#Duty/Shame

[skyrigel]

Simon would say the most beautiful thing to you and then act like he's not some lovesick smitten bastard who can't even breathe when you're not near.

You will look up at the night sky and say, “Stars are so pretty.”

And Simon wouldn't even look up because he's gazing at you. “You put the stars to shame.”

“What ?”

“That's so fuckin' lame.”

“Why are you holding my waist ?” you ask him with a pointed look at his hand spalyed around your middle— not like you're complaining.

“So ya' don't fall over me and cause m' physical damage.”

Yeah. Definitely. Loverboy.

Masterlist

[adas-trashheap]

'muffled music and dingy bathrooms'

[bunnysnared]

fuck it, mods asleep. post the forbidden ocship. the ghostdoves ♥

[parkersbliss]

the 141 and the really weird or random quirks I’ve decided they had

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x female reader 

warnings: suggestive content, like sexual content but not smut

a/n: I have zero reason for doing this expect I wanted too?? and got carried away with suggestive aspects of it which is funny cause I don't write smut lmfaooo. so mostly fluff and based off real quirks people I know have.

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

—

Price:

no matter how many times he cleans the bathroom, his beard hair is everywhere. obviously he keeps that shit well groomed but it’s always somehow stuck on your face after you wash it, or on your shower loofah or towel. and you've tried and he’s tried to clean it and it never works. 

loves gnomes. you have ones in the garden, the front yard, in your house for EVERY occasion. I’m talking christmas, easter, halloween, thanksgiving. he has a set for every season and it honestly scares you a little. one year he bought a giant one for your christmas tree as the topper and it made him so happy so you just accepted it.

doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday. He’s so much of a giver he downplays it every year. If you guys have kids, he’ll buy something for them ON HIS DAY just to take the attention off. so he kind of hates gifts, but he’s not going to not accept that. Would prefer you don’t, even though he bought you a $20K pearl necklace for your birthday. (You’re still afraid to wear it)

leaves you on heard. all. the. time. you ask him something, like as he’s sitting next to you and just … silence. sometimes he even nods, looks at you and then turns away. you’re not sure if it’s something to do with his hearing or he’s just so relaxed at home he just doesn’t comprehend sometimes. “hey, baby, what do you want for dinner?” “mm.” 

average dad experience of sharing a hotel room and brother is snoring. you know what I’m talking about? the cold A.C turning on and off and mf just be out and it’s so loud you have to wear ear plugs. you wonder if he has sleep apnea at some point bc he can’t be real. 

but don’t worry, he’s just as loud in bed bed ;) and he makes it known when you’re going at it 

Ghost:

too stealthy for his own good and always scares the shit out of you. and he’ll try to be loud too, knocking on doors AND still isn’t loud enough. He always feel so bad but it’s also so funny to him bc he really does try to not be so quiet. 

owns the same black t-shirt, like at least 5, but claims one of them is just softer and better than the others. you’ve tried them all on and there is no difference to which he mumbled something about you not having the special sense??

cat whisperer. you’ll adopt a cat while he’s gone bc you’re lonely and you spend all the time with the cat but no. cat loves ghost more. He’ll sleep on top of ghost, but never you. he’ll follow ghost around the house, but not you. it’s very infuriating. and ghost has no idea why bc he’s around 1/2 the time you are. 

has a whole cabinet for his bourbon collection. and a special glass cup AND special spherical ice for it. he doesn’t even drink that often, but it was absolutely necessary (to him). 

he’s a clean freak. very routine in how and when he does laundry. Bed sheets on this day, dark on this day, etc. he won’t let you do any of it. If he loses a sock, he throws out the other pair. as soon as there’s a hole in something, he throws it out. 

nov. 1st is christmas to him. the tree is already up, no questions asks. there are no thanksgiving decoration in this house. he also has multiple trees, one by the entrance, one in the living room, one in your bedroom. 

has definitely fucked you under the christmas lights by the fire. begs you to wear bow lingerie so he can quite literally “unwrap his best gift” 

Gaz: 

loves the lego car sets. his home office is decorated with all his medals AND the lego cars. has definitely left pieces out that you stepped on and then proceeded to scream his ear off.

begs you to play fortnite with him. you think he’s batshit crazy “that’s literally your actual job” “no but the raging kids makes it fun and we can match skins” (he means the banana skins btw) and he’s a troll. he doesn’t take the game seriously, he just wants to torture little kids and make fun of you when you can’t figure out where the shooting is coming from. or when you throw down a med kit instead of splash. 

cannot get through a movie without fucking you and it’s always during the good parts so he’s got you in doggy and you’re still trying to watch the movie??

Instigator fr. he’s not toxic but like he’s gonna argue. Has literally once said to you “I’m not arguing I’m just explaining why I’m right” to which you stared at him and asked if he was stupid 

always ask for hot sauce or sriracha at restaurants or if he can get something spicer. he eats buldok noodles with the whole sauce packet and then proceeds to sit in the bathroom for an hour while you scold him. 

reckless driver to the max. you fear for your life when you’re in a car with him. He speeds (within reason he claims), he makes quick merges and switches lanes fast. he does use a turn signal so you let it slide bc he’s risky but not THAT risky. 

obviously, he has horrible road rage. you’ll be calling him while he’s driving and it’s all normal and then “OI YOU FUCKING SHITE DO YOU HAVE A LICENSE?” you just sigh and then he answers you like normal, “yeah I think I’m out of toothpaste too.” 

saves every selfie of you from snap and his rotating ones as his wallpaper. even the ugly ones you beg him to take out. like any guy, he’ll claim it’s his favorite and then it’s a 0.5 of you eating ice cream and it’s dripping everywhere and your eyes are half closed. 

Soap: 

leaves sticky notes everywhere to remind himself of things. anything. “need olive oil” “missing one blue sock” “(Y/N) wants thai takeout” “call ghost” “laundry” 

and sometimes they’re not even correlated to where it should be. like the note that just says “laundry” will be in the kitchen. and he stacks on top of those sticky notes with more. “did laundry” “bought more socks” it drives you insane

he's obsessed with blankets. He has a designated like basket/bin or blankets in the living room and your bedroom. He sleeps with like three. and he’s got heated ones, sherpa ones, weighted ones, etc. absolutely collects the different printed ones for each holiday. 

loves to go decor shopping with you, but only because he wants to pick out the ugliest things and see your reaction as you swat at him and tell him to put it back. only for him to sneak it back into the cart and you death glare him. 

If you need to rant, he resumes the whole “omg girl, period.” personality. he loves gossip and he loves doing facemasks with you as you talk shit and drama about your coworkers. 

he's so “wait I have to tell my gf this” bro will literally be on a mission and gets a cut? “I have to tell (Y/N).” the room exploded? would take a selfie and send it to you, if possible. sees a weird shaped potato at the grocery store? Sends a picture. Falls down the stairs? you're getting a picture of his broken foot. hard? here's a dick pic just for you babe

uses the same hydroflask water bottle that’s dented, has sticker residue and chipping on all side. “It’s reusable, that’s the point” he claims. you're not sure if he’s ever washed it and you certainly aren’t going to open it and find out for him. 

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5k+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[the-californicationist]

What would your fave position to be in with the 141, either individually or together... asking for a friend... <3

Mmm. Well. If it were me, personally?

(NSFW/MDNI under cut)

For Gaz, it’s gonna have to be big spoon little spoon. He’d be making us both late for work every morning, turning my hips just right so that he could slip his heavy morning wood inside. He’d start off so soft and gentle, but by the time he was stuffing himself down to the root of his huge cock, I’d wake up, feeling the wetness he’d been busy creating, nearly choking from how full I feel. My body would be rocking back and forth as he had his way with me. And when I chastise him for making me miss the train? Just placating little excuses murmured between kisses — “I’m already workin’, babes. Can’t ya feel your man? Hard at work…”

For Ghost, it’s the cowgirl to lotus to missionary pipeline. He’d start off flat on his back, demanding some face sitting or a sixty-nine situation. Then, he’d stick me right on top, egging me on — “Lemme see those fuckin’ tits bounce, love. Good girl.” Then, he’d get too bothered, unable to hold back, too hungry, too much of a control freak. So he’d sit up, wrapping his legs behind me, moving my hips with his hands and grinding me into a shaking trembling mess. Finally, when I could barely remember my own name, he’d press forward, pinning me on my back, arching over me like a shield, telling me — “Shh, shh. Tha’s alright, love. You don’t need to fuckin’ talk. Suck on my fingers like it’s my prick, yeah? Tha’s it… all the way in, there ya go.”

For Soap, it has to be legs-over-shoulders. That big Scottish cock is curved and I will be taking no notes! None. It’s bent at a cruel angle and perfectly shaped to drag his ruddy head right across my g-spot with every stroke. He’d love to press my thighs to my chest, going deeper or harder, his hands staying busy with my clit or my nipples or my mouth, always finding new buttons to push. He’d especially enjoy ripping mind-breaking orgasms from me, shoving my vibrator against my clit as he fucked me, teasing me with it and saying shit like — “Is she gonnae come again for me, bonnie? I ken there’s one more in her, and I willnae stop until I have it…”

And for my darling captain, John Price, it’s nothing but straight-up, bone-shaking, soul-rattling doggy. After a long hard day of dealing with unimaginable bullshit? I’m on all fours in the fucking foyer, face pressed into the hardwood, pussy spread open like a cheap whore, stuffed full of cock. When he sees me in that tight pair of jeans that he likes a little too much? There I am, shirt raked down below my breasts, back arching as I’m bent over the kitchen counter, his meaty palm wrapped around my neck, bruising my hips with how hard he’s rutting into me from behind. In the middle of the night, his fat prick drooling and heavy, swaying between his huge thighs? He’ll fist my hair in one hand and grope my ass with the other as he breeds me, snarling into my ear, “Filthy fuckin’ slag. Whose cunt is this? Hmm? Nuh-uh. Say my real name…” And he won’t come until I call him Daddy.

But all together? Preferably a perfect seal: Price and Soap fighting to fit inside my pussy, Gaz stuffing himself deep in my ass, and Ghost filling up my throat!

What about you, anon?? Got any favorites?

[temeyes]

Slip-Up

[starfinss]

𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘐𝘥𝘦𝘢 — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 "𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵" 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Call of Duty

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Simon "Ghost" Riley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2,789

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: It's a bad idea to want him like you do, and it's even worse when he wants you just as bad.

This is a bad idea.

The collision of mouths, shared breaths, and grasping hands fills the gaps between you like a spill of ink. His mask is bunched up over his nose, headset discarded as he crowds you against the wall, mouth crushed to yours. 

Teeth knock together, the taste of his tongue is heady on your lips, in your mouth, past your teeth, in your blood. Your hands grasp at the back of his head, nails digging into the fabric of his balaclava, and he growls into your mouth. 

This is such a bad idea, but neither of you care. Now that the line you’ve both been so carefully avoiding has been crossed, neither of you have any interest in going back. Desire, lust, and love blend together into a heady concoction that scrambles any of your rational thought, scrambled further by those rough, almost gritty breaths he gives every time he breaks away, only to rejoin your mouths in another devouring kiss.

He’s using the difference in your sizes to his advantage here, one large hand on the curve of your waist, iron firm, his opposite arm braced above your head. Ghost has never been a small man, and it’s as arousing as it is evident as you lose any remaining inhibitions you may have had in the taste of his mouth.

This has been a long time coming. Tension taught as a bowstring, brought from a rivalry turned friendship, one that the others loved to poke fun at, even as the flower bulbs of feelings took root, their vines coiling thick and thorny around your heart. Ensnared, entangled. Fuck. Soap and Gaz were going to have a field day, because from the way Simon’s mouth was moving against your own with an almost breathless need, nothing could prove them more right.

His knee slips between your thighs, and you gasp into his mouth at the friction. You feel his lips curl into a whisper of a smile as he flexes the muscle, making your hips jerk, hands scrambling for grip at the back of his neck. This is going somewhere very fast, but neither of you care to even attempt to slow it down, let alone stop it.

“Last chance,” he rasps, and the low sound of his voice makes aching heat gather between your thighs. 

“Huh?” You breathe, and the way he forces out a short laugh makes your head spin.

“Last chance to back out.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his. Long lashes, the color of gold, frame his dark eyes, the coffee brown irises swallowed by the dark of his pupils. His mouth, kiss bruised, and his jaw, lightly dusted with stubble, are the only things visible, apart from those eyes, revealed by his carelessly rucked up mask. He looks as disheveled as you feel, and for some reason, that only makes it hotter.

“I’m not backing out,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you thought it would, but you hardly have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that.

That’s all it takes. All bets are off as he kisses you again, his tongue pushing past your lips as his hands find your ass, squeezing, before he’s boosting your legs up around his hips, long legs eating up the distance as he walks to his bed, away from the door you’d been crowded up against.

Your clothes don’t last long, your uniform top quickly removed, sports bra shoved above your tits as his mouth encloses a nipple, making you gasp, hands grasping at his shirt.

Then, without so much as a second thought, when the fabric falls and gets in the way of his mouth, he growls in annoyance and pulls off his mask. You’ve never seen his face without it, only Price has, you think, but apart from your captain, Ghost’s face has remained a mystery to the rest of the company. To you, that mystery isn’t so mysterious anymore.

“Your mask–” you gasp, unable to squirrel away your shock to process later, but he merely grunts in response.

“Forget it,” he says dismissively, “it was getting in the way.”

Your hands card through newly revealed honey blonde hair, still messy from being covered by the balaclava, his face still smudged with eye black as he gazes down at you with dark, hooded eyes. You take a brief moment to admire him, because aside from a scar at the corner of his mouth, his face is unblemished and handsome, a far cry from the horrible disfigurement Soap has previously joked that Simon must be hiding under the skull patterned fabric.

His mouth returns to your breast, unhindered by the fabric of the mask, and you can’t help the soft little keen that leaves you, both at the caress of his tongue and the feel of his stubble against your tender flesh. He mouths at your body, only separating to yank his shirt over his head, his hand covering your breast as he kisses you again.

Grasping hands find your hips, sliding down to your thighs, and you moan openly as he slots his hips between your parted legs, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing so perfectly against your clothed cunt. Your noise of pleasure matches his, and he repeats the action with a roll of his hips that has your eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

“Simon,” you whisper as he draws back from the kiss, though his mouth remains a whisper away, “Simon, please.”

“Fuck,” he curses, lust drunk, mouthing at your throat, “you’re gonna look so pretty on my cock.”

Those words alone make your insides twist into pleasant knots, and you squirm under him. His hand slides down your stomach, unfastening your pants and pushing them down your legs, your boots kicked off along with them. The compression shorts you wear under your pants come next, and you barely register that he’s clearly impatient to get you naked as he pulls your bra the rest of the way off.

He sits back on his knees above you, looming over you, looking down through pale lashes. The sight of him, hard muscle and heated gaze, it makes you ache. You sit up on your elbows to press kisses against his chest, his abs, making him tense and shudder, one of his hands lifting to cup the back of your head. Your tongue traces patterns against his pale flesh, and you can feel him through his slacks, hard against your stomach, twitching as your tongue swipes across one of his nipples.

That’s about all the control he’ll allow you, clearly, as he pushes you down, caging you in with his arms. His mouth is on your throat again, your collarbone, down your body, and you’re helpless as he makes a path towards where he wants to be. His hands find the underside of your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate himself as he lays them over his shoulders. His eyes flick up to yours, and when you don’t protest or try to stop him (not that you wanted to), he keeps that eye contact as his tongue drags across your pussy.

His eyes flutter closed, brows pinching a little as he gives another pass of his tongue, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he groans. The vibrations of the noise make your hips jump, but he stills you with a tug as he wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you flush against his mouth.

Your head feels empty as he begins eating, the sounds his mouth is making utterly obscene, wet and messy but so fucking perfect that you can’t help but arch. Your ability to even so much as squirm is inhibited by his iron grip around your body, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you where he wants you.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, and when his lips close around your clit, you cry out his name in an almost pathetic whine.

This is such a bad idea, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible. 

Your lieutenant is eating you out, and from the way he’s holding you there as his tongue plunges into you, making you quake against him, all you can do is lay there and take it. Price can’t know, but he isn’t stupid, and this is definitely not the last time you’ll be doing this.

“Simon,” you gasp, and he gives a harsh suck to your clit in response, making you choke on air.

One of his arms moves, releasing your leg, but he doesn’t waste any time in using that free hand to spread you open even further for him, palm against your tender inner thigh, then he’s pushing two fingers into you. Stars burst across your vision as he crooks them up, and fuck, your orgasm is coming way too fast. You sob with bliss, back lifting from the sheets as he works his fingers into you, hitting all the places that your own can’t reach, and you can barely make out the way he’s whispering hushed praise into your skin as he keeps working his tongue over your throbbing clit.

You can barely warn him as he all but pulls your orgasm out of you, the only sound you’re able to give him a strangled sob as your climax slams into you, making you buck and squirm against his mouth, vision hazy as he keeps going, working you through your climax without slowing down. 

You curse, babbling his name, and he groans as you pulse around his fingers, body arching and spasming. All you can say is that it’s too sensitive, and you’re halfway to another orgasm before he finally slows, pulling back with uneven breaths.

No time is wasted as he crawls up your body, mouth on yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin. You’re so achingly empty, and when you reach down to palm Simon through the pants he’s still wearing, the sound he makes is one you commit to memory.

“Fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth, “Simon, fuck me.”

He grasps one of your breasts, squeezing gently, and you squirm again.

“Gladly.”

He sits back, and you get to watch as he unfastens his pants, pushing them down just far enough to free his erection, and fuck, you understand why he’d been fingering you because there’s no way you’d be able to take that without any prep. He’s big, but that goes without saying. He’s thick. Your head is too scrambled to estimate just how big he is, but your head is spinning just thinking about the stretch.

He wraps his hand around himself, fisting his cock before he’s moving over you. He rubs the drooling tip against your cunt.

“Don’t have a condom,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“I have the implant.”

That’s all he needs. He pushes fingers into you, stretching you with manual motions before he’s breathing out a warning.

“Tell me if it hurts. I know I’m…”

“Big?” You supply, and he breathes out what may be a laugh.

“I was going to say above average. We’ll go slow.”

Then, his hips rock forward, and you feel him start to enter you.

You grit your teeth. Even the tip is a stretch, and you feel the burn of it as he murmurs comforts, kissing your jaw, your throat. 

“Alright?”

You force yourself to nod, and he pushes in further.

Oh, the sound he makes. A low, debauched groan, drawn out between gritted teeth. It makes you whimper in response, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips push forward again.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, “good girl, almost takin’ it all.”

You whimper, your legs lifting to wind around his hips, urging him forward, and you watch as his teeth grit, followed by a sharp jerk of his hips, burying himself the rest of the way inside of you.

He curses, and you feel him twitch inside of you, feel the flex of his hips, the tense of his muscles in the press of his body to yours. 

“Fuck,” he growls, “like a fuckin’ dream. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The rasp of his words against your ear makes you tremble. The way his accent has grown thicker is so needlessly sexy, the mancunian drawl you’ve only ever observed when he’s angry or tired showing itself in his strained voice.

He draws back, just a fraction of an inch, testing the waters, before he’s pushing back in, and the stretch of him is making your head spin. You claw at the sheets as he repeats the motion, again and again and again. He gradually picks up speed, finding a pace that has both of you gasping for air.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, “takin’ my cock so well.”

His hand flattens against the mattress above your head, supporting his weight as he works his hips against yours in firm, deep thrusts. His other hand grasps your hip, holding you in place for him.

“That’s it, take it,” he pants, voice rough with pleasure, and you can’t stop moaning, your body rolling and bucking under his.

He whispers praise against your throat as his hand goes from your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, making you squeeze around him with a helpless whimper, something that makes him curse, hips thrusting forward more roughly. It’s so good, so fucking perfect, and if you’d known how good this would be, you’d have considered acting on bad ideas far earlier.

Your climax is approaching embarrassingly quickly, and you pull him down into a kiss, one he returns without hesitation. The pressure on your clit increases, making you squeeze around him harder.

“Fuck, I ain’t gonna last,” he rumbles, and you feel his pace pick up, the hand above your head curling into the sheets, and the way he’s groaning into your ear in blissed out ecstacy is what finally does it.

Your orgasm hits hard, and he slows, working you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his hips. He’s delaying his own orgasm, you can tell from the way his jaw tenses, the way his muscles tighten. 

You whimper as he keeps pressing your clit, rubbing in firm circles under his thumb, and you can only whimper in overstimulation as he revels in the way it makes you squeeze around him.

“Like fuckin’ velvet,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again.

Your mouth falls open in bliss as he bottoms out inside you and grinds, and the fullness combined with the way the base of his dick is rubbing against your clit is almost too much for your already fried brain to handle. You can only lay there and take it as he hikes your legs up, over his hips, pinning you in place as he chases after his own orgasm.

You kiss him, and he groans, hand knotting in your hair. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he’s gone, groaning raggedly as he spills into you. His hips jerk as he rides out his climax, and you shudder against him, hands sliding from the back of his head to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He goes slack, and you gather him into your arms, a gesture he doesn’t even hesitate to return. The room is quiet, save for uneven breaths as he holds you against him. Finally, he pulls back, pulling out of you, then he’s standing and disappearing into the small bathroom connected to the room. He returns with a warm washcloth, which he uses to wipe your inner thighs clean, and then he’s crawling into the bed beside you, gathering your body into his arms.

You never took him to be a cuddler, and you open your mouth to make a note of this, but the way he looks at you shuts you up.

“Sleep here or don’t,” he says, but from the way he’s holding you, you don’t think the latter is an option.

Few words are exchanged as you let him pull the blankets up, tucking you against him. There’s something so perfectly lovely about the feel of bare skin on skin, and you revel in it, heart heavy with adoration as you kiss his shoulder, and he rests his chin atop your head.

“Next time,” he says, and you hum in response, “you can be on top.”

It’s a bad idea. Such a bad idea. But when he kisses your forehead, so tender it makes your heartbeat flutter like butterfly wings, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes close.

“Okay,” you say, “next time.”

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[cod-dump]

Ghost: I’m going to use your neck as a stress toy and squeeze until your eyes pop out of your skull

Graves: I-

Nik: Careful, he’ll enjoy it

Graves: NIK

Ghost: NO- *gags loudly*

Nik: He really enjoys it when you-

Graves, slapping a hand over his mouth while bright red: SHUT UP-

[bellasfortuna]

more last minute brainrot thots before bed

Simon is the type to just hook a finger in one of your belt loops and tug, bodily moving you where he wants (usually closer to him or into him)

vs.

König's missed belt loop, that never seems to get strung through, makes me want to loop my hand around his belt and tug him, fruitlessly or not

[holnnetd]

HEAR ME OUT

Hare!reader and König that refuses to acknowledge you are actually a hare.

"So you're a bunny. In the military?"

"Hare."

"..." He would stare at you, up and down, trying to figure out where the hell you're a hare. Long ears, strong legs, little tail. Looks like a bunny to him.

"But you look like a bunny." He says, pretty much oblivious to the differences.

Of course, someone who doesn't live daily to have acknowledge the difference between a hare and a rabbit might be foolish to believe those are the same thing. And you can't blame him, really. He works with predator hybrids if anything. He probably only seen bunnies while he was a child, running around the wildness.

"Rabbits are so much more different then hares." True. Rabbits have much smaller ears compared to hares, just as they have a visibly smaller and more squishy body.

Rabbits love humans and being pet, hares will bite your finger and will start running like wild if you do that. And he learned that the hard way.

"But you're small. And furry." Right, apparently a cat can also be a bunny by this logic.

"I'm a hare." You remind him and he looks extremely deep in thought.

"What is the prey doing in the military anyway?" He finally questions, more concerned with why the hell they did let you in!

...

"Are you a barracks hare?"

[alex51324]

Got a response from my Republican senator's office to my messages about DOGE. I took the time to write up a detailed reply; sharing it here in case others find it helpful.

(Please note that, in this letter, I have chosen the rhetorical strategy of addressing the reader as though they are a reasonable individual acting in good faith, and we are working together to solve a problem. You probably will not find it a useful template if you have chosen a different rhetorical strategy.)

Hello Senator NAME,

Thank you for your thoughtful response to my concerns surrounding the Department of Government Efficiency. I have two follow-up questions.

First, I was glad to see you state that members of this entity are subject to the same privacy laws as other federal employees. Would you consider making a public statement to that effect, and emphasize that violating these laws is a bright red line, and that, should agents or affiliates of DOGE be found to be violating these laws, you would immediately call for & support immediate corrective action, including both employment actions (e.g., firing) and criminal actions if appropriate? I feel that it would be reassuring to the public to hear several senators, specifically Republicans, making this kind of commitment. It's fair to give this new administration some time to find its feet, but from the perspective of the general public, in a month that's been as busy as this one, that doesn't look a lot different from completely abnegating your oversight responsibilities. Making some public statements, about when you would step in, would go a long way toward allaying those concerns.

Secondly, I agree that a thorough audit of the federal government is a good idea! However, what DOGE is doing does not look like any audit I've ever seen. My father was an Auditor for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania; in my observation, an audit involves careful examination of records and practices to determine where funds are being used incorrectly. Auditors do not make law, they do not walk in the door and immediately start ordering cuts, and they do not fire people.

What Musk's team appear to be conducting is a scream test of the entire Federal government. In IT, a scream test is when you unplug or otherwise disable something, and then wait to see if anyone notices, and screams about it. It's typically done as a last resort, after other attempts to determine the role and necessity of the system in question have failed to turn up any evidence that the system is doing anything important. Even more crucially, when a scream test is done, there should be a way to immediately restore that system if somebody does scream.

So far, we've had two very loud screams: about the firing of nuclear security personnel, and teams working on the avian flu crisis. It seems like even a cursory examination by vaguely competent people would have very quickly revealed that these teams were performing essential functions. Secondly, subsequent events have proven that there was no plan or preparation to be able to reverse the firings now that the screams have started.

In addition to these two things, I am also wondering how many other screams have started, that will take longer than a few days to become loud enough to be heard in Washington, or to make it to the front page of major newspapers.

To call what is happening an "audit" is deeply disingenuous. It's a scream test, and even by the standards of the field in which this type of test is carried out (and where Musk and his employees come from), it is being carried out with gross incompetence. It's more like a bunch of toddles running amok in the server room, unplugging whatever catches their eye.

You can do better. We can do better. As a senator, I'm sure you've worked with auditors & reviewed the results of audits--you know what an audit is. Demand one.

Your Fellow American,

YOUR NAME HERE

[bunnysnared]

⚠️ position has been compromised

[creatureprofessor]

as much as i love the post-rescue AUs where fitzjames settles with crozier ever so in love and a bit worse for wear, i think that had he survived, he would have repressed-regressed to square one, for a good while at least. he bared his soul to another man and was on the brink of death, so he forcibly chalks it all up to hallucination and delusion, and the second the court martials are over (hickey & the mutineers, absent as they are (still in the arctic), get all the blame along w silna - no matter the few protesting voices about her involvement. no mention of the tuunbaq, as agreed upon.) he requests to be sent to somewhere warm. don't ask where his new teeth or wig came from. he is continuing that rep grind for posterity and employs a ghostwriter for his biography bc he is psychically unable to talk abt the expedition besides superficial anecdotes. then he dies years later in some nautical freak accident or in a battle, mourned by the remaining expedition members, but after the funeral they realize they don't have much to talk about anymore or they cannot find the words to. his letters to crozier, aside from a few formal ones, remain unsent and it's up to dundy to burn them or not.

[vxmpyree]

CHUBBY NIKTO. IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-.

chubby nikto my beloved :] <3 \\ tw: mention of fat shaming / fatphobia (not from reader)

[ pp1 - frakkur ]

chubby! nikto who likes baking for his neighbor.

after retirement, he packed up his things and flew somewhere balmy and quiet. after a life of running guns and slaughtering the enemy, he wants something simple-- a life where he doesn't need to comprehend the minds of others entirely.

when he moves in, you come over all smiles, a dish of banana bread in your hands. it hurts to admit, but he really does like it-- loves it, even. the dish is licked clean and then scrubbed by his shaky hands as he considers you.

nikto decides that he must bake you something in return. when he isn't busy, he's at the library, perusing through forums of recipes and printing out digitized cookbooks. he doesn't stop until he has a thick binder of ideas and the librarian starts giving him uneasy looks.

he comes to your doorstep one afternoon, your empty dish in one hand and a mississippi mud pie in the other. and he nervously retells the tale of how he indulged in your baking, expecting you to scowl and say that someone his size shouldn't enjoy eating. but you laugh, pleasantly, not meanly, and say that it's fine, really.

you let him into your warm home, and let him sit at your table, not knowing how blood is perpetually etched into his hands. you cut him a slice of his own pie and sit with him. the radio hums as he chews, and birds chirp over the slow trickle of thoughts in his mind. maybe moving somewhere warm really was a good idea.