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call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes · 4 days

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Horangi: Everyone says they’re kinky and want to experiment. But none of them will let me drain their blood for my rituals…

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #horangi #Kim Hong-Jin #kim hong jin #incorrect cod quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 10 months

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You’re not funny

Requested: No

Warnings: Written with a Fem!Reader in mind but mostly GN, the Korean word for Tigress is used (or at least what my translator app said was the Korean word for Tigress), Tall!Reader

A/N: @katdakat I bring you more Tall!Reader food

“You think you’re funny?”

“I think I’m absolutely hilarious.” You reply, a smug grin on your face as you push Horangi’s favorite cup to be way back of the top shelf, ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to get it unless he either climbed atop the counter (in which you would just yank him off and set him back down onto the floor) or went to get the old step stool (which you had hidden away in a very special place that you called the trash). Leaving him only the option of begging you nicely to give it to him so he could just make his tea and relax.

Life was pretty fun when you were taller than him, especially when there was a pretty big difference in your sizes. The look of sheer annoyance on his face was so funny that you actually had to bite your lips to keep from laughing at him. Horangi never took well to being laughed at.

“Okay, enough of this. Give it back, *호랑이를.” He says firmly, a small pout starting to form on his face, trying to guilt you into giving it back.

You hummed loudly, taking the cup out of its place on the shelf, holding it high above your head when he tried to jump for it, pretending to think on his words as he continued his (frankly pitiful) attempts to retrieve his prized mug. Then you just smirked again, shaking your head.

“Nope!” You say, putting the cup on top of the fridge this time, blocking the countertop space beside it in case he tried to climb for it. “You didn’t ask me nicely for it.”

Horangi gave you a venomous glare and you were lucky that looks couldn’t kill or else you’d be six feet under, probably after much much torture. Your smirk only grew, especially when he started cursing you out in Korean, so quiet and fast that you could barely make out what he was saying.

“Okay okay!” He finally said, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning a bone white from the strength of his grip. “Can you please give me back my mug, 호랑이를?”

“Hmmmmm…..” You pulled the cup back down, holding it high enough that his fingers would just barely be able to graze the bottom of it if he tried to jump for it again. “I don’t know, that didn’t sound very sincere.”

“호랑이를.”

“I mean, you couldn’t have at least added a pretty please to it? I mean, do you really want the cup? Doesn’t really seem like it.”

“호랑이를.”

“I suppose I could be willing to part with this oh so beautiful mug for just a teeny tiny little-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence before Horangi was yanking you down by the collar of your shirt, his lips crashing into yours harshly and making you gasp, followed by a soft moan as he only deepened the kiss. He didn’t even need to hold you there anymore, his hand drifting down your chest and to your sides, squeezing your ass before he pulled back completely.

You whined, pouty at the tease of it all while Horangi only smirked at you, holding up his mug in triumph. Slippery bastard. You’d get him back for this!!!!

*호랑이를 = Tigress

#cod #call of duty #mwii #mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #Kim Hong-jin #Kim Hong-jin x reader #Kim Horangi Hong-jin #Kim Horangi Hong-jin x reader

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houseoftroi · 5 months

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Final part in a set of five. These pictures were some of the first I did for MW2 a few months ago. Some turned out excellently, while some turned out meh. As always, thanks for your kindness and support.

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stuffedsock · 1 year

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Teach me that word

English is not my native tongue so if you see any grammar mistakes sorry! This is my personal head-cannon that Kim really likes older partners, I don't know where it came from or why I just really dig it so I went with it. The reader character is gender neutral, as always, and is part of the KorTac (non-military branch)

Unlike most of his teammates Kim didn't mind the med bay. He had his laptop with him, the amenities, pretty and nice staff and a good view.

And most of all he got visits from you. He looked at the clock on his laptop and exactly on the dot he heard your footsteps enter his room. He shuffled a bit up his bed and prepared for your attack. Not a second to soon he was smothered into your warm arms.

"Hi handsome! How was your day? Is your leg doing better?" He knew better then to try and answer now. Kim felt your kisses on his face, your soft hands in his hair, on his cheeks. He melted into the attention you were giving him. No amount of gambling ever felt this fulfilling. He regretted not putting his laptop away in time, since it now occupied his hands and not your supple flesh.

You moving away gave him the opportunity to shuffle the laptop onto the nightstand and get his hands on you. A moment later he felt your lips on his fingertips and even after all the time spent together he still felt his cheeks turn pink.

Oh and that smile you gave him, you exactly knew what you were doing to him. You took his hands and cupped them so gently and put your face in his hands. Your eyes sparkled with mischief and he felt his face redden more.

"Kiiiiim~ What was that word you loooooved me to call you from now on?" Oh no, he knew where this was going and he quickly tried to distract you with kisses and snugs. The laugh and snort that came out of you were going to be filed in his mind forever and engraved for when he was on deployment.

Once he pulled away from you, Kim just looked at you. Your lips were plump from the kisses, your eyes while glazed still shined with mischief and oh your cheeks. They were the prettiest glow on this Earth. He wanted to frame this moment forever.

He felt your hand on his tight, and the rubbing was definitely supposed to be more than innocent. "So, the word Kiiim~"

With a laugh and a huff and folded himself into you, his head in the crook of your neck breathing in your wondaful scent. "S..ang..m" It was more a mumble and he knew you would not let this go, but he would try to distract you with his hands on your waist and kisses on your neck.

The hum you let out was music to Kim's ears. The hand on his tight was still rubbing circles into it and the hand on his back moved to his hair.

The pull was unexpected but thrilling. He was forced to meet your eyes and your smiling face. "The word Kim Hong-jin. I want to hear it, now please." And who was he to deny you.

"Seobangnim." The word held so much meaning to him, he wanted it to be real, he wanted you to say yes. But the damn pain meds and exhaustion made him spill it before he could do it properly. You deserved the whole nine yards of romance and fuck it you were getting it, if it was the last thing he was doing.

He watched your face for recognition of the word, but found none. He both felt relieved and anxious. You were not a person to be kept in the dark, you loved knowing and learning.

He could see you silently try to word it out. "Songbangnim?" The questioning tilt to your voice as cute, the downward look of uncertainty and a bit of shame for not getting it the first time was doing something to him. It was fraying his last threads of sanity and all he wanted was for you to be part of him now and forever.

Kim worded it out slowly, and let you repeat it as many times as you wanted to. With every repeat he felt his heart clench and he swore he felt his eyes mist, your hand never stopped rubbing the circles in his tight. His hands now on your neck and thumbs rubbing your cheeks mid word attempt.

"You are doing so good, aein." Kim couldn't resist anymore he kissed you with everything he couldn't say now. He wanted to make it special, needed to. You deserved it.

Before you could speak he mumbled into your lips. "I have a few weeks off due to my leg here. I should be out next Saturday how about we go out on a date and I explain to you in detail what the word means?"

"I'll hold you to that Mr. Handsome~"

Seobangnim - husband

Aein - sweetheart and it is supposed to be gender-neutral (hopefully google did not lie to me)

#modern warfare 2 #horangi #horangi x reader #reader is gender neutral #Kim Hong-jin #fluff #reader is older than horangi

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itsirk-is-the-lusional · 1 month

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December 2023

When theyre with you but theyre playing with other men </3

Click for better quality

Other versions under the cut

Me version 😈

#horangi #kim hong-jin #kim hong jin #horangi x m!reader #male y/n #jesus i didnt gave him eyebrows did i...#so odd #horangi call of duty #call of duty fanart #horangi x you

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smutstationchoochoo · 9 months

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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! :)

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mausinly · 5 months

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i wanna see these big scary men get all flustered, give em a taste of their own medicine

Thinking about cod men with the most s/o of all time that is just so so tender with them and is so soft and kisses them so so good just like they deserve.

Thinking about cod men with an s/o that doesn't hesitate to tell them how pretty they are and will hold and caress them in a heartbeat, watching as their big bad military man melts in their arms.

Thinking about cod men that feel tears brim their eyes as their darling cups his head in their hands, their thumbs ever so gently brushing over his cheeks as they pepper kisses all over his face.

Their s/o makes sure to kiss every scar, every blemish and imperfection, everywhere but his lips until he murmurs how much of a tease his darling is. Only for their lips to meet in the most tender, passionate kiss he's ever received in his life, followed by loving whispers in the dark of night only for him to hear.

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 10 months

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“That’s my sweater.”

“Is it now?” Horangi asks, looking quite nonchalant as he sips his tea, practically drowning in your sweater. “Didn’t notice.”

“Do you own a lot of bright pink sweaters with kittens on the front?”

“I might.”

You raise a brow at that but don’t say anything, just hugging your boyfriend from behind, your chin resting on top of his head, unable to think of anything but how adorable he is in your clothes. You’d have to invest in more sweaters.

#Blurb #kim horangi hong-jin #kim Horangi hong-Jin x reader #Kim hong-jin #kim hong-Jin x reader

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diejager · 7 months

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Thought: Stepfather!König & dbf!Horangi

Imagine, your mother marries a giant of a man, retired from years of deployment with his friend moving in to the house next to yours. Your new stepfather is quirky and so is his friend - you think he’s Korean - speaking in manners that leave you confused and wondering what they were mumbling about.

Your mother was still in her honeymoon phase, smiled and utterly in love with your stepfather, whom you called König, even when you complained about him and his friend being creepy and weird around you. When you told her about the creepy smile they gave you, she shrugged it off, telling you how military men were different from the trauma. When you told her about how your things were going missing: a hairbrush, a lipstick, panties and bras, and a few shirts and pants you wore for comfort, she scolded you about being forgetful and irresponsible. And when you told her that König and Kim were being very hands with you, she glowed in joy that they were so loving with you.

Anything you told her fell on deaf ears, her happiness at marrying a well off man after a few failed marriage turned her blind to your plight, the situations she brought upon her daughter. She doesn’t really care, she’s detached from reality after so many heartbreaks.

Horangi spent so much of his days at your house that it felt like he practically lived with you, sharing drinks and watching the Tv, taking glances your way. Stepfather!König has you straddled accros his lap, bulge pressing against your ass while he spoke comfortably with Horangi, his big palm forcing your hips to grind against him. He let Horangi grab your ass, fondling it with thick fingers and hungrily stare at you.

Although you hiss at them, pushing against their grabby hands and threaten to expose them, they laugh and coo at you, tone condescending and mean. Fighting only riled them up even more, hitting them resulted to getting spanked on their lap, and whining to your mom had you moaning and fingered dumb, thick fingers pumping in and out of you while they degrade you for being a whistleblower.