#Kim Horangi Hong-Jin

[machveil]

guys we’re being a little delusional self-indulgent tonight because I physically need this with König and Simon Riley… possibly Keegan Russ, maybe Horangi

being domestic with him while he’s home on leave - he hasn’t seen you in months and he’s craving you. but it’s nothing carnal, no erotism, just him being needy and wanting to soothe you. big, roughed up hands massaging your neck and shoulders, idly brushing your hair, making sure you’re cozy

nothing brings him more peace than seeing you melt against him as he plays with you, slow, methodical movements as his hands work your muscles to putty. his own shoulders relax, tension leaving his body as you completely let your guard down beside him - because let’s be real, nothing bad can happen when he’s turning you to goo. no words need to be spoken, just silent adoration shared between you as time rolls by

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Cod Threesomes

Requested: No

Warnings/Additional Tags: GN!Reader, Smut, Threesomes, Anal, Oral (M receiving), light choking, Implied polyam relationships, Fingering, Voyeurism, Biting

A/N: I need to be sedated, I spaced out for 2 seconds then suddenly I had a thousand words.

Gaz & Price

“Tha’s it, Love. Taking it so well.” Gaz pants, head buried in the crook of your neck, hands gripping at your hips so tight that it hurt a little bit. “Just….Just a little more.” He tells you, carefully sliding his cock in the slightest inch more, sending your eyes rolling back into your skull.

“Can’t.” You say, digging your nails into his biceps, clinging to him for dear life, teary eyes darting behind him to look into the deep ocean blue of Price’s gaze. “T-Too much.”

“Nonsense.” The older man grunts, and you could feel the way he humped harder into Kyle, your boyfriend choking on a gasp, twitching above you so hard you were almost worried, a string of drool slipping off his lips and splattering onto your chest, making you jump. “You’ve taken it before, you’ll take it again.”

“M-might help if you go just a little slower.” Kyle says, yelping when his words earned him a heavy handed smack to the ass, Price’s big hand squeezing the now tender skin to prolong the initial sting, thumb pulling aside the cheek so his superior could look down and see where his cock was disappearing into Gaz’s hole.

“I know what’s best, for both of you.” Price grunts, his free hand going to wrap loosely around your throat, both you and Gaz’s eyes going glassy when he does, blunt nails scraping against your skin. “We do things my way, or no way.”

A resounding “yes, sir.” was all you both could say in return.

Ghost & Soap

“So pretty, Love.” Soap cooed in your ear, warm hands rubbing at your hips, his knees spreading your legs open wide, your back to his chest and his dripping cock rubbing against your ass as Ghost’s lubed up fingers work you open, scissoring the thick digits inside your warm opening. “Taking his fingers so well, can’t wait to see you take his cock.”

You whimper at his words, feeling them burn through you like a heat flash, settling thick and sticky in your lower belly. Your pathetic sounds combined with your little squirms seemed to amuse Simon, if the smirk on what little of his face you could see was any indication.

“If they’ll be able to take my cock.” He snorts, a hint of amusement in his voice, curving his fingers inside you to stroke at a particularly sensitive area inside of you. “Having a hard time even taking just these two fingers, and my cock is so much bigger.” He teases, free hand going down to wrap around his cock, stroking it slowly before squeezing it at the base, your eyes glued to the scene with hunger.

“Ach, now you’re just underestimating them.” Johnny says, letting you feel the smile on his face as he presses his lips to your neck, darting his tongue out to lick the sweat dripping down your jugular. “Sweet thing like this, they’ll take it just fine. Just need a little extra work to open em up.” He says, trailing a hand over your belly and down between your legs, slipping in one of his fingers right between Simon’s, gripping your hip tighter when you try to arch them up, your head dropping back to rest on his shoulder. “I know, Love. It’s a lot to take, but you’ll take it. You’ll take all of us and beg for more. I promise.”

Horangi & König

“Shit, you’re tight.” König huffed above you, teeth bared in a snake that would be terrifying in any other situation, just like the hand he had clasped around your neck, feeling his co-worker’s cock plow into your gullet, a wet “shlick”ing sound echoing from not just between your legs but from your mouth as well, he’d love to see the tears he know are escaping your eyes, but frustratingly was unable to with how far back your head was tilted. You were probably getting light headed, he hoped you wouldn’t pass out again. “How’s their mouth feel?”

“Like Heaven.” Horangi grunted, eyes hazy with lust, leaned forward with his forehead resting against König’s shoulder, sharp teeth nipping at his flesh, narrowly avoiding drawing blood. “Wet, tight, h-heaven.” He stutters, grabbing at König’s hip, digging blunt nails into him to try and avoid cumming just from the way your throat pulsed around him.

“Yeah?” König cooed, rubbing his thumb over the vague outline of Horangi’s cock, searching for the sensitive head while he used his other hand to play with your pebbled nipples, occasionally pinching and pulling at them harshly just to make you squeal, the sounds vibrating up Horangi’s cock and making his eyes roll back, his hips jerking harder and faster, chasing his fast approaching orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it. So good.” Hong-Jin groaned, tilting his head back when König started to mouth at his pale neck in return, sucking and biting til a dark bruise was sure to be left, settling his hands on your sides, drifting them down to your thighs and kneading at your flesh. “Make ‘em cum, prince. Want to feel how tight they’ll squeeze me when they’re overridden with pleasure.”

Alejandro & Rudy

“Slower.” Alejandro purred beside you, swirling a glass of mezcal before tipping it back to take a gulp, his eyes burning through you the whole time as you struggled to keep an even pace on Rudy’s lap, thighs slick with sweat and shaking from exertion. The new pace somehow even more torturous than before, even with your lover’s hands firmly on your hips and his lips trailing along your jaw.

“Good. Doing so good, Tesoro.” Rudy mumbled against your skin, his breathing heavy before his tongue darts out to lick a thick line across your throat, thumbs digging into your hips lines. “I know it’s hard but you’re doing great, just keep listening to Alejandro.”

You nod more out of instinct than actual understanding, lust inebriating you more than any alcohol, leaving you sticky and pliant between the two of them, a little puppet with your strings wrapped around their fingers.

“Bite them.” Was Alejandro’s next order, less than half a second before Rudy dug his teeth into your shoulder, making you let out a long whine that you tried to muffle by burying your mouth into Rudy’s hair, only to be met by a loud ‘tch’ and Alejandro’s stern voice snapping at you. “No no no, stop that.” He said, clicking his fingers to get your attention. “You don’t get to muffle those pretty noises of yours. I want to hear them loud and clear, Angel. Try to do that again and I’ll have to find another way to preoccupy that mouth of yours.”

[harmleikurdraws]

Just, idk, how about that space between chapter 20 and 21 where I just imagine Soap and Ghost finally chilling with Gaz hugging the cocaine brick in the back in the Drug Mumbai Basement?

And we’ll make death proud to take us by Literal_Satan

Bonus sketch of König with Horangi having a chill swim in the middle of an ocean from some previous chapter that my frizzled brain can’t remember.

[babygirlghostsoap]

lmfaoo just found the actor for Horangi being a menace on tiktok

his replies are GOLD

[callsign-bunnie]

Who makes more sounds during sex than their partners? (Asking for SoapGhost, Aledolfo and Korangi but you can include any other ships/characters)

I'll do a few ships!

--

Soapghost: Definitely Soap but only because I think Ghost is too insecure to make much noise in bed, which I think Soap takes as a challenge

Aledolfo: Alejandro, actually, but because he doesn't shut the fuck up. Rudy likes it though ❤️

GazAlex: Alex, Gaz is fairly quiet.

Korangi: Horangi moans like a whore. Koenig is way too socially anxious, look at him. I think he blushes and whines, but that's it.

Cheyes: I'm gonna be real, I think they're both about on the same level, it just sort of depends on the encounter

NikPrice: Price, you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me he is not loud and vocal in bed.

[voicelesscherub]

put me in a room with this man and i’m leaving that room PREGNANT

(i need mental help)

[smokedtras-h]

....кошка

[foxglovecove]

Meanwhile at the 141 - KorTac mixer

[machveil]

Today’s thought:

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (except for our marriage that part is very much coming home with us) scenario:

Idk, just thinking about the various guys going out to party in Vegas (maybe after a lengthy job being successful, maybe a birthday or something) only to wake up married (like actually legally binding married, not just a joke wedding officiated by Elvis) to the person they’ve been eyeing for a while now, not having the slightest idea what happened the previous night.

-🐸

Also I saw that art, I need yall to know I almost shrieked in the middle of the very quiet lab I work in.

[post writing note: so many words… very sleepy now] oh, you know I have to include Horangi in a Vegas fic🎲ヽ(´▽`)/🃏✨

Vegas Wedding Bells

what’s the worse that can happen after celebrating in Vegas? going back to spend your honeymoon at base? Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, König, Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin CW: fem!reader, getting married while intoxicated, suggestive

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

the dull ache in his head was the first thing he noticed as he woke up, bright beams of light aggravating a headache as he groans. the body tucked against him was the second thing he noticed, bare skin warmed by bare skin. that caught his attention

when Johnny decided Simon - the birthday boy - needed to loosen up for his special day he scoffed, “‘M turnin’ thirty-two, Soap. I don’t do birthday parties.”. he thought that all the way to America, grumbling when the team boarded the plane. his two saving graces were getting an aisle seat and sitting next to you

“Ghost, it’s not that bad.”, you chuckle, watching as he crosses his arms - for a man that large and intimidating, he was acting like a pouting child. “Could be havin’ a beer at the pub.”, he remarks, eyebrows knit as someone’s carry-on bumps his shoulder, “Soap’s lucky I ‘aven’t wrung his neck.”

the flight itself wasn’t so bad, no crying children or loud snoring. by the time the flight landed at Harry Reid it was dark out, Johnny dragging everyone towards the hotel. you barely had time to shower and change before you were wrangled out to a casino. “Soap, m’not gamblin’.”, Simon huffed, looming next to the Scot as they passed row after row of slot machines

Simon held true to his word - he didn’t gamble. he got shitfaced

the night went by in slow motion, bleary eyes and drunken laughter ringing throughout the group. Simon didn’t know when it happened - when he got separated from the group, when he took your hand in his and left the building. he didn’t remember whisking you away to the nearest church - a real church, he didn’t remember gruffly asking for someone to officiate the sudden ceremony. he definitely didn’t remember shaking down some poor stranger on the street to be your witness, “Gotta— we gotta ‘ave someone watch… yeah? I’ll uh— I’ll grab someone, lovie.”

but, as you moved in his arms, the glint of a pretty little gem on your finger had his eyes widening. moving slowly, trying not to wake you, he lifts he own hand - a gold band snug against his ring finger. it’s not like you weren’t close to Simon, quite the opposite

he’d been meaning to ask you out for a few months, never quite working up the nerve to. now? he’s cussing himself out in his head - married before the first date, drunken vows. your back is to his chest, arms cradling a pillow as you sleep. it’s only when you yawn and shift in his arms does he completely freeze, your tired eyes looking up at him

it doesn’t help when you snuggle up to him, eyes closing as you tuck yourself against his chest. heart hammering, he wouldn’t be surprised if you heard it. at a loss for words, his gaze travels back to his ring adorned finger - fuck, would you be pissed when you realize? he’s liked you for so long and he blows it by marrying you in Vegas?

“Simon?”, you murmur, turning in his arms, chest to chest - still skin to skin, “What time is it?”, a groan leaving your throat as the sun peaks out from behind his hotel room’s curtains. he can’t bring himself to look down, your bare chest to his. when he tries to shift back a little, aiming to sit up, does he realize a third thing - when had he taken off his mask?

dirty blonde, close-cropped hair messy against his pillow. scarred skin bare for your view. nervous brown eyes looking down at your sleepy form

he doesn’t know what to say, too much information being realized all at once. it doesn’t help when you hum softly, rubbing the corner of your eye, soft-spoken words leaving your lips - his cheeks heating up and hands a little sweaty at your words

“S’not nice to ignore the missus, Simon.”, you say, voice raspy with exhaustion

John “Soap” MacTavish:

it was a short deployment, but it had TF141 scrambling to stay alive - practically a week in hell. a hail of gunfire on Tuesday, a close call Wednesday, the group getting separated for two days. it was a miracle that everyone made it back in one piece with just scrapes and bruises

it was a mumbled joke - you didn’t think it would be taken seriously, “We’re lucky as hell, should take a trip to Vegas, huh?”. despite the aching muscles the group sustained, bumps and bruises, you were swept away to an airport. it was too early for this, but it was too late to back out - Price and his need to get to the airport at four in the morning

“S’not that bad, bonnie.”, Johnny shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he tucked you against his side. between Johnny and Kyle’s chipper mood, Simon’s grumbling, and Price double checking passports and tickets, you were content to just go along, “Soap, I love you, but it’s too early for this.”

he laughed, a little too loud for the early morning crowd - you didn’t catch the way his cheeks heated up though. “Lighten up, mo ghaol.”, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips when he heard you confusingly mutter, “Mo ghaol?”, under your breath. he’d tell you what that meant in the future

the flight itself was fine, Johnny sat behind you. he made it a little game - passing notes up to you from between the chairs, giving the back of your seat a nudge every once in a while. when he passed out halfway through the flight you caught a couple hours of peace… if you could ignore his snoring

by the time the plane landed and everyone was settling down in the hotel, Johnny was raring to go. quick knocks on your door followed by him calling your name - a little too loud for this time of night

Kyle was busy unpacking while Simon and Price had retired to bed - poor John, all alone and left to his own devices. he already had a plan, taking your hand in his and dragging you out of the hotel. a fun night of bar hopping and getting tipsy, his treat

Johnny was confused when he woke up in a hotel room - definitely not the one either of you checked into with the group— wait, what’re you doing wedged against his side? he tried to sit up, the sharp pain in his temple making him stop. how much did he drink? he was at a bar with you, then he blinked and woke up here

bringing his hand up to rub his face, Johnny pauses when he feels cool metal touch his cheek. pulling his hand back a little, his eyebrows shoot up when he sees the ring on his finger - freezing when he remembers— oh no

he’s sitting up quickly, the pain in his head be damned. looking down at you, oh, you looked so peaceful, his breath hitches. there on your cute little ring finger, a matching gold band with a pretty little gemstone. “Ah— shit.”, he mumbles, mind a little fuzzy as snippets of the night come to the forefront of his mind

married - legally wed at the church around the corner. some dingy little say-the-vows wedding house wouldn’t do for you. Johnny, sweeping you both off in a drunken stupor, insisted that you deserved a real, good old fashioned church wedding… not before swinging into a jewelry shop

sloppy vows and dopey smiles exchanged, he was carrying you out the door. never made it back to the hotel Price booked - he couldn’t remember which way it was. instead, Johnny booked an overpriced honeymoon suite somewhere else - champagne bottle cracked open as he kissed your cheek

and now he’s looking down at you as you stir, tired eyes blinking open. it’s not like he regrets marrying you - he would love to marry you, he just wish he had gotten to the dating bit first. there was an awkward silence as you slowly took in the scene - Johnny, his shirt tossed somewhere in a forgotten corner, seated next to you in bed. an unfamiliar, albeit light, weight to your ring finger

when you finally meet his gaze, his grins - a slight, nervous glint in his eyes as you sit up too. “Ah— we— I mean, didnae think that—“, he coughs, stumbling over his words, trying to find something to say. married to one of his closest friends in Vegas of all places, he’s wracking his brain for a coherent sentence - eyes wide when you look down at your newly gilded finger

“Jumping the gun on getting married, huh?”, you smile, voice sleepy as you glance up at him. pausing, your eyebrows knit slightly as you glance around, “Where exactly are we, John?”

König:

König, for all his cockiness and bravado on duty as a Colonel, was less than thrilled to be flying to Vegas. was he proud of his teammates on their latest deployment? of course, did he want to be crammed in a small airplane seat with no leg room? absolutely not

being flown in and out of deployments is one thing, fitting himself in a seat meant for someone half his size was another. sniper hood replaced with a black medical mask and baseball cap, he was putting up with the flight for his friends - and you. was he going to spend money in Vegas? not if he could help it, “Nein, gambling is a waste of money. You can lose your own savings, Horangi.”, he scoffed, turning down the offer to bet when they landed

instead, König spent a majority of the night in a booth with you - drinking and watching your fellow teammates lose money. it wasn’t long before the multiple fruity cocktails got to König, a large hand on the small of your back as he ushered you outside the casino

the pounding in his head woke him up, throat dry and eyes bleary. the last thing he remembered was laughing with you on the streets of Vegas. as he moved to shift, to tug the covers up and hide against his pillow, he paused - registering the small hand on his chest, the warmth tucked against his side

swallowing, he glances down. he nearly chokes on his spit when he sees you sleeping against him, wedged between his body and the covers. headache suddenly forgotten, his mind swirls with different thoughts - had he slept with you? had you clung to him all night? are you going to be disgusted with him when you wake up? did you always have that ring on your finger—

wait. oh no

gaze glued to the ring on your finger - beautiful gem snug on the band - König’s mind suddenly goes blank. when he raises his own hand only to see a matching ring all those questions flood back as his chest tightens

surely you both hadn’t drank that much. he can barely remember leaving the casino though, he doesn’t remember whisking you away to a church - saying slurred vows and promises to each other. what’s worse? you weren’t together to begin with

sure, König has been pining for you, yearning to call you his and vice versa. to be married now? there’s butterflies in his stomach, but his chest is tight with anxiety. you were close colleagues, closer friends, and he carried you back to the hotel as his bride? you were going to kill him when you woke up, he was sure

when you mumbled something he froze, muscles tense as you hugged him closer. “Mm, König?”, sleepy voice coated with raspiness, it feels like the wind got knocked out of him, “König?”. his eyes darted down to meet yours, hands shaky as they clutch the sheets

“Ah— ja, Maus?”, voice strained, he awkwardly glances away. when he feels you cuddle up to his side, a small peck placed to his chest, he’s sure he’s died - or maybe he’s still asleep, blacked out from the booze. “You’re so warm.”, your voice, small and sweet, has him dizzy before he realizes what you’ve said

dead silent, he can’t help the flustered feeling in his heart, cheeks heating up. maybe everything can be normal? sure, you’re married, but— but what if you just ignored that? yeah, maybe König won’t lose you when you fully realize what’s happened… probably not, but the thought is nice

it’s a few minutes before you speak again, he’s sure the silence is comfortable for you - he’s overthinking what’s happened, what happens next, what happens on the flight back, what happens—

“Can’t wait to wake up every day like this.”, you sleepily murmur. it has König’s mind going silent - every day? you wanted to wake up with him every day—

Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin:

he really shouldn’t gamble. he’s shit at it, he doesn’t want to risk owing more than he can pay, but damnit! it’s Las Vegas - how can he not gamble? the city was practically made for him. lights, dice, cards, cash? like a moth to the flame, can you blame Horangi when he drags you there for his birthday?

sure, he’s been to the States before, but Sin City? he’s never had a reason to go to Nevada, but a weekend get away to celebrate? now that’s an excuse to call and bluff. it was a little hard to get everyone onboard with the idea - as much as the team enjoyed a poker night, flying to Vegas to lose money was definitely… eyebrow raising. but, when it’s for a birthday, they can suck it up and play along

the night went by quick, a mixture of card games and drinking as the group paraded behind Horangi, letting him lead them from table to table. at some point they stopped at a bar, liquor flowing and shots passed out - Horangi could hardly move when he woke up. the hangover that hit him was devastating, an uncomfortable ache behind his temple

grumbling curses as light peaked out from behind the curtains, Horangi found himself unable to move - someone wrapped snugly around him, an arm and leg draped over his body. he didn’t remember hooking up with anyone last night, then again, he didn’t remember a lot after the bar. so, when he looked down and saw you? his heart nearly stopped

“Mavsosa—“, voice strained as he freezes, his eyes flutter shut. you’re warm against him, pleasantly so, but he can’t help the guilt gnawing at his heart. did something happen? how did you two end up in his room?

but, light still streaming in from a crack in the curtains, when he opens his eyes he catches a glimmer on your ring finger. time slows down for him as he swallows - a pretty gold band with a cute little gem. when he eyes his own hand time starts flowing again, heart drumming in his chest. talk about a birthday present, he woke up with a wife

he would have been delighted to wake up as your boyfriend - maybe a tipsy confession after a shot of liquid courage, but waking up as your husband? it has his stomach twisting with nerves, but he can’t help the boyish smile that settles on his face. it seems like a silly joke, waking up wed to you

mind fuzzy as he recalls the chapel he ushered you into, hand in hand with goofy smiles, it didn’t seem too bad in the moment. while he might not be great at gambling, his charisma let him sweet talk the pastor into officiating - not his proudest moment in hindsight

and when you cling to him as you wake up, hand smoothing down his chest, he glances at you. you’ve been solid friends since he started serving, everyone knows that if you’re somewhere the other isn’t far behind. and he loves you, he really does, he just didn’t expect to see that ring on you, shiny band twinkling with the morning light

”Morning, dangsin.”, he quietly says, hoping you’ll be just as happy - maybe a little caught off guard - as him. it’s a gamble, his deep voice dripping with affection as he runs his hand through your hair, “Sleep well?”

charismatic man - while he tends to have terrible luck gambling, winning you over was easier than breathing, “Mhm, s’this our honeymoon, Kim?”, you mumble, eyeing the ring on his hand

[missiridescent]

Has Horangi’s backstory (specifically how he got his call sign) ever been reveal?

I have this headcanon that Horangi got lost from his squad one time whilst trying to run away from the enemy and he ended up being lost in the jungle for a few days, only using his wits and fist to get through the jungle. During which he ended up getting badly injured and scars littered his back and arms. He finds his way through the jungle and his squad swore they saw glowing eyes before Horangi emerged from the darkness.

Word got around and while Horangi was getting a full body medical checkup, the doctor mentioned that not only is Horangi going to get a gnarly scar from his injuries, his scars resembled that of a tiger’s stripe. Between the whole scar and glowing eye thing, Horangi was quicky given the call sign “Horangi” not only due the latter but also due to the fact Hong Jin was literally in the Jungle for DAYS. Even as a soldier it was a miracle he came out alive.

Plus, Horangi never mentioned this to anyone but doesn’t remember most of his time in the jungle, almost as if an entire different entity had overtaken his body to help him find his way back to his base, almost animalistic if you may. Perhaps his callsign is more than to his newly physical appearance, maybe something within him may have influenced his callsign entirely.

(Sorry if it doesn’t make sense, english isnt my first language :( )

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Constantly Sleepy!Reader

Requested: No

Warnings: None

Nikto

Nikto is probably the most confused by your sleepy self. The man lives off of a solid 5 hours a week, and that’s during a good period. It’s worse when the nightmares come on in droves, keeping him up for nights on end, eyes always open, twitchy and trigger happy. But in time he learns to enjoy your sleep, standing vigilant beside you, your watcher and protector. Like you’re his own personal sleeping beauty, and he’s the dragon curled around your bed. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, your own peacefulness will lure him in, driving him to slip into bed with you and get some more proper rest.

Gaz

Gaz is the absolute best bf to a sleepy partner. He’s always covering you with blankets or, more likely, his jacket. Setting pillows under your head or carrying you back to bed. You won’t always be able to sucker him into some cuddles but you will a great majority of the time, as long as there’s nothing of great importance that needs to be attended to. And he’s so warm and comfy, like a great big pillow mixed with a heating pad. He’s gotten more than a few good yelling ats from Price because he’s slept through some pressing phone calls, too cozy while being curled up with you to even hear the phone.

Horangi

If you’re sleeping anywhere, you’re sleeping on Horangi. Either full on in his lap, cuddled against his side, or with your head resting on his shoulder. Sometimes he can be seen carrying your sleeping body around, holding you tight in the mornings when he’s only half awake, grumbling to himself whenever you so much as twitch or wiggle in his hold. But more often everyone finds you both curled up together by some window, lazily stretched out and all comfy, like two little kittens with a sign above them that says “Bonded pair, must adopt together”. A few recruits took pictures to commemorate the sight of it only to be hunted down for sport later by you and your tiger.

Krueger

He adores the way you so so cutely rub at your sleepy eyes or do an adorable stretch like some sort of cat before promptly curling in on yourself, nuzzling your face against whatever it was you were laying on. Though he had to admit that it makes him a bit jealous, you’re not rubbing up against him and he’s pretty sure he’s softer than that table you’re snoring on. Eventually he just pulls you into his lap, uncaring of your whines as he readjusts you to be more comfortable, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face tucked into the crook of his neck. He doesn’t even mind that you drool on him a bit, wears it as a badge of honor even. Proud that you’re so relaxed around him, so comfortable that you just completely melt into his body. He may have taken a few (dozen) pictures to remember this moment by and to tease you with later.

[wxnheart]

ok sorry if this is spam, but soft varre anon back, again! This is the most active I've been omy gosh.

Anyways, Horangi.... he's amazing.

Just imagine having Horangi and König at the same time, AGH ID EXPLODE!!! I love them both!! I just wanna honk their moobs too.

okay I'm done being delusional

Don't apologize, SVA! Not spam at all and we appreciate your asks (and delusions lol) over here!

And who doesn't love some Masked Men Mayhem 'cause I certainly do! Maskwich indeed!

Horangi has some big hands and I just know they'd feel good. I just know it. Deep in my heart I just know it. lmao

[quozacheese]

körangi, everyone?

[diejager]

random thought but… stepdad!König fucking reader after finding out they wanna be in a relationship with him and saying “I’m going to marry you” or “I’ll make you mine one day” or smth like that. 🤭 and dbf!Horangi just kinda agreeing with him while sandwiching reader from the back, already having an idea of being the husband’s best friend that fucks his wifey 💝💝💝

—🎀—

Gah- that pink bow has my heart😵‍💫 cw: smut, STEPCEST, DUB-CON, creampie, sex marathon?, phone sex? Double penetration, p in v, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cheating, marriage, tell me if I missed any.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe, his knees weak and fingers twitching, his cheeks flushed with the joy he felt. Your little confession riled him up, your sweet tears and pout gave him the hardest erection he’d ever lived. Sweet, innocent words that would’ve seemed blasphemous to any other, sounded erotic, making his blood boil and arousal simmer under his skin. It worked through his body with tight and rushing pleasure, pumping blood down to his engorged cock and heavy balls.

“I want you,” sealed the deal, commanding his body to pound you into your bed, make you forget you ever had a life without him - he promised it.

And promised he did, he fucked you all day, pressing you down on your bed, folding you in half as keened loudly. The bed creaked and the wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it with every rock of his hips, fingers gripping your soft bedsheets and toes curling over his shoulder. You were stuck beneath him until the time he knew your mother would be back, taking every moment he had to watch his cock push in you and back out with a ring of cum and slick around his thick cock.

At first, he took you alone, slamming into your while you mewled out, your sweet sounds reaching the hungry ears of your neighbour on the phone. König had called Horangi in a blur, his mirth infectious, making Horangi happy, chuckling out praises to you and giving his word that he’d come by after his exercise at the gym. Your stepdad kept his friend on the phone, the Korean wearing EarPods during his whole course, working out with his cock throbbing and pushing against his shorts.

An hour in, waking up after you passed out in pleasure, eyes rolled to the back of your head in white pleasure, Horangi made himself home, naked and kneeling between your thighs. You let out a surprised moan, back arching when he drove his tongue inside your twitching hole, his thumb rolling your sensitive clit. He took his take taking you apart, watching you flay and cream all over him, covering is face with slick.

Near delirious and body oversensitive, you felt them push into you, softly alternating between both cocks stuffing your stretched cunt. You were trapped between them, body pushed back and fourth, feeling them fill you up, bottoming out, balls slapping the other man, pulling out to the tip and slamming back in. You bucked your hips, chasing their cocks, nails digging into Horangi’s shoulder, gasping and moaning with your legs spread open by König’s hands.

“I’ll marry you, ja, Schatz?” König growled, pumping you full of cum, womb stuffed full with his and Horangi’s charged load. “Breed you and make you mine.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait to suck your tits,” Horangi couldn’t stop himself from agreeing, mind conjuring every image of your swollen stomach and wobbling walk. “Drink your sweet milk.”

“Do you want that, Schnucki?”

All you could do was nod, throat sore from screaming and body limp in your stepfather’s arms, your eyes were heavy chest puffing with loud, exhausted breaths. You liked their idea, marrying, breeding, becoming theirs, perhaps their delusions finally got to you.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

[machveil]

HELP oh god, imagine you leave the lid off their food container by accident and come back to König going absolute ham in it. you’re trying to pull him out but he’s kicking back and trying to get more food into his mouth before you finally yank him out

he acts completely innocent like his fat ass didn’t eat a third of the food in there, just blinks at you and walks away

König and Horangi as a Cat Hybrids

I had this mental image of a new AU but I don't have my tablet to draw on so I'm just gonna vomit out my new AU thoughts.

What about König and Horangi as cat hybrids that reader unknowingly adopts? She just sees these two ragtag cats outside, feels really bad and starts feeding them. Eventually, they start bonding to her so they follow her home. It's kinda hard to tell a cat no when it just sorta walks through the front door (Horangi first and König nervously scooting in afterwards).

It's hard to believe Horangi is a stray. He's a glorious little toyger cat and he's swanning around loving the place up. He is a personality plus cat. He's genuinely the best companion, but also the loudest companion. Will scream at 6am for food. That wakes up König, and König will sit on your face in an attempt to suffocate you for food. They are a horrific duo.

Anyways, Horangi is a great cat but he never leaves either you or König alone. He does not understand the concept of personal space. He's there. Everywhere. You cannot escape loudmouth Horangi. He has opinions and he must share them. Sometimes König will resort to laying on him in an attempt to get him to shut up.

Horangi's also a bit of a jackass. He'll purposefully make messes to laugh at you. He will swat your drinks off the table and steal your keys and hide them in the cat tree. He'll also hide under beds and swat your ankles. He's a devil cat and he's proud of it.

König, on the other hand, is a bit of a ghost cat. You sometimes forget you have two cats. However, when König makes his presence known, it's impossible to ignore. Mostly because he vomits on your carpet and then looks at you sadly. He would clean it up, but that would blow his cover. So instead, he watches as you deal with his problems. He knows what you must do, and for that he is sorry.

König is a ratty black maine coon cat, or maybe a ragdoll. Can't decide yet. Either way, he's a bit uggo but if you just brushed him he'd look fine. His eyes are always crusty and leaking and he'll squirm like a bastard if you try to clean him up. He's a crusty man and he likes it that way.

Most of König's antics revolve around food or being a crusty cat. He is such a food-driven animal that it's insane. He only wants to eat and he will do anything to get to food. He's trampled Horangi numerous times when the dinner bell's been rung. He does everything he can to earn more treats and it's a bit frightening. You're also worried he's gaining weight. You're particularly worried because the way König deals with Horangi's antics is by sitting on him until he stops. He also tries to sit on you to stop you from going places. This is cute until he digs his claws in and hangs on for dear life.

König and Horangi like to stay in their cat forms as often as possible. Quite simply, it's comfortable. Free food, plenty of belly scratches, König gets regular baths so he doesn't smell like a crusty old man, it's a good life for the two of them. Mind you König isn't even that old, he's just crusty.

I just wonder what would be the thing to make reader realize that her two crusty cats are actually crusty men living in her apartment rent-free..