torncwpid

[torncwpid]

oh my goodness i need a pt2 of “Top Donator” where Soap confronts Ghost and somehow they both end up fucking reader

I'm so so happy to see how many people liked that fanfic, and this is definitely the direction I'm going with part two

[torncwpid]

I haven't posted in so long. I'm sorry, I've just been in a terrible writer's block. I have the ideas but I can't put them into a story in a way that flows or makes sense.

I'll be back to posting as soon as possible though

[torncwpid]

Ur a newer addition to the 141, and the guys take u out drinking as a little bonding moment to get to know u better, yeah?

Well, among the many topics of conversation that came up (favourite animals, past partners, sex toys, a billion lions...), kyle ends up asking u what ur ideal type is.

"Oh, im not picky, but there's some things I just love." You begin, taking a sip of ur drink to sort out ur thoughts. "Tall, strong guys, obviously. But I like the ones who are still soft, yknow? Blonde curls and sweet brown eyes," you begin to list off, totally oblivious to the way ghost had begun staring at u from where he was chatting with price.

You've never seen him without his mask, and yet... "and of course some scars, they can be so pretty, yeah? Maybe even some tattoos or piercings..." you sigh dreamily, cheek resting on hand.

"Really? Thats what you find hot?" Johnny asks, moreso to stoke the fire than anything when you give him a raised brow. "What, you mean to tell me you wouldnt drop to ur knees for a man like that?" Ur too busy defending ur honor to hear the choked sound ghost makes.

"Nah man, im serious. I'd suck his soul out through his dick then rail him into the mattress, its what all pretty guys deserve." Ghost stands suddenly, grunts something abt needing to piss, and ducks into the bathroom. The guys share knowing looks, while you remain oblivious, dreaming abt ur ideal guy.

[torncwpid]

I can't take myself seriously because with ww3 risks I just started thinking about reader being captured by tf141 in the middle of ww3 (let's just pretend this would make sense) and then flirting their way out

[torncwpid]

Top Donator

Summary: Johnny is tuned in like always, until the guest moans and he realizes he knows exactly whose cock you’re drooling over

Cw: smut (mdni), voyeurism, sex work (camgirl), masturbation (male), age gap, unprotected sex, fixation/obsession tone, brief ideation of MMF threesome

Word count: 985

Younger!camgirl!reader having a special guest in her live stream, one of the streams where she invites the top donator of the previous month, where the guest is never fully visible to the camera, their face is always just perfectly cut out of the frame even though everything else is kept on full display for the thousands of viewers while they are either being used like a dildo while you fuck yourself dumb or they are fucking into your needy holes like a fuck machine.

This time the special guest was the latter. So incredibly rough yet so obviously caring towards you, something you never experienced before with the other guests — they only ever wanted to use you and that was it, no care or feelings involved. But this guest had no trouble manhandling you into whatever position he wanted you in right before grunting out a “This okay, luvie?”

That wasn't the only difference the viewers could spot between this guest and the previous ones, though — this guest is so much older than you. It was obvious even without seeing his face. His body was enough to give it all away — all solid weight and deliberate movement instead of the frantic show-off energy of the other guests. His hands were larger and rougher, and moved in a way that spoke of age and experience. Above all, the audience could feel it in the way he handled you. Every touch was controlled and full of the kind of authority only a man could have. He held your hips up when your legs gave out from how cock drunk you got, he kissed your spine between thrusts when he took you from the back, he held your jaw and forced you to stare at him when he could tell your focus was going somewhere else. Even through the screen, they all knew this was someone who would ruin you and still make sure you drank water when he was done.

Of course older!Johnny is tuned in for this stream just like he was for all your previous ones. He has never missed a single one since he found you only a month into your camgirl career. It's almost pathetic how he has unknowingly Pavloved himself into being half hard before you even go live. Now he's fisting his cock with the same mix of lust and jealousy he always falls into when he watches you moaning for another man. But this time it's different, it’s not some cocky little shit between your legs, it’s a man, one who’s clearly around Johnny’s age, maybe even a little older. Watching you being fucked by a man like that twists something low in his gut.

He hates it. Hates how much it turns him on, how good you look taking it from this guest. But worse than that, he hates how much he gets off on it. On how hot it is that you're making such pretty noises — that aren't fake like with the others — for someone who looks almost similar to him. It makes him want even more to be the one stretching you open, whispering praises into your hair while thousands of viewers beg for more. All he can do is watch, stroke himself raw to the sound of your needy little noises, and hope that someday if he just donates enough, tips the right way, waits patiently like a good fucking boy, you’ll finally let him be the special guest.

It takes less than five minutes for Johnny to get completely lost in pleasure as he watches this man bounce you on his lap with a tight grip on your waist, changing positions easily just to fuck you from the back while forcing your face down into the frilly pillows (never hard enough to keep the viewers from hearing your blissed out moans and gasps, though).

But it takes Johnny almost the entirety of the stream and two back-to-back orgasms to get out of his haze enough to realize it. He feels his breath catch in his throat and his hands come to a stop as his eyes are suddenly stuck on the arms that hold your body up. His eyes go wide when he stares and confirms that he does know the exact tattoos that cover this guest's arms and chest.

Now he hears the guest moan instead of the vague muffled groans from the start of the stream. And of fucking course the second that voice spills out clearer, cooing something soft and filthy down at you in that familiar brute British drawl, Johnny freezes. Every muscle goes tense, his grip going still at the base of his cock as recognition slams into him like a punch to the stomach.

He can tell the discovery should have pulled him out of the lustful haze he’s been drowning in since the stream started, but he can feel his cock twitch at the sight of his Lt. forcing his favourite — only — camgirl to take his cock down her throat. The camera captures just right the way Simon has your jaw stretched wide, your eyes glassy, your throat bulging with the thick shape of his cock as he slides it deeper.

Johnny should look away, he knows that. But instead, his hips buck up into his fist like they have a mind of their own and his eyes are locked to the screen.

He can’t stop watching and imagining what it must feel like to fuck his cum into your dripping cunt while Simon’s hand fists your hair, with his calm, ruined voice pouring praise and filth into your brain, his cock shoved down your throat like it belongs there. But fuck if he isn’t still stroking himself anyway, cock twitching with every wet choke and every smug little groan his lieutenant lets slip.

Oh, he'll have fun with this information.

Reminder that my asks are always open!

@141ce @g1v3meabreak @scoobywrites690

[torncwpid]

Sharing is Caring

A short little drabble that crossed my mind, might write something longer with this actually coming true in the future if enough people like the idea

Summary: Price testing the waters of sharing you with his little soldier

Cw: smut (mdni), mentions of MMF threesome, sub!fem!reader

Word count: 410

He’s behind you, arms heavy around your waist, his broad chest solid against your back. The scent of smoke and cologne clings to him. His beard scratches the side of your neck as he leans in, voice thick with lust.

“Y’know what I keep thinkin’ about, love?” he murmurs against your ear. “Gaz on his fuckin’ knees for you.”

You blink, breath catching. You can't keep from clenching around him but besides that you don't know how to react. Was it some sort of test? You never said anything about being shared, but he's way too good at reading you, and he grins when he feels your hesitation.

“Don’t get shy. I’d be right there with you. You’d be sittin’ between my legs, all soft and open for us like a good girl."

His fingers ghost under your waistband, not quite touching. Just teasing.

“I wouldn’t let him do a bloody thing without my word,” he says, voice darker now, gruff. “I’d make him watch how I make you cum first. Show him what it sounds like when I hit that spot with my tongue. When your legs start shakin’ and you grab my hair.”

He chuckles low and proud when he feels you clench again.

“Then I’d tell him, step by step. How to flatten his tongue over tha' needy little clit of yours. He’s a good soldier. Learns quick and wants approval, jus' like you." He lets out a huff that sounded like a chuckle. "I'll keep my hand on the back of his head, make 'im stay there until you cum again.”

His other hand squeezes your thigh.

“And you’d be so good f'me. You’d take it all, and we’d be talkin’ about you. About how sweet you taste. How your pussy always clenches when we talk about you like you’re not even there.”

His hand finally dips low enough to press over your cunt, and you gasp, hips grinding into his palm.

“There she is,” he coos, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “My sweet thing. Bet you’re soaked just thinkin’ 'bout it. My soldier between your legs, followin’ my orders while I watch everything.”

His voice is a growl now, low and gravelly. “You'd like tha', wouldn't you?”

And you can’t even answer, not with your heart going crazy and your brain feeling like it just short-circuited.

He knows you can't, so he just grins, wicked and proud, and kisses your jaw.

“That’s my girl.”

God I love this man

[torncwpid]

Blah blah blah, what about younger!camgirl!reader inviting one of the 141 members to a special guest stream since he always gives her so much money on her streams, but another 141 member is watching the stream and realizes who the special guest is blah blah blah

Might actually write this one out soon

I did end up writing it, and you can find it here

[torncwpid]

No, app on my phone, I don't want to edit it with AI. I don't want to generate with AI. I don't want to ask the AI. I don't want to make AI wallpapers. I don't want to rewrite with AI. I don't want t-

[torncwpid]

BOOM SHAKALAKA

[torncwpid]

Rewrite the First Time

Summary: Gaz finding out that reader's ex absolutely half-assed her first time, and deciding to make it up for her when they finally have sex

Cw: sexually explicit content (mdni), mentions of bad past relationship, fluffy smut, fem!reader

Word count: 1.9k

I still feel a little awkward writing explicit smut but I figured writing out this thought would be a good idea to exercise that

You didn’t mean to tell him. It was just another late night conversation with your friend, and you were way too comfortable near him. Comfortable enough to feel like it wouldn't be a big deal to mention it, you both wrapped in blankets and watching some half-forgotten show rerun on your couch, his shoulder heavy beside yours.

Kyle had asked you how your last relationship ended. A simple thing friends usually know about each other. You felt like you should have had a simple answer, but the truth is that there were so many reasons for the breakup, all tangled into one big and complicated knot, and you rarely really mentioned all those reasons, settling for a short and socially acceptable “We weren't what each other needed, so I didn't want to be wasting our time and broke up”.

But something about the way he asked it gave you the space to actually answer honestly. Not the autopilot script you gave everyone else. Not the polished version that skipped over the shame and the ache, so you told him about the guy you dated before. He’d gotten under your skin with charm, flattered you until you said yes, and settled on bare minimum from then on. You told Kyle how he made everything feel like a transaction — even sex. Especially sex.

The first time you’d ever been with anyone, it had been with him. You told Kyle how he hadn’t even looked at you when it was over, how he just rolled away. Didn’t kiss you, praise you, ask if you needed anything… just turned his back and went to sleep like your body was a hotel bed he didn’t want to pay for.

You laughed as you said it, and you meant it. It did hurt that he didn't bother to make it special when you had told him more than once how important it was to you, but after so long, you just learned how to live with it since you knew you couldn't change that. What was done was done. But it still stung you deep down — the knowledge that you didn't have a good first experience and couldn't do anything to change it.

Kyle didn’t laugh, though. He didn’t even speak for a long few seconds. His jaw clenched slightly, a muscle ticking like he was chewing through words and discarding each one.

“I’m sorry,” you’d said too quickly, like you’d broken some invisible rule. “I shouldn’t have— That was too much.”

“No, luv, you’re allowed to talk about shit that hurt you.”

You blinked, surprised at how that pet name sounded from his mouth — easy, natural, like it just rolled off. Not romantic, not then. But warm.

He stayed a little longer that night. Watched you out of the corner of his eye as you laughed too hard at some dumb joke on the TV, like he was memorizing the sound.

He never forgot.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later — after flirty texts turned into late-night calls and the tension between you built up every time he brushed your hand or said your name just a bit too softly — that you realized Kyle hadn’t forgotten what you told him.

Because when his hands finally touched your skin like he wanted you, not just because you were available and a woman, but because you were you, it was with a care that had no business being so gentle.

It started slow, like it always did with Kyle. He wasn’t pushy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intense. He kissed you like the taste of your mouth might save him. His hands ran over your sides, your hips, your jaw, slow and steady like he wanted to memorize every millimetre of your body, like he had all night to.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

He leaned back slightly, warm eyes searching yours. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you said, voice smaller than you intended.

He smiled, a crooked, soft smile that would have looked boyish if it wasn't for the fire behind his eyes.

And when he touched you… God.

It felt like he was trying to erase the memory of your first time with every stroke of his fingers, every kiss he left against your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Like he could dig into your bones and pull out that leftover ache and replace it with something that felt like reverence.

“You know,” he murmured, mouth against your skin, “you deserve better than what he gave you.”

It took you a while to remember what he was talking about — who “he” was.

“I know” you whispered.

He looked up at you, face deadly serious. “You should’ve known it then too. He should’ve shown you.”

You swallowed hard, not sure what to say. The weight of being wanted like this wasn’t something you were used to. Not like this. Not when there was no rush. No demand. Just… him.

“I’m not gonna fuck you like it’s routine,” he said softly. “You’re not a goddamn checkbox, love.”

And somehow, that made your breath catch more than anything else he’d said or done.

You weren’t a checkbox.

Not to him.

Not ever.

His mouth found yours again before you could say anything else, stealing whatever breath you had left.

This kiss wasn’t the slow burn from earlier. This one was heat and want and teeth. A low groan rumbled in his chest when you pulled him closer, your fingers sliding under his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath. He let you explore for a minute, then pulled back just enough to strip himself of the fabric before reaching for the hem of yours.

“Can I?” he murmured.

You nodded, and he peeled it over your head with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred. His eyes darkened as they dragged down your body, and he swore softly under his breath.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he said, and the way he said it — low, guttural, full of awe — made your cheeks burn.

He kissed down your neck, slow and unhurried, until he reached your chest, taking his time there too, like every part of you deserved his full attention. You arched into his mouth as he suckled and teased, and the way he responded — his hand cradling your side, murmuring something sweet you couldn’t quite catch — made your whole body light up.

You’d had someone touch you before, but it never felt like this, even when he was hornier than usual. Kyle didn’t just want you; he worshipped you. Every touch felt like he was craving you, not sex.

When his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, you gasped, your hips lifting instinctively. He hummed against your skin.

“Shhh, I got you,” he whispered. “Gonna take my time with you.”

He pushed the fabric down and off, kissing your thighs as they trembled under his mouth. His breath ghosted over your cunt before he looked up, checking, he was always checking.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Please”

He groaned again, deeper this time, and then his mouth was on you. He didn’t rush, didn’t force, he listened to every moan, every stuttered breath, every twitch of your hips. His hands pinned you down just enough to make you feel safe.

When you came on his tongue, it wasn’t quiet. Wasn’t graceful. It was raw and shaking, and he held you through every second of it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Only then did he kiss his way back up your body, lips swollen, chin wet.

You pulled him into another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and when you felt him hard against your thigh, you reached down to help him out of the rest of his clothes, and you gasped for a second at the feeling of how big he was.

Still, even now, he paused.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice hoarse.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you said under a chuckle.

He lined himself up, and just before he pushed in, he cupped your cheek, kissing you one more time, like he needed it. Like you grounded him.

The stretch was slow, more careful than anything you’d felt before. Your breath caught, and he stilled immediately, holding you like glass.

“You okay?” he whispered, forehead resting against yours.

Your response was a frantic nod. “I just feel so full.”

He smiled gently. “That’s good, love. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He moved in shallow thrusts at first, letting you adjust, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t believe he was finally inside you. The sound of skin against skin built up slowly, your moans mixing with his, the heat between you unbearable but just perfect.

And then he really started moving. Now it was deeper, harder, and your nails dug into his back.

“Kyle—”

“Fuck, say it again,” he barked, the softness from just minutes ago almost completely gone, the only way you could feel it now was in how he was observing you, looking out for any sign of pain or regret.

“Kyle,” you whimpered.

“God, you feel good— So fuckin’ good around me. So fuckin' tight and wet and all mine— All. Fucking. Mine.”

You cried out, pleasure climbing up your spine like fire. He kept whispering praises disguised as humiliation at you, until you were close again. And he could tell you were there before you even realized. Could feel how much tighter you got.

“I’ve got you, love. Let go for me. Wanna feel you cum all over me.”

And you followed his command like the good girl you are. Feeling you clench around him, he thanked God that you were on birth control, because there was no way he could pull out when you felt so good, dragging him over the edge with you as he buried himself deep with a groan.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just held you and thrusted lazily into you while you both caught your breath.

He pressed kisses to your hair and shoulder before moving the both of you so he could lay down and tuck you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you like he never wanted to let go.

Later, when your body was limp with satisfaction and laziness, when he was tracing idle lines on your hipbone, you’d turned your head and asked the question that had been curling in your chest like smoke.

“Why d’you care so much?”

He hadn’t looked at you right away. Just dragged his fingers down your thigh and kissed your shoulder.

“Because,” he said eventually, “if I’d been your first, I’d have made sure you never forgot it, for the right reasons.”

His voice was rough, and you could tell that he hated that it hadn't been him.

You rolled to face him, your heart pulling tight

“You kind of just did,” you whispered.

The look he gave you then was pure fire and tenderness all at once. Possessive. Dangerous.

Yours.

And he didn’t say it, at least not out loud, but you could feel it in the way his hand curled protectively around your waist and tugged you closer like he needed you against him to survive.

This is how it should’ve been the first time.

And this is how it’ll be every time.

[torncwpid]

Can you do a Konig x reader where the reader has a breakdown and he walks in on her crying on the floor in their shared bedroom? Talks her through it and calms her down? Forehead kisses, etc. Please😊

Du Bist Nicht Allein

Summary: Just König coming home to you crying in your room and trying his best to calm you down

Cw: crying(?), I don't think there's anything that needs a warning here, just pure comfort

Word count: 793

The hallway was quiet, too quiet for this time of night. König’s steps slowed when he noticed the bedroom door slightly open, a small streak of warm light slipping through. His brows knit together under his hood as he set the grocery bag down gently on the kitchen counter.

Then he heard it.

A muffled breath — ragged, hitched. Not the kind that came with sleep. His chest tightened at the realization.

The floorboards creaked under his weight and he hesitantly pushed the door open, the soft creak sounding loud in the stillness. The sight made him freeze for a moment.

You were on the floor.

With your back to the bed, arms wrapped tight around your knees, face buried in them as you shook with every sob you tried to muffle. Your breath came in sharp, broken stutters, the kind he knew all too well.

“Schatz,” he said gently.

You flinched, and he hated that even in this place, your home, your safe little world, pain could still sneak in and tear you apart. And he hadn’t been there to stop it.

König moved slowly, lowering himself to the floor in front of you, not touching you yet.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t look at me like this.”

“Why not?” His voice stayed low. Quiet and careful.

He reached out when you didn’t respond, large hand resting lightly on your knee, thumb brushing over the fabric of your sweatpants. “Talk to me,” he said. “Please.”

You shook your head. “It’s stupid. I don’t even know why I’m—” The rest of the sentence collapsed into another breathless sob.

He inched closer until his knees touched yours. Then he cupped your face, firm but gentle, tilting your chin up. “You don’t have to know why. You just feel it. And that’s enough.”

Your eyes met his, wet and shining, lashes clumped from tears. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, the tip of his nose brushing yours. The smallest contact — just enough.

“I’m here for you,” he whispered. “Always. You hear me?”

You barely nodded, but that was enough for him.

His hands slide to your waist and he pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you with just enough pressure to ground you. One hand cradled the back of your head as the other curved protectively around you, shielding you from everything — even the world inside your own mind.

“I’m so tired, König,” you murmured into his chest.

“I know, Spatzi.” He kissed your temple, slow and warm. “Just breathe for me, ja? In through your nose. Come on.”

You tried. It came out shaky and uneven, but you tried.

“Here,” he whispered. “Smell the flower.” He pretended to be holding a flower near your face as you inhaled, then he put his pointer finger up near your lips. “Good, now blow out the candle.”

His voice wrapped around you like a blanket, deep and soft, grounding. Another kiss to your forehead, right between your brows.

“Again, Spatzi. Smell the flower… hold it… and blow out the candle.” His hand rose and fell gently with your back as he helped you find the rhythm again. “Good girl. My brave, beautiful girl.”

You clung to him like you were trying to climb inside his skin, burying your face against his neck. His hoodie smelled like fabric softener and there was a faint trace of cigarette smoke, familiar in a way that didn’t overwhelm. Grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Ich hab dich. Mein Engel, ich hab dich.”

His thumb stroked the back of your head slowly, anchoring you with his calm presence. He kissed your forehead again, then pressed his against it like he could take some of the pain from you just by staying close.

“You don’t always have to be strong around me. I’m here to catch you. You understand?”

You didn’t answer with words, just a small, broken noise against his throat.

“Shh,” he breathed. “That’s okay. You’re okay. Just stay with me. Breathe, Spatzi. In and out. There we go…”

Minutes passed like that — silent, close, breathing in sync. His body around yours, solid and steady. His lips brushed your skin in another soft kiss, then another. Gentle, steady, like a promise he wasn’t going to let you fall.

“You’re safe,” he said. “With me you’re always safe.”

Your breathing slowed. He felt the difference — the lessening tremble, the soft sigh that slipped from your lips when your muscles finally let go of some of their tension.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

His arms tightened around you.

“I love you too, Spatzi,” he said against your hair. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, no matter how much I show.”

[torncwpid]

I still think about this at least once a week

Kili: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Y/n a little bit.

Thorin, holding Kili's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation.

Kili: No, that's our joint tombstone.

Thorin: My mistake.

[torncwpid]

I love this so much 😭✋🏻

I don’t think you guys understand that I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure at the thought of john price drunk dancing at a wedding and busting out those middle-aged dad moves

If you don’t agree, you’re wrong

[torncwpid]

Tea is a Love Language (apparently)

Summary: Reader being absolutely oblivious to Ghost's feelings (and Soap facepalming)

Cw: gn!sergeant!reader, just a little drabble that I might expand on someday

Word count: 774

You were a sergeant at TF141, and you were very close with the other soldiers - getting along just fine and always playing around with them.

Except for Ghost.

And that was fine, you told yourself. He was closed off with pretty much everyone, and you were new there anyway. It was only expected. He would come around eventually. It’s not like your situation was hostile, after all. There was mutual respect and a somewhat amenable relationship between you. Just because he wasn’t friendly didn’t mean he hated you.

But oh, you were so very wrong.

There you were, making tea for yourself in the common kitchen while trying to keep up with the conversation Soap and Gaz were having nearby. They were mostly bickering about their football teams, but the conversation was entertaining nonetheless. You saw someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and judging by the silence and size of the figure, you easily knew who it was.

"Lt.”

A nod and a grunt is all you get in response.

“D’you want me to make you tea? I mean, it’s almost 16 already. You usually have an Earl Grey. I can prepare it for you since I’m already here.”

Another grunt that sounds like a “yeah.” Seems like you’re getting somewhere.

Turning around to grab a cup and start boiling the water, you’re met with a knowing, smug look plastered on Soap’s face.

“What?”

“He’s lettin’ ye make his tea now?” The confused look on your face must’ve been evident, because he keeps talking. “Means he trusts you, that — Ghost doesn’t let anyone near his bloody kettle.”

You shrug. “It’s jus’ tea. Maybe he doesn’t let you near it ’cause of your kitchen skills.”

Soap lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand flying to his chest like you’d offended his entire family. “Tha’s rich, comin’ from the one who nearly set toast on fire last week.”

“That toaster’s ancient. If anything, I’m the victim here.” You roll your eyes and go back to prepping the tea, unbothered.

Gaz snorts behind you, and you hear the unmistakable clink of him putting his mug down. “You’ve got no idea, do you?”

You look at him now. “About what?”

Soap looks like he’s just been handed the juiciest bit of gossip and adds, without missing a beat, “About Ghost.” He’s got the mischievous smile of a kid who’s about to tell his parents’ biggest secret.

Your eyes roll before settling back down as you dunk the teabag with the slow precision of someone pointedly ignoring whatever drama is brewing.

“He doesn’t let anyone make his tea,” Gaz chimes in, voice pitched like he’s trying to help, but there’s mischief in his words. “He’s a control freak about it. Swear. Exact temp, steep time, no sugar, splash of milk. The one time I tried? He took the mug, dumped it, and made his own.”

“…Maybe he was jus’ feelin’ extra mean that day,” you say finally, turning back to stir the tea.

Soap groans, full-body, like your denial is physically painful to him. “Christ, ye really don’ see it?”

You shrug and walk off with the cup of Earl Grey in your hands, prepared just the way he likes it, which wasn’t difficult to figure out after months of watching him make it the exact same way every day. Walking into the common area, you spot the lieutenant and shove the mug into his hands with a quiet, “Careful. It’s hot.” And he takes it without a word, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

Warm, deliberate.

And still, it flies right over your head.

You linger for a moment. Not enough to be weird, just… long enough to see if he approves of the way you prepared his tea. Taking his low hum, quickly followed by a second sip, as a good enough sign, you head back to the kitchen.

You blink. “See? Nothin’ weird.”

Soap throws his hands up with a groan while Gaz shakes his head.

“Unbelievable.”

[torncwpid]

There's this man (@/pbsquamer) who does mainly booktok/bookstagram content and he looks exactly the way I picture Ghost under the mask (just with a little less muscle)

That's it. That's the post. I just wanted to share it.

[torncwpid]

rare seen a plus size with koing would love a story where he obsessed with the reader their stretch mark,rolls everything

König with a plus size reader is just meant to be. I mean, have you seen the way that man takes out enemies in hand to hand combat? Those soldiers are packed with muscles, and muscle is denser and heavier than fat, so he clearly has no issues picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder when he notices you're being mean to yourself, ready to show you just how much he loves your body.

All That He Sees

Summary: König finds reader staring into the mirror a little too much and just has to show them his thoughts on their body

Cw: plus size, gn!reader, fluff with some spice at the end (mdni), reader having a hard day for body image

Word count: 1.6k

Steam clung to the edges of the mirror, curling and dripping like tears down the sides. You stood there anyway, towel wrapped around your torso, the quiet hum of the bathroom fan the only sound as you stared yourself down.

It wasn’t always like this. Some days you didn’t look. Some days you didn’t care. Some days your skin felt like yours, and your reflection didn’t bite.

But not today.

Not with the way your fingers lingered over the stretch marks across your hips, the soft rolls that folded when you breathed, when you moved, when you existed. The self-loathing was silent, heavy, familiar. And thanks to years and years of training, you didn’t notice the door creak open. Didn’t hear the soft steps on tile.

Didn’t see him until that towel was gone.

You turned around, startled as if you had forgotten you weren't home alone, arms instinctively crossing over your stomach, but there was nothing there that he hadn't already seen.

Not just seen. Worshiped.

König stood in the doorway like something out of a fever dream. Chest bare, hair messy, the sharp line of his jaw and the slight parting of his lips. One hand gripped the doorframe, the other clenched at his side. And his eyes — God, his eyes.

They roamed over your body like he was starved. Like you were his last fucking meal, served to him on a silver platter.

You turned back to the mirror, flustered. “Can you knock?”

“I did,” he said, voice low and thick, that Austrian accent wrapping around the words like silk. “Twice. You didn’t answer, Liebling.”

You sighed, reaching for the towel and wrapping it around your body again. “I was busy.”

“I saw that.”

Silence.

You didn’t move when you saw him shift, didn’t flinch when he walked closer until his massive frame pressed to your back. Just watched your own eyes shift in the mirror as his arms came around your waist, his hands were firm but his touch was gentle, careful not to break you, as if you were made of glass.

“I was looking at myself,” you muttered with a bitter edge to your voice. “Not very fun.” You let your confession out with a nervous yet almost emotionless chuckle.

He leaned in, the heat of his breath ghosting over your neck. “I was too.”

“König—”

“I love what I see.”

You froze.

He said it like it was the only truth in the world. Like he couldn’t comprehend why you’d ever think otherwise. Because he couldn't.

Your hands tightened around your towel.

“You’re staring at the parts I hate,” you whispered.

“I’m staring at the parts I love,” he cut in, voice firm. “Every mark. Every inch.”

His fingers dragged slowly over your belly, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, his touch reverent like he was tracing something holy.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m not here to convince you. I’m here to remind you.”

You didn’t expect to be lifted.

But König scooped you up with laughable ease, one arm beneath your thighs, the other snug behind your back, holding you like you were made of nothing but air.

You yelped, clutching his shoulders. “König— what the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

Just carried you out of the bathroom like a man with a mission, down the hall and into the bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress. And when he loomed over you, all muscle and shadows and a type of hunger that could only be found in his eyes, you felt the very familiar heat curl low between your legs.

He didn’t move right away. Just looked at you. Took his time. His hands settled on your knees and slid slowly up your thighs, pushing the towel open with a tenderness that made your heart ache. No rush. No pressure. Just quiet, heavy want— no, need.

“Every time you stand there hating yourself,” he said, slowly crawling up the bed until he was over you, knees bracketing your thighs, hands pinning your wrists gently to the sheets, “you forget what I see.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t let you.

His mouth found your collarbone, kissed it. Then the top of your chest. Your stomach. Lower.

Each kiss was slow. Deliberate.

“I see softness made to be held,” he murmured, lips against your skin. “I see skin marked by time, by life, and I want to trace every fucking line with my tongue.” His voice was getting whinier and more desperate with every kiss, like it hurt him not to be closer.

“I want to map you,” he said, hands sliding along your sides. “Memorize the way you feel under me. Burn it into my brain.”

You shifted under him, flustered, unsure what to do with your hands until he pinned them above your head again, his gaze sharp. Commanding.

“You’re not allowed to look at yourself like that,” he growled, voice dark and low, the air between you charged. “Not when I’m here. Not when I’d kill to have you see what I see.”

You stared up at him, all shaky breaths and incredulity. “And what do you see?”

His lips curled into something crooked. Dangerous.

Worshipful.

“A body that drives me mad,” he said. “A body I dream about every single night when I’m out on a mission. That I crave every second of every day no matter where I am.”

He leaned in like he couldn’t stay away any longer, the edge of obsession in his voice so raw it made you shiver.

“You walk past me in the hallway and I lose my breath. You laugh and I forget what I was doing. When you wear that worn-out shirt that hugs your hips just right? It ruins me.”

You squirm, hands twitching ever so slightly in his hold, and his eyes darkened at the sight.

“Say it,” he murmured, lowering his face until his lips grazed the crook of your neck.

You blinked. “Say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful, Schatz”

You hesitated and averted your gaze, heat flooding your face.

“I—”

“Komm schon, Liebling.” His voice dipped, thick with accent. “For me.”

Your throat bobbed. “I’m… beautiful.”

He smiled, a slow, wicked thing, and kissed your mouth like he’d been waiting centuries to taste you. And when he pulled back, pupils blown wide, he stared like a man who had just found God.

“You’re mine,” he said, possessive and certain, like it was carved into stone. “Every inch. Every curve. Every mark. All of it— mine.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of it crashing into you like a wave. You didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Not when he kissed you again like he’d never stop. Like he’d spend the rest of his life showing you again and again how perfect you were in his hands.

And maybe you’d never stop fighting that mirror. But with König wrapped around you like this, loving you with all the soft brutality only he could have, you were starting to believe that maybe the mirror didn’t know shit.

He didn’t move for a long moment, just stared down at you like he was trying to memorize the exact way you looked beneath him. The rise and fall of your chest, the still damp skin, and those lips, parted and unsure.

His thumb dragged across your cheek.

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

You blinked, the weight of his gaze too much, too intimate. “König—”

“You think it’s just lust? Just desire?” He chuckled under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “It’s obsession, Schatz. I think about you all the time. When I’m training. When I’m falling asleep. In the dead silence after a mission, covered in blood, the only thing I want is to be back here. With you.”

He paused, eyes flicking over your face like he was checking to see if you were about to pull away, if this was too much. He wanted to make you see what he saw, and he would never forgive himself if his words were too much for you to process, if they sounded fake to you.

This exact fear made him lower his head, resting his forehead against your sternum like the weight of it all had finally caught up to him.

“I hate when you hide from me,” he said quietly, like it hurt to even speak the words. “I hate when you flinch, when you turn away like you’re ashamed. As if there’s a single part of you I wouldn't adore.”

Your fingers brushed his jaw and he couldn't help but lean into it, he could never not lean into your touch.

“I would carve your name into my skin if it meant you’d believe me — believe that I don’t just want you,” he whispered. “I need you. Exactly as you are. Nothing less.”

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, and the look he gave you was soft and wild all at once, and it shattered something inside you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” His voice broke a little on the word.

You smile. “When you talk for this long with so much conviction it's a little hard not to believe it.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed into yours, not rough, but desperate in the way someone kisses a person they thought they’d never have. Like he’d been starving and just now gained permission to feast.

And you kiss him the exact same way, holding the back of his neck and pulling him close to you to ensure he wouldn't break the kiss before you were ready. You let him worship you the way he always wanted to.

Because now you didn't doubt him. Not when his words were so true, when you could feel how desperate he was to make you feel the sincerity of them.

[torncwpid]

Welcome to my blog! This is a 18+ blog, mdni.

I'm Nixie and I hope you enjoy my content! Keep in mind that this is a safe space for all, any type of hate will not be tolerated.

König

All That He Sees - plus size, gn!reader, comfort

Du Bist Nicht Allein - gn!reader, comfort

Ghost

Tea is a Love Language (apparently) - gn!reader, fluff

Gaz

Rewrite the First Time - fem!reader, fluffy smut

Price

Sharing is Caring - fem!reader, smut

Mixed

Top Donator - young!camgirl!reader, smut, Soap, Ghost

Who will you write for?

My focus is on CoD, and I'll write for slashers and monsterfuckers in the future, but I'm open to write for other fandoms, so feel free to send the request and I'll see what I can do!

What will you not write?

Anything glamorizing: addiction, mental illnesses, disabilities, self-harm, and/or hate

Pedophilia (ddlg/ddlb is safe depending on the request; age regression is safe)

Non-con (dub-con is safe depending on the request)

Bestiality

Fisting, scat, vomit, piss

What will you write?

Fluff, angst, both vanilla and kinky/taboo smut are all safe to request. Anything that isn't in the no-go list should be safe. Most of my works are fem or gn afab reader but I'm open to writing masc and/or amab reader as long as it's specified in the request so don't be shy!

! Fanfics are not the material to use to educate yourself on kink and bdsm. Further research and education is heavily encouraged and recommended !

18. Brazilian, live in Canada. I suffer from chronic migraines and that makes me not active here somedays. Capricorn. Fall and winter girly. She/they pronouns. Black, blood red, and pink. Crazy about books, history and sharks. Jeff Buckley, Hozier, Amy Winehouse. Chocolate and black coffee. Lilly of the valley, cosmos, daisies. Metalhead. Amateur baker.

Here's my Spotify! I have a ton of playlists.

I'd also like to make it clear that english is my fourth language so I might make some mistakes, and I apologize for that.