゚. 🩹・𝗗𝗲𝗹𝘂𝗹𝘂 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗱𝗮𝘆! 彡
𖧧
𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 !┆𝐈 𝐚𝐦 20 +┆𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲
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•this is a reblog account, this is my source of comfort and entertainment.
•minors dni
please be kind and respectful. ◡̈ ty
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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゚. 🩹・𝗗𝗲𝗹𝘂𝗹𝘂 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗱𝗮𝘆! 彡
𖧧
𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 !┆𝐈 𝐚𝐦 20 +┆𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲
➜﹒note【📓】
•this is a reblog account, this is my source of comfort and entertainment.
•minors dni
please be kind and respectful. ◡̈ ty
Sergeant!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish rushes home for a birthday fuck with his secret girlfriend!reader but task force!141 end up catching catch him in the act. | ANONYMOUS REQUEST FILL It was rare to see Johnny "Soap" MacTavish move with that kind of focus when he wasn’t breaching a door or under fire. But today was different—his birthday, for one. And he had a very good reason to leg it home before anyone could rope him into a round at the pub.
You’d promised him a “fun night in,” said it in that teasing way that had him grinning like an idiot through the whole bloody debrief. He’d been counting down the hours since wheels down, half-listening to Price talk while mentally peeling you out of whatever you said you’d be wearing.
He was halfway out of his kit before he even hit the barracks, muttering something about “needing to sort somethin’ back home.”
“Sort what, your laundry?” Gaz had called after him.
Johnny just grinned, already backing toward the exit. “Somethin’ like that, mate.”
Price frowned over his tea. “He’s never that quick to bugger off after training.”
Ghost grunted. “Aye. Probably a date with his mirror.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Gaz said, shaking his head. “He’s his own biggest fan, that one.”
But the hours ticked on, and the lads got restless. When the bottle came out, someone—maybe Gaz, maybe Price—suggested swinging by Johnny’s flat to drag him out for a proper birthday pint.
By the time they reached his building, night had set in. The street was quiet, save for the hum of the city and the clinking of the six-pack in Gaz’s hand.
Price rapped on the door. No answer.
“Maybe he’s not in,” Gaz offered.
“Window’s open,” Ghost noted, eyes narrowing at the soft glow spilling from inside. They exchanged a look.
Ghost leaned closer, listening. “You hear that?”
Gaz tilted his head. “Is that… a fuckin’ porno?”
It wasn’t.
For a moment, they all just stood there, trying to place the sound—rhythmic, low, and muffled.
Then came a groan.
Then another sound.
Price’s brow furrowed. “Bloody hell, he’s not—”
Ghost’s head snapped up. “Sounds like he’s celebratin’ just fine.”
And then—clear as day—your breathy voice broke through the quiet: “Johnny, I’m gunna—gunna cum—” followed by a low moan. The rest of the sentence drowned under the creak of the bed frame and a noise none of them could mistake. Skin slapping, wet and lewd, followed by a crack of Soap’s hand on your ass.
Gaz froze. “No way.”
Price took a slow sip from his flask. “Well, that explains why the man was in a hurry.”
For a beat, the three of them stood there—half stunned, half amused. Then Price huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he set the six-pack down by the door.
“Let the lad have his birthday,” he muttered.
Gaz grinned. “Did you know he was seein’ someone?”
Ghost gave a low grunt. “If I did, I’d’ve told her to run.”
That earned a laugh from all three as they started back down the walkway, the muffled sounds from the flat still echoing faintly behind them.
Price adjusted his cap. “Remind me to ask him about it tomorrow.”
Gaz snorted. “You think he’ll admit it?”
“Not a chance,” Price said. “But I reckon the look on his face’ll be worth it.” A/N: This was so fun and cheeky! Thanks to the anon who requested. Keep em coming! PS: First Soap Fic!
SHAVING.
— pairing: Task Force 141 × fem!Reader
— cw: established relationship; smut and fluff; domesticity; wc: 5.5 k
— S. RILEY:
Simon loves handling knives. It’s one of his specialities after all. And he’s caught you watching him multiple times; whether it was him cutting vegetables for supper, cleaning his combat knives, or shaving with a razor blade.
So, when you pad into the kitchen in nothing but his shirt and ask him to help you shave, he doesn't even blink.
“Where?”
You tug at the hem. He follows the gesture, and his expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes does.
“Right.” The chair scrapes over the tiles as he rises to his full height, rolling his broad shoulders. “Bathroom. Now.”
He has you up on the counter with your legs spread before you can overthink it. Clinical and efficient, like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Hold still,” he commands, lathering soap between his mammoth hands. “Squirm and I'll nick ya.”
You snort, “Reassuring."
“Wasn’t meant t’be.”
"Please." You beg, needy kisses planted all over his face as he gropes you, one hand firmly kneading the fat of your ass while the other one is holding your neck gently, making sure you don't try to give him more neck kisses. He's already painfully hard, he doesn't need you making it even worse— not when he's having so much fun teasing you.
"I'll think about it." You can see the smugness painted all over his face, not allowing you to touch yourself yet refusing to fuck you even when you're all needy and willing for him, ovulation almost driving you crazy. His rough hand slips into your pajama shorts, squeezing the bare skin of your ass. You cling closer to him, eyes closing and fingers squeezing his strong arms.
"You're so fucking rude." Your desperation is cute, his smirk growing wider as he lets go of your neck and allows you to hide your face on the crook of his neck, planting open-mouthed kisses.
"If you don't fuck me, I'll find someone else who will." The empty promise gets his attention, dark eyebrow raising in mild annoyance despite the way he tries to keep showing you he's unaffected by your words. He knows you won't— but what if you actually try doing that? His ego bruises a little, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand to cup his painfully hard cock, almost groaning at the feeling when you start to rub him through his sweatpants.
"Think someone else has a fucking cock this big?" He presses your hand closer to his clothed dick, helping you rub him up and down faster. Your lips crash against his to shut him up, ovulation throwing all shame out of the window as your hands explore each other's bodies.
You hesitantly break away from the kiss, already pulling his sweatpants down and hooking them under his balls, getting to action so fast that he can barely register. You're between his open legs, licking teasing stripes up and down his shaft, feeling him throb underneath your flat tongue.
"Fuck." His hand goes to the back of your head, guiding your open mouth to the tip of his cock, head throwing back when he feels you latch onto the tip. It's too much— his tip was leaking from the moment he saw how needy you were for him, yet you're making things so much worse for him now. Your tongue runs circles over his sensitive tip, tasting and spreading the salty precum all over before you start taking him in, sucking in your cheeks to make him feel even better.
His hands move your hair away from your face before cupping your cheeks and starting to thrust up into your needy throat. You relax your muscles as much as possible, feeling him hit the back of your throat as your nose makes contact with the his dark, curly pubes.
"Attagirl." He praises lowly once you take him all the way inside your throat, starting to fuck into you faster and faster, the wet sounds of your throat and saliva driving him closer to the edge even when you just started. He can't help it— you look too fucking pretty with your makeup all messed up, spit dripping down your chin and with his thick cock all the way down your throat.
Half-lidded eyes look down at you as he holds the back of your head, pushing his cock as deep as possible into your throat before shooting ropes of salty cum, the sounds of your gag reflex being triggered and the coughs you try to let out even when his cock is buried into you simply make it hotter for him, only letting go once you slap his thigh softly. He gently pulls out of you, breaths coming in ragged as he tries to recover, feeling your tongue lapping at his softening cock and cleaning him up before pulling his sweatpants back up.
"Come here." He encourages you once he's able to breathe normally, letting out a content sigh once you're cuddling him up and laying your head on his chest. His arms wrap around you and he plants gentle kisses on your forehead, baby blue eyes looking down at you with nothing short of raw adoration.
"Give me a few and I'll be ready to fuck you." He promises in a whisper, one of his rough hands sneaking into your pajama shorts, a deep chuckle escaping his lips when you instantly open your legs for him.
"So fucking wet." He sounds amused as his fingers make contact with your folds, teasing the entrance before rubbing small circles on your puffy clit. Lovely girl you are, making him cum first even when you were this wet the whole time.
His free hand cradles your head, angling it up so he can plant his lips on yours and muffling your whiny moan as his thick fingers begin to enter your cunt, giving you time to ease up to his touch.
His tongue wraps around yours, pushing your head closer to his to be able to kiss you as deep as possible as his fingers curl into your cunt, thumb rubbing your clit in gentle circles. He pushes his fingers in and out of your cunt, spreading the wetness all over and going back inside, fingering you faster until you can't contain your moans anymore.
You break away from the kiss, face hiding on the crook of his neck and taking in his smell, hand coming up to grasp his strong forearm as he fingers you deeper and faster. It doesn't take long before your orgasm hits, whiny moans leaving your lips as your hips involuntarily thrust up, making him go deeper as you ride out your orgasm.
He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, guiding them to his lips to lick off the mess you made, tasting you. The corners of his lips tug up into a smirk as he sees your slightly embarrassed expression, playfully pushing your head out of the way.
Everyone agrees Keegan is a NASTY old man, yeah? He loves messy stuff. Absolutely adores spitting in your mouth AND you spitting in his, so imagine DBF!Keegan when his princess starts lactating as a side effect from medication?? This man is in heaven.
The moment he sees the stains on your shirts, all hell breaks loose. It takes him almost an hour of begging and telling you he could help, how he'd be in the wrong for not helping his princess out because all that milk is there for a reason— it needs to come out, otherwise it'll hurt you and what a horrible man he'd be if he simply stood there and watched you be in pain.
He doesn't waste any time once you give him the green light, barely managing to lift your shirt before he's latching onto your nipple, one of his hands squeezing your tit softly while the other one is running up and down your back soothingly, helping you relax while he starts drinking the milk coming out. It's sweet— something he can definitely see himself getting addicted to, sucking a little bit harder, wanting to drink more of the breast milk.
''You're like a big ass baby for liking it, weirdo.'' You try to tease despite the way his hand is now stimulating your other sensitive nipple, pinching and pulling softly until the milk starts to come out as well, not minding the mess he's making on his hand and your body. You look down and he simply offers you a grin, not embarrassed at all by enjoying this so much. He swallows before hesitantly letting go of your nipple, giving it a few teasing licks.
''I'm just helping.'' He shrugs, the smug smile on his lips telling a completely different story. The bastard is doing it because it feels good for him, now latching onto your other nipple and sucking even harder just to annoy you, slowing down when you smack the back of his head for being so rough.
We haven’t circled back to hybrid aus for a long time, let’s fix that. Consider this — avian!141 with gn!Reader.
Rooster!Johnny who has always been the biggest presence in the room, who grins too wide when he notices you picking up his shimmering feathers because you like what you see, don’t you? Colourful plumage on his chest shifts from orange to dark red to almost black, soft feathers cushioning your head when he wraps you in his wings, huffing out air with laughter.
Rooster!Johnny likes his flock and likes his mates, but don’t you remember how territorial chickens are, m’eudail? He could just keep you all to himself, away from the rest and be happy to have all of your attention to himself. All the compliments and all the touches and all the love.
Would you like that? Tell him you like Johnny the best and then you can pluck another feather straight out of him, ‘kay?
Peacock!Price who hates the bloody tail and the staring it always brings, because he is not some show off. Peacock!Price who is used to fold it down and keep it close because you can’t exactly be flashy in his line of work if you don’t want a mercenary to wait for you in your shower when you get back home.
But you stare at him, stubborn and brilliant, arms crossed over the chest and fucking hell, he didn’t want to impress someone that badly since he was a green lad. And maybe that’s why his whole fucking monstrosity of a tail fans out — glimmers with the dozens of ‘eyes’, iridescent and embarrassingly obvious.
The worst thing is — he can’t make it stop, not when you look at it with such awe, because the bloody bird in him is stronger, because he is a weak man and wanted your eyes on him for entirely too long.
“Want a feather?” Price tilts his head, eyes heavy and heat climbing up his face when you quickly blink and look him back in the eyes. Actually dazed at the sight of his tail. “Can give you one. Evening, my bunk.” It is not a question or even an offer, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling too hard and something in his chest is spilling warm and satisfied.
Maybe there are some perks in having this stupid thing.
Eagle!Kyle who likes following you around whenever he has time, who spots you at gym and helps you at gun range. Pokes and prods until you grumble ‘fuck off, Garrick’, his grin widening — his claws graze your skin through the shirt when he pats your arm and has the nerve to huff out ‘easy, mate’.
Eagle!Kyle who has the time of his life chasing you through the building during escape trainings, he is faster than you’d like him to be and quieter than people give him credit for. Kyle catches you 9 times out of 10, but in that 1 time he doesn’t, you’d think Christmas came early with how wide he is smiling. Sweaty and tired, you both are covered in cement dust and scratches from where you took a tumble through the ruined floors.
Eagle!Kyle comes to your bunk more often than others realise, he brings his pillows and blanket — nestles next to you, ignoring the attempts to point out that it’s not a nest for him to construct with you. Kyle tucks you under his side, claws tracing the skin of your lower back when he slips his palm under your T-shirt. Strokes your back up and down, his wing draped over your shoulders to keep you close and warm.
Kyle knows that you will be out cold in a matter of minutes. Kyle knows that with how much you let him get away with, he’s got to be your favourite.
Mourning Dove!Simon who keeps watching you cuddle Johnny and gawk at Price and nest with Kyle. Simon no longer has his wings, not after torture and almost dying, he doesn’t take his mask off and he rarely is in anything other than black clothes covering as much skin as possible.
Mourning dove!Simon doesn’t like pity and doesn’t like the uncomfortable vulnerability. He doesn’t like you having this much power.
He doesn’t like that out of the whole flock he can offer the least. Simon’s feathers are very few nowadays, he isn’t plucking them out to win your favour and can’t offer you a chance to pick out the loose ones. Simon can’t fly and can’t wrap you in his wings, can’t keep you all cocooned and warm.
Simon Riley doesn’t really tell you that he is even an avian hybrid, because really, with how deficient he is, it’s probably best you think that he isn’t. Saves him the pity, the questions and the slimy disgust inside his own chest when he stares at the bathroom mirror and wants to pluck the remaining feathers out for good.
But dove parts of him still resurface when you sit between his legs, back pressed to his chest — head tilted so he can nose at your neck. It’s a subconscious thing at first when he starts nuzzling you there, less so when he rolls the mask up to mouth at your skin.
Barely a nibble, but you still make these short sighs, melting into him and wings he no longer has itch to clap against the back of the couch.
The quiet soft cooing his throat vibrates with when you put away your book and look at him, don’t catch him off guard only because he doesn’t notice them. Simon is too focused on your lips, his arms wrapping around your torso, nose nudges your cheek so you’d tilt your head more.
So he can catch your lips and then let go, nosing at your neck again, chest rumbling when you grow restless.
Mourning dove!Simon is shite at making nests so he lets you do it yourself and just weaves himself into it, content to have you as a weighted blanket — his chest tight when you nose at his neck too.
Doves mate for a very long time and here you are, courting him back like you actually mean it. Like you understand what he is now without the parts that made him appealing, that made him someone, that made him Simon.
There is only Ghost left and yet, you nibble at the skin on his neck, just to glance back up immediately. You are waiting for him to coo again, he realises slowly, jaw pressed together tightly because do you know what it means or do you just think it’s fun?
But the dove in him has been starved for this, the dove in him likes you as much as Simon does and the dove in him isn’t insecure.
“Can I ask something?” You mumble in a vulnerably space under his jaw one evening. Could rip the meat out there and he’d bleed out in a matter of minutes, Simon thinks lazily, his fingers slowly tapping against your ribs. He doesn’t answer but just makes a low questioning hum, too tired after a long mission. Too happy to have you in the nest and you this affectionate.
“Are you a pigeon?” You ask after a beat and Simon stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, some avian pride in him offended because do you think he is a flying rat, love? Is that so? So you don’t like him, that’s what he heard?
“Do I look that awful?” He asks in return, palm now lying on your ribs, up close to your heart so he can feel it rather than know it is there and still beating.
“No, you are rather handsome.” You are so deadpan that is difficult to say whether you are pulling his leg so just to be sure, Simon scoffs and doesn’t say anything. “So not a pigeon?” You try again after a moment and he just makes a short noncommittal sound.
You guessed what kind of eagle Kyle is on the first go and then you assumed Ghost a pigeon? Seems like maybe you don’t like him enough to put in some real effort.
Mourning dove!Simon doesn’t really want to admit to his hybrid half. It doesn’t matter anymore in any case. Simon is hardly anything other than what he is right now.
What’s the point of discussing the irony of his species’ name? What difference is it going to make if you know what he is no longer and never will be?
“I like your cooing.” You say suddenly and Ghost pauses, glancing down at you, his thumb slowly stroking the skin against your rib cage.
“Don’t be daft, luv, I don’t coo.” Simon says because he never did, only you nose at his throat again and it fucking vibrates with another soft cooing sound.
“Then I really like your not-cooing, l.t.” You breathe out in his skin and he can hear the smile in your voice. Simon can feel it when you nibble at his stubble, enjoying yourself so obviously the bloody cooing gets only louder.
Mourning dove!Simon may no longer have wings or abundance of beautiful feathers, he might even not know a thing about making a proper nest.
Mourning dove!Simon can hardly call himself an actual dove nowadays, but maybe there are still parts that he can let you see. And seems like you still want him with or without them.
Afternoon naps — Sleepy! Reader x Simon
Just thinking about how Simon was never the type of person who could take random naps through the day— until you.
You’d dragged him with you to take your daily nap in your soft, cozy, comfortable, pink, nest look like bed, changing into your, it was his but you claimed it has yours now, oversized shirt and some comfy panties. He’d just take his shirt and socks off because he just knew he was going to get a little hot when you’d wrap him up in your cozy pink blankies.
At first, he would fight you a little, stubborn man and his own little way to make you know he really wanted it but wasn’t sure, to then give up and let you prepare him for the nap. He’d tell himself he just wanted to for you to take your nap in peace and then when you’d fall asleep he could just get up do his own thing.
Of course that was not the case.
He’d end up taking one of the best naps he have ever taken in his life, and your would just look at him with a soft smile knowing that he needed it just like you did
It became a thing of you two, a routine where you’d just give him a kiss and a little tug on his shirt and he knew it was time to take a nap of the day.
just thinking about Simon being a big, scary, man all wrapped up and taking a nap in a pink bed. Agh I love him sm >< (I also wrote this during my lunch hour because I could not get the idea out of my head)
Dude, just in case you're not used to wearing rings.
So you take it off every night before you go to bed.
So every morning?
Ghost will hold up the ring and ask you again. “Will you marry me?” “What does it mean when we sleep together every day? Strangers who have gotten a marriage certificate?” “I just want to ask you again.” “Again and again, the answer will be yes.”
These are mainly fluffy headcanons with slight themes of angst due to the nature of long deployments with implications/references of a death that could happen.
One thing people tend to forget about König working for a private military company is that he can still go on long deployments/missions that can take months to even years to complete where he would not be able to see his beloved.
König may be an extremely cocky man, which is something no one can deny from his voice lines. On the surface level he may think that no other person is skilled enough to kill him, but deep down that is not the case. Even if his anxiety does not actively affect him on a level you would truly notice it is still rooted deep in his brain as it spews out harrowing ideas that he can not get rid of as they nip at him while being made bigger by his trauma and past experiences. This causes a deep-seated paranoia about the idea of him dying on the field and leaving you all alone with your last memory of him being a sad one haunts him, or even worse in his time gone you completely forget about him and move on to someone new that could fill the hole he left behind.
This leads him to make the day before his long deployment the best of your life while he puts together a surprise to ensure you always have pieces of him while he is apart from you.
König can’t find it in him to get mad at you, Schatzi. Even when you’re following him around the kitchen snacking on all the ingredients before they even get a chance to hit the pan
instead, he’ll place a peck on your forehead and murmur, “Leave some room for dinner, ja? Meine schönste Frau” before shooing you away
König once referred to his dick as a “big German sausage”, you didn’t touch him for a week.
"schatzi please?" he’ll pout, cooing at your ear as he grinds his hard on through the thin fabric of your shorts.
"no kö, this is because of your weird comment" you grumble, lightly pinching his cheek to tease the desperate man.
"but i thought you liked wurst?" he’ll mumble disappointed, laughing as you smack his shoulder.
he’ll continue trying to coax you, planting wet kisses on the slope of your neck and pawing at your chest as he sucks on your nipple.
slobbering over your mound as he plays with your delicate nub, "don’t you feel bad schatzi? he misses you.." he’ll whine, holding his fat erect cock on display for you.
pre drooling from the tip as he grinds it against your thigh, rough hands desperately thrusting as he tried to get off.
whimpering against your neck when he fails to do so, "komm on schatzi, i miss your sweet muschi. need to be inside you :(" he’ll pout, desperate for your attention.
how could you ever ignore this needy behemoth of a man?
König pulling you against his chest, bulky arms like iron bands around your waist, not giving you any space to move - or wiggle out.
every kiss he presses into your neck sends jolts coursing through your body, overwhelming every sense. it fogs your mind, you can’t think. You can’t be defeated by mere little kisses…
“König- my heart,” you shakily say, trying to pry him off but he doesn’t fucking budge. “Now’s not the right time for this—” You let out a cry when he bites you, face tucked under your chin, he doesn’t seem to want to move. “Nein.” He says sharply, emphasizing his frustration with another bite, wanting to get his way so bad, his voice begging. “Bitte, Schatz, ich brauche dich. I need to feel you around me.”
He presses kisses into your neck with such devotion, anywhere and everywhere, greedy, hungry lips of his trying to cover every inch of skin, where your cheek is, up your jawline, “Please,” he whispers so tenderly, nibbling on your earlobe. “I bet you’re wet…” his sureness over himself should turn you off, but he’s so cocky about you, knows you inside and out. Bastard’s too good at this…you’ve seen him fumble at bars before your very eyes! How’s this working on you… a whine bubbles out of your throat, catching both of you off guard.
you froze. Staying absolutely still like he’s about to pounce on you. König’s eyes are now on you as you stared at each other. You know that look, pupils blown.
“no.” you softly utter. “down boy.”
He doesn’t give you time to say another word of protest, he’s scooping you in his arms and relying that you’ll automatically wrap your legs around his waist so you don’t fall.
“König!” He’s not listening.
He silences you with a deep kiss, already fumbling with his belt. “Mine, all mine.”
He slips in, in one big thrust, his spongy tip kissing your cervix perfectly, he fits like a glove. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, you feel so full, it’s not helping that he grinds his pelvis on your clit. He doesn’t need another thrust, tucking his face in the crook of your neck, all it takes to get him off is to slightly rock his hips into you and occasionally press a kiss to your cheek or temple. “I knew you liked me too…” He cradles your head, allowing you to lean into his palm and your eyes to flutter shut. “I love you…” he whispers so slowly, those three simple words melting your brain through your ears. Again and again he repeats as he makes love to you at a languid pace, neither noticing the switch between languages when he felt himself getting close. “Ich liebe dich so sehr…” it doesn’t take long for him to spill inside you, pressing one last kiss to your lips as you come undone with him.
König getting frustrated with fucking you from the back bc it keeps slipping out so he flips you over and puts you in a mating press—I mean, who the fuck said that Doesn’t pull out, for the record, keeps you pinned down underneath his weight watching you squirm with tears in your eyes, begging him to slow down.
Kisses them away, so tenderly, mind you, all the while you’re clawing his back and he’s whispering, “Shhh… I know, I know, I’m here, Schatzi” like he’s not putting you through the mattress. His lips stay peppering kisses on your cheeks until finally, he presses one last one to your forehead, praising you for a job well done taking all of him while he pumps you full of his cum.
miserable rn so idk shower fic
the idea is König insisting on washing your body, something about skin-to-skin contact being therapeutic, you think it’s an excuse for him to lather your bush with your body wash because “She needs care too, Spatz” skip to his ruddy tip poking out from between your thighs, using the slippery feel of soap as lube. can’t do anything about it because he’s nipping at your neck, grinning like a fool whilst alternating between sucking hickeys on your bare skin and kissing the red marks that slowly begin to form, coaxing you into relaxing against his chest by slowly rubbing eight figures around your swollen clit, telling you, “You’re doing such a great job for me, Schatzi” all the while he’s thrusting his hips from behind, thighs slapping against your ass, using your pussy lips to get off
hello! i absolutely love ur writing!! i was wondering if you’d be down to write a fic about reader sitting on simon’s face, you can have total creative freedom with it 🩷
riding simon riley's face
you were nervous, naturally. your thighs quivered as you hovered his face, his honey eyes heavy lidded, his blond lashes occasionally fluttered as he stared up at you.
your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, sticky arousal drooling from your slit with radiating warmth. it didn't help your nerves that you could feel his uneven, warm breaths against your cunt. a low chuckle from deep in his throat as he watched you clench around nothing, a whine surpassing your lips.
his crooked nose pressed into your pudgy thigh whenever he'd pressed a reassuring kiss to your skin, "c'mon, baby, don't be nervous, yeah?" his tone was almost taunting, affectionately condescending as he cocked his head to the side with a smug smirk pulling at his lips.
"but, si," you squirmed as you felt his fingers trail, skin rising with goosebumps, your hand tightening their grip on the headboard, knuckles turning white, "i'm gonna suffocate you!"
he barks out a laugh, making you want to huddle into a ball and lay in a ditch, "then i'll die a happy man, love," his rough, calloused hands snuck around your legs, locking his grip on top of your plush thighs, fingers digging into the supple skin as he orders you, "sit."
you oblige. rolling your eyes at the stupid grin that broke out on simon's face as you nervously lowered your wilting cunt, stopping just shy of his lips, feeling his chapped skin just barely graze your soaking, puffy folds.
he grunts lowly, eyes narrowing as he eyes up at you, "i said sit." his voice is harsh, not in a mean way, but firm and unwavering. "if i hav'ta move a fuckin' inch, i'll keep you here until you're beggin' f'mercy. got it?"
he waits for a response, eyes crinkling with the shallow nod you give him, "that's a good girl. now sit, non'f this hoverin' bullshit."
he tugs you down the rest of the way, ripping a high-pitched mewl from your lips, hands firm on your thighs as they imprison either side of his head, the vibrations of his lustful groans stimulate your clit, furthered by his crooked nose and heavy breaths puffing against your sensitive pearl. slick drools over his lips and chin, creating a sticky, squelchy mess as he licks and laps at your cunt like a man starved, eyes fluttering closed as he grows lax.
he lied earlier. he'll keep you here, regardless if you're good for him, slurping and nipping at your folds and little clit until you're incoherent and a sweaty, sticky mess, close to collapse. you stopped begging for mercy about 3 or 4 orgasms ago, but who's counting?
Lime-sized
Simon 'Ghost' Riley / fem!Reader
summary: Simon finds out his girlfriend is pregnant. He's determined to be the good father he never had.
notes: Okay so this request could have gone two ways: either Ghost knows or doesn't know about the pregnancy. But I thought it would be kind of strange... like in a maybe-she-cheated-on-me way if she didn't tell him (because why else wouldn't she, realistically). I decided on making him super happy/fluffy/anxious with anticipation instead 🫶🏻
Two months ago, everything had started with a nervous phone call, a teary-eyed confession, stunned silence. She'd been trembling as she clutched the pregnancy test in one hand, phone pressed to her ear in the other.
Simon had been dead silent for several endless moments, and more tears had gathered in her eyes, because god damn, now was probably not the time, why had they ever thought it would be okay not to use condoms-
"Pregnant?" He whispered, oceans apart but his voice as close as though Simon was right beside her.
"Y-yes," she whispered back, staring at the little screen that read 3-4 weeks. "I think so."
Soap being bitten by a weird looking attack dog on mission and does the usual rabies shots treatment/whatever. All his tests came back fine so he's not really worried about it.
It's just that....
Was he always this hairy? Like yeah sure he's never been sleek exactly, always had a dense bit of hair across his arms, legs, and torso. But recently it feels thicker, coarser.
Did you start wearing a new perfume? Weird he didn't notice until now. It smells amazing on you, he can't help but bury his face in your neck given any chance to do so, nibbles at your neck as you giggle and swat at him.
Everything's louder now. He mentions to Price that he can hear conversations from three offices over, and Price just shrugs and asks why he's complaining- his hearing has been damaged by so many close proximity explosions. Maybe it's just healed on its own somehow.
He keeps having to trim his nails for some reason, and doesn't miss Ghost's weird, observant stare as he sits next to the trash bin for the third time that week trimming his toenails. "Giving yerself a pedicure, Johnny?"
He's so hungry all the time. Gaz jokes he's going through a growth spurt the way he devours his meals, piles on the protein and craves red meat. Soap tells himself he was planning on going on a high-protein diet anyways so he can bulk out a little, so it's not really an issue.
You complain about the love bites he gives you, how he's biting harder than he should, and Soap swears up and down he isn't. The welts on your neck and shoulders tell a different story though, and when you frown at him Soap whines, wanting to tuck a tail he doesn't have under him in apology.
It's weird, but it's mostly explainable.
That is, until the next full moon, when you wake in the darkness of your bedroom to the low, dangerous growl of something wild and feral as he slowly creeps up your body and lets instinct take root.