gonna let anything like that happen again, yeah? Just tuck back in and relax, sweet girl.”
He’ll only give you the softest of kisses, stroking your hair as he presses his warm lips to yours in that special way only he knows how. The way that gets his girl to settle, just the way she needs.
Bonus depravity:
John totally lets you sit under his desk and use his cock as a pacifier. Perched on a big pillows, your arms hugging his thigh as you suckle gently.
Your lashes flutter and your breathing evens, drool sliding down his shaft, wetting the chair. He reaches a hand down to pet you, to cup your face and feel how you hold his dick in your mouth.
It's nearly one am when Simon stumbles out of the bar. The team was in Berlin for an operation but they had wrapped that up yesterday. Their flight home wasn't scheduled till the next day so they had decided to enjoy the sights and activities. And you can't visit the beer capital of the world without getting a pint, Soap had pointed out. So they stopped by the pub. One pint turned into two, two turned into three. Now he was, staggering down the streets of Berlin with only one goal in mind.
He needed to get home to the missus.
Simon didn't get very far away from the bar before Soap noticed his absence. Soap gently steers him back to the bar. Simon loosely swats at him.
"She'll be u'set if 'm naw home," Simon slurs at him. Soap chuckles and nods.
"I know. But you canny just waltz out on us," he says, pushing Simon into a seat. Simon huffs and begins to stand again, wobbling just a bit.
"Sit yer ass down. We'll call the missus, right?", Soap offers. After fumbling his phone for a minute and trying to get the password typed in, Soap helps Simon call you.
"Hi, honey. How is it going?", your voice rings through the phone. Simon gives you a drunken grin.
" 'llo love," he slurs. You giggle at his love drunk expression.
"Hi baby. Had a bit to drink?," you chuckle.
"He near tried to walk himself home," Soap shouts to you. You laugh harder. Simon wrinkles his nose at Soap, still displeased with being kept there.
" 'm sorry, love. I won't be home in time for dinner," he rumbles. He looks so sad. Big brown eyes staring down at the phone, lip poked out in a small pout. You wipe a tear of laughter from your eye.
Yes, he would kill for you and he would die for you but his affections and undying love isn't limited to oaths. It's boundless and endless.
He will cook for you, learn because he wasn't taught very good and he wants everything to be good for you.
He will sing for you, because you'd heard him in the shower and couldn't get past to fall asleep without his husky songs to make you fall asleep on his chest.
He will wash the dishes, side by side you. Laughing along as you dry the plates and using his hands at work to your own advantage to play mischief on him.
He will hear you, as you would continue to talk about everything because nothing was out of field, and despite you being a very seducing distraction, he's always trying his best.
He's a “my girlfriend, my wife” guy despite the other Task force guys teasing him about it, he doesn't mind holding your purse, instead he prods on it, he's always on his knees to tie your shoelaces, to help you out from those pointy heels. He doesn't mind being whipped, as Soap christened it, or smitten as Gaz chortled, because he is, as he should.
He's not patronising, despite being raised up to be one. He's gentle and kind and soft for you, and he's working on becoming a better man everyday for you.
He doesn't let his anger that's so unforgiving and terrible get the better of him, he's not a monster despite the blood on his hands as you've always told him so, he would pace around the lawn, sit in the grass, wash his face but he wouldn't let his anger be something you should be scared off, he wouldn't let it get between this holy thing called love.
He talks things out, understands your opinion, values them openly.
He expresses everything even so it'd become difficult after being told to be stoic for so long, but he tries, always for you.
He's always startled and flushed when you compliment him and he's trying to learn that you mean every word of it.
fuck me but oral fixation is through the goddamn roof again
thinking about how, when simon fucks you in missionary, he slips his thumb in your mouth and cups your jaw just like that. you lap at his finger, curling your tongue on the underside of it the way you do with his cock, and it makes him groan, twitching from where he is nestled so far in the gummy press of your walls.
"y'love havin' yer mouth stuffed, don't you, pretty?" simon croons, breathless himself because seeing you like this — all teary eyed and swollen lips and so, so needy for him — is such a turn on. it makes him just as desperate. just as clingy.
you give his thumb a hummed suck in reply and christ. how did that actually make him harder, cock surely leaking and filling up the condom snug around his girth.
he should fuck you soon; reward you for being good to him but—
simon doesn't slip his finger out, choosing instead to press down on your tongue to watch the way your spit pools, turning your voice into weakened gargles—
you look so undeniably helpless like this, and simon is addicted.
enthralled.
goddamn enchanted.
yeah, he thinks, letting up at his weight and allowing you to circle your plush lips around his thumb again. what a fucking beautiful sweetheart you are.
something something babysitter!reader, price calling you to pick you up earlier because his shitty ex wife made sure he has the wrong time for the court hearing, you rush over to his house. hes incredibly thankful while horribly stressed, quickly tying his tie around his neck while on the way to the door. you, being the sweet thing you are, follow him around to help, baby on your hip, keys in the other. he takes them while you're standing in the doorframe and without thinking; call it force of habit; he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before speeding off.
