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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months

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I am so in to König and the confident solder lady (btw we need a tag name or a callsign for her, maybe a poll?) but anyway I go insane for that dynamic!❤️‍🔥 I am on FIRE after I read your stories and it's NEVER enough 😭🤣

so I imagined this scenario about them

They are out on a mission to capture someone. When König finds the target the lady solder, still under the effect of how brutal and efficient König is with his hands disposing of the enemies, says to him:

L - Bag n tag me...I mean HIM

K - *looks at lady solder while filthy thoughts run through his mind*

now both of their minds are in the gutter...as well as mine, but mine never left😈

Confident soldier lady is so unhinged even König is at a loss sometimes 🤨 And our soldier babe? She gets off on those baffled, bewildered looks a little too much (shame on her).

One day when they're cuddling, sweaty and spent after another heated session that was supposed to put her in her place – how curious that it does actually work, even if only for like 5 minutes – she crosses another line.

"König… Could you kidnap me sometime? You know, in a roleplay fashion," she asks while drawing circles on that godly, muscled, sweaty chest.

The said godly muscled sweaty chest almost stops breathing.

"Kidnap you?" König repeats, appalled and with pure loathing in his voice. "I hate kidnappers... And I hate slavery."

She nearly rises to give him a pointed remark about how funny it is that he hates that shit when at the same time, doesn't have a problem with treating her like a possession. But calling a man like König out on his double standards would be futile, so she settles for seething with quiet resentment while curled up there in his arms.

Right.

Yeah… Of course this guy wouldn't know what roleplay even means.

..........

Next week she's walking back to the bus after visiting a sibling, a bit anxious about getting back to base and seeing König again. She still has over a week's worth of leave left, but she wants to go back to spend it with him.

It's sick... Everything about this relationship is sick, twisted, and crazy. She’s always running back to him like a cat who hears her owner has opened another canned tuna in oil. She's so in her thoughts about how to torture that jerk in return that she doesn't quite notice a white van pulling over right next to her.

He barely fits inside the cargo space with her, almost folds her in half while ducking and stepping inside. The car groans under the weight, slants slightly to the side, and she starts to panic and squirm from realizing this is actually happening.

Next thing she knows, she's being picked up from behind like she weighs nothing. A large palm lands over her mouth the minute she’s about to scream – she makes a tiny little noise through her nose but the palm moves to cover that as well.

The street is silent, it's a lazy afternoon in the suburbs, everyone is at work and children are at school, and no one can hear or see how some psycho hauls her inside that van.

"Shh. Stop fighting," a familiar voice bleeds into her ears, muffled and warm.

It can't be…

But then again, didn't she just make a wish upon a psycho star?

He notices she has stopped fighting, just like he ordered her to. He feels how she surrenders to a far stronger beast – just like she's supposed to. And then he purrs.

"Das ist eher so… Be good now. Be a good girl."

Yep...

No one speaks German like that. No one calls her a gut girl like that.

The palm leaves her mouth, and she's being lowered gently on the floor of the van. She turns to look at her captor with both hope and dread pounding inside her chest.

"König…?"

It's pointless to utter that name when the man before her is exactly his size and build, moves like him, has those same cold, blue eyes that gain a warmer tone every time they land on her. The only thing that makes her take a double check is that he's not wearing a hood this time but a black balaclava. Oddly enough, it makes him look a bit more human. She can see the shape of his jaw, the perch of his nose, usually disguised by the baggy sniper hood he's so fond of...

But what the new mask also does is that it makes him look even more menacing: he looks like some of those terrorists they've always fought against. He looks like the biggest bank robber ever put to this earth, he looks like he's about to shoot dozens of innocent citizens and then kidnap someone to take as his prize and drag them into his rape lair.

The notion should not make her squeal like she's looking forward to being that person…

"You're mine now," he looks down at her, lying at his feet like a stray cat about to be taken back home, then turns to walk out of the van. By the time he slams the doors shut, she's smiling – she might be in need of some serious help, but she can't deny König is at his best when he comes out to play.

….....

His house is surprisingly neat, albeit it is no doubt also a man cave for a soldier who rarely spends time at home.

She’s not carried into a cold lair or a secret dungeon underneath the house. No, she gets to stay in his bedroom, on a soft, king-sized bed. He "forces" her cook for him, and praises her meals like they’re some sort of gourmet dishes. It lights a little flame inside her chest, a fire that doesn’t burn but only feels warm. She starts to tidy his place on her own accord.

It's cute, and it's fun, their little kidnap game.

It’s also kind of entertaining to play house with König like this, especially when her "kidnapper" comes to her every night and takes her gently but intensely, with a passion that renders her silent.

It starts to resemble the most domestic little scene until after one week, she snaps out of it.

She doesn't fight back at all.

He calls her his, asks if she has everything she needs as they lay together on his ridiculously large and nice bed. She doesn’t miss her hard army bunk one bit.

She snaps out of it because he brings her a dress.

She fucking hates dresses.

Well, perhaps she doesn’t hate them... but she hates the particular dress he bought her. It's white and has flowers on it – yuck – is she supposed to cook him a nice, healthy meal while wearing that? Let him lift the hem and take her against a counter whenever he wants? Does he think she’s just going to open her legs for him every night after serving him like a docile, doting little wife?

That night, she fights like a wildcat when he comes to her. She enjoys the way he's panting by the time she finally surrenders to him. He sounds like a dog in heat, he's grunting like a man who has one job too many, trying to restrain his little alley cat so that he can push that heavenly cock inside her. She's dripping wet by the time he gets there, looking up at her captor with lightning and thunder in her eyes.

"What's gone into you now, meine Wildkatze?"

"That stupid dress, that's what's gone into me," she hisses as he tries to be gentle again – she suddenly hates it that he's gentle.

"You'd look good in it," he tries, and she almost spits on his face. Her heart hurts for some unfathomable reason, her lower lip juts out with a furious pout.

"Well you'd look good in rags…!"

And just when she thinks he couldn't make it worse… he makes it worse.

He just laughs. Gently, and heartily.

"Is that the best you can do, little one?"

"You'd make such a good wife..."

The only thing she can do is gasp for air as he makes love to her, as those eyes hold her captive gently, so gently – has he become so gentle just because she cooked him for a week and cleaned up his stupid man cave?

Did he kidnap her just because he realized that would be the perfect way to trick her and transform her into a good little housewife?

Good god...

"If you don't set me free tomorrow, I swear I'll… I'll run away!"

She’s the one panting now, and her threat has little effect save for the hauntingly familiar flash of dare that makes those blue eyes look brighter for a second.

"That's what cats do sooner or later," her King tilts his head – the cock inside her gives a demanding pulse, and she has to fight the urge to moan.

"…but they always return home."

#answered #kidnap roleplay #yandere könig #confident soldier lady gets more than she bargained for #lol she's falling in love and she hates it #könig is already in love ❤️#we do need a callsign for her though #any suggestions?#something kitty kat related perhaps lol

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chrrywvea · 10 months

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*dinner on base*

pete: tom i feel nauseous

tom: hm... baby have you eaten at all today?

pete: uhm

pete: ...

pete: do you count?

tom, exasperated: NO I DO NOT-

*ron somewhere in the distance banging his head into the wall*

#top gun #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #icemav #ron is suffering #he loves them both #but he wants one normal dinner #hollywolf & goose are on leave so he's suffering alone #as if hollywolf is any better #or goose with carole #lol #we'll just ignore my switching between real names and callsigns for now #you know who i mean #no dadt here thank you bye

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confetti-cakemix · 2 years

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Bob: So... how'd y'all get your callsigns?

Phoenix: Well my dear sweet Bob, it's because I once had a perfect landing even though both my engines were on fire, and lived to tell the tale.

Bob: *whistles* Now that's pretty damn coo-

Y/N: *barely looking up from her book* It's cuz she cooked the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven so long one year that it burst into flames and she almost burnt down the kitchen.

Phoenix: *looks over to Y/N*

Y/N: *stares back*

Phoenix: Damn, I forgot you were here.

🔥🔥🔥

#natasha phoenix trace x reader #phoenix x reader #natasha trace x reader #natasha trace #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #top gun maverick #headcannons #I heard callsign origins are usually embarassing so I just ran with the idea lol #i actually think her telling of her callsign origin makes sense for her movie wise thoo #talk about great balls of fire lol

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ignify-caligo · 1 year

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Ghost, spraying a melted cutting board with a tiny water gun: We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.

Soap: I actually just put the cutting board in the oven…

Roach, visibly confused: Okay, so he decided to put the cutting board in the oven?

Ghost, spraying Soap: You FUCKING WANKER!

Soap: Si, I forgot-

Ghost: OH MY FUCKING GOD! We’re trying to make Chicken Alfredo right now, and you fucking MELT the cutting board in the oven at 220 DEGREES CELSIUS!?

König: *Watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation.*

#call of duty incorrect quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #könig #simon riley #john mactavish #gary sanderson #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #caligo incorrect quotes 2 #in all honesty this is my fave foursome/OT4 of cod no cap #what would the name even be like??? their callsigns in a neat row like some kind of duckling or what lol #also I’m never letting the running joke of ‘141 kitchen is a battleground’ live down fr lmao

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pollyna · 1 year

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Tw: contain slurs, it's a single word but it's there.

It's a rule not to talk to them. Nobody really knows who imposed that or why, but it's something everybody follows, religiously.

(The fact is they know pretty well why not to talk to any of them. Ask the sailor who ended up with two broken ribs or the pilot with the black eye and dislocated shoulder.)

The bigger group they see together is of four or five when the Admirality is feeling generous and the woman comes around. But it's not just the four of them, because an equally numbered group is in another carrier or country doing what that group is doing.

What precisely they are doing, all of them, is the real mystery.

(Every squadron that has them, as a couple or all four, spends weeks praying to not be in the same situation ever again. The situation is: jumping at three a.m. in your jet in your pyjamas, six am and running around the carrier, nine am and debriefing, and then hop on the jet again and again and again. There were no limits on how high or low they had to fly, and unmarked jets passing less than an inch from each other's wings. Everybody on the normal communication channel, if not them.)

The sailors don't know if they have names, and before the beginning of the mission, they all have to leave their dog tags with the captain. Nameless people, on nameless jets and in nameless, patchless, jumpsuits flying only God knows where.

(They know their callsigns, or at least a part of them. The four are Iceman, Maverick, Slider and Mother Goose. The other two couples are Wolfman, Hollywood, Sundown and Chipper.)

The woman's name is Carole and she kisses the two taller men when she comes around. A kiss on their lips and one on their cheeks.

(The real reason nobody's able to talk to them is because a sailor, some Matthews from Philly, once tried to insinuate that Carole was easy. You already share her, so one more won't hurt, wouldn't he? The same day, another one tried to call Ice faggot in front of an entire room of people and captains. What happened next is just speculations but, realistically speaking, a broken arm and a couple of bruises were probably what they got home with. Other than the longest disciplinary note in the history of notes.)

(Some tales say that the Iceman didn't have to open his mouth to kill the man; one look was enough. Others want that Matthews from Philly got slap in the face so hard he saw white for ten minutes.)

When they're on board, the entire crew reorganises itself. Iceman and Maverick have their own cabin, Slider and Goose have another one, and they get the bigger one if Carole is going to come around. The entire floor is to be clear and free two hours before they arrive, and the newbie refers to that deck as the Olympus.)

If all the stories are true, they must have felt like Gods. And sometimes Gods have privilges normal people can't dream about. Like kissing each other before going on the jet, having sex in the showers without being reported, or preparing breakfast for your pilot without sharing a little bit with anybody. Having visible tattoos, particularly colourful ones, under the jumpsuits.)

The only time they saw them all together was on land, in a bar in Miramar, where three carriers were sharing port for a week. All of them were sitting around a table, eating fries and burgers like normal people, so normal that, if you didn't know who they were, you couldn't even say what they did. What really leaves the entire bar without words is when Mother Goose sits in front of the piano and starts playing Great Balls of Fire!

It almost feels like any other night in San Diego. But almost is the key word.

#au what-if the '86 was chosen to be an elite squadron of black ops and not sent to top gun #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #nick goose bradshaw #leonard wolfman wolfe #rick hollywood neven #marcus sundown williams #charles chipper piper #carole bradshaw #icemav #slooserole #hollywolf #sunnychip #in order the think they do and not get punished for: kissing on the tarmac (icemav) fucking in the showers (hollywolf) preparing breakfast-#-for your pilot and fuck regs for another while (sunnychip)#having tattoes (all of them)#me back on my black ops bullshit? more than you can believe #ppl thing nick's callsign is mother goose bc everybody calls him that lol #it's funny #otp: things get old our love is gold #ot3: i even wrote you a love letter #that's how one doesn't fall asleep on her own phone: programmed posts. even if you still fall asleep on the #*it

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callsign-daydream · 1 year

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Girl's Night Out - TGM

Summary: Halo is back in town, and the girls are ready for a night of fun! Who knows? The boys might even miss them.

Warnings: Starred out swearing, yelling, general Navy/Military inaccuracies, alcohol, no plot in sight, inconsistency between names/callsigns, just silliness, OC included (about her here), mild Hangman/OC

Word Count: 1471

Girl's Night Out --- “We’re going out tomorrow.” Phoenix strode into the apartment, typing something out on her phone, stepping over some boots in the middle of the floor, and snagging an apple out of the basket on the countertop.

Daydream stopped humming along to Caterina Caselli and looked up from the her salad. “Was there someone at the door? Nah. Couldn’t be. Nobody knocked.”

“Not my fault you never lock your door.”

Hallie grumbled but couldn’t deny it.

“Anyway,” Nat sat on a stool, “tell Bagman you can’t hang out this weekend.”

That caused Hallie to snap her head up again. “Who says I’m doing anything with Hangman?”

“Because you’re usually doing something with him on the weekends, and for some reason the medics haven't figured out yet, you like him.”

“Do not.”

“Liar.”

Hallie chucked a tomato over the counter. Nat managed to catch it, promptly tossing it into her mouth.

“What’s the special occasion anyway?” Hallie poured some vinaigrette over her bowl before turning the music down on her phone.

“Halo’s coming to town.”

Hallie's eyes widened. Halo had been reassigned after the Dagger Squad’s first mission, before Maverick decided on adding an eighth member. Hallie had been in the same TOPGUN year as Halo, but hadn’t seen her since.

“What for?”

“Extra training. She gets in tonight, and we’re going out for a girl’s day tomorrow. No ditching.”

Hallie scoffed and picked up her phone. “You know I’m in.”

Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow at the blonde woman typing on her phone. “Who are you texting?”

Hallie looked up, opened her mouth several times, and then grimaced. “...Jake.”

“I knew it!”

Another tomato went flying.

--- “Where’s Fee and Dream?” Rooster asked as he joined the crew in the corner of the Hard Deck. Payback and Fanboy were currently testing how many peanuts Bob could fit in his mouth, while Hangman and Coyote were haunting the pool table as usual.

Hangman didn’t look up from his shot. “Girl’s night. Halo’s in town.”

“And they didn’t come here?” Rooster sat with his beer.

Coyote chuckled. “Probably didn’t want us crashing their night.”

“We wouldn’t crash it—”

On cue, a spray of peanuts flew across the space. One hit Rooster’s face. One fell in Coyote’s open cup. One ricocheted off the window. A mess rattled across the pool table, eliciting a curse from Hangman, who bombed his shot and sunk the cue ball. Bob was coughing severely as Payback and Fanboy cheered and high-fived.

“Forty-eight,” Payback confirmed.

Rooster nodded. “Yeah, I see it now.”

Penny was quickly at their side, handing out cups to pick up the nutty missiles, as well as collecting thirty dollars from a grumbling Payback after finding out Bob hadn’t passed fifty.

“We got another bet going, if you want in,” Payback said to Rooster.

“What’s up?”

“When the girls will call about needing a ride home.” He glanced at the clock and grinned. “Fanboy’s already out.”

Rooster shook his head. “You gotta give them at least till midnight.”

“That’s what I said,” Coyote agreed.

“I thought they’d drink faster!” Fanboy protested.

“Phoenix said two in the morning,” Bob said.

“I say one,” Rooster said. “Give or take fifteen minutes.”

“You’re all wrong.” Hangman set his now-full peanut cup down on the pool table. “They’ll be drinking more because of Halo, but Phoenix is somehow more stubborn when she’s drunk and will have them hold out until twelve thirty, which is when I’ll get a call from Daydream about how much fun they’re having. She'll finally ask for a ride around twelve forty-five.”

“Oh, right.” Rooster smirked. “I forgot you’d know your girlfriend better than us.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Then how’d you know who I was talking about?”

Hangman threw the cup of peanuts at Rooster, earning one laugh and several groans at the new mess.

They all turned out wrong. At around twelve forty-five, Hangman’s phone vibrated on the table, “Dreamgirl” glowing across the screen. Rooster whistled as Hangman glared and answered it.

“Seresin here.”

“Jake!” Hallie’s voice was loud enough without even being on speaker. “Guess what!”

He chuckled. “What?”

“I can do a tequila shot through my nose!”

Bob’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

Hangman waved a hand. “You should join the circus with that trick, Hal.”

Hallie gasped on the other end. Her next words were quieter as she evidently spoke to her physical companions. “We should all join a circus!”

This was met by loud agreement from the voices of Phoenix and Halo. Hallie chattered and shouted with them as they yelled about their new performing careers and imminent success. Hangman held the phone away from his ear for a moment before attempting to cut back in.

“Hal. Hallie. Hal.”

“Hi!” She paused. “Is this Jake?”

Phoenix made a loud wolf whistle, causing Rooster to waggle his eyebrows. Jake shoved him hard, making the aviator fall back into Payback and Fanboy.

“It’s me,” Hangman said. “You called me.”

“Oh, right!” Hallie laughed for a few minutes before Halo could be heard smacking Hallie’s arm.

“I’m asking! ****, Halo!”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Hallie went on over more giggling, “I really, really, really don’t need to be driving…or Fee…or Halo…”

“I’ll come get you.” Jake stood. “Tell me where you’re at.”

“No!” Phoenix’s voice interrupted. Judging by the sounds of a protesting Hallie, the former must’ve successfully obtained the phone. “I don’t want to be driven by Bagman!”

“Send Bob!” Halo cheered.

“Nooo!” Hallie whined.

Jake rolled his eyes as his other companions chuckled at him. Distracted, Rooster wrestled the phone from his hands. Some of his beer spilled as he slapped Hangman away.

“Hey, Fee. Rooster. Where are you at?”

“Bradshaw! Where are you?!”

“The Hard Deck.”

“Get over here! This place is crazy…it’s…Halo, where are we?”

"Burning Sun.”

“Burning Sun!”

Jake looked up and groaned. “That’s half an hour from here.”

“No worries, Bagman,” said Bradley, hanging up the phone. “I’ll pick up your girl too.”

“Not my girl!” Jake stood, snatched his keys, and stomped after Bradley, who was already dashing out the door.

---

Thirty minutes later found Rooster and Hangman at the entrance of the Burning Sun. It was newer than the Hard Deck, with no Navy uniforms in sight and a karaoke station in the back; the last item was likely the reason behind the ladies’ choice in venue. The Daggers scanned the space, searching for the trio.

Rooster yelled over the noise. “How are we gonna find--”

Daydream’s Italian yelling cut him off, followed by Halo cheering and an unknown, male voice yelling just as loudly in a much less victorious tone.

“Found ‘em,” said Hangman. He pointed at a large crowd to their right.

The duo pushed through to find a scene worthy of a Baroque painting. A man as tall as Hangman was on the ground, rubbing his jaw that was quickly turning purple. Daydream was standing on a nearby table, cheering and nearly knocking down a collection of glasses. Halo sat at said table, oblivious to the imminent danger, a beer bottle in each hand. At the center was Phoenix, standing over the man and basking in the crowd’s applause.

Rooster nudged Hangman’s ribs. Across the room, a bartender was beginning to sidle over.

“Alright, show’s over, folks!” Hangman announced as he clapped a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Come back again tomorrow!”

Phoenix immediately shoved him off.

“Jake! You came!” Daydream cried.

“Gross,” said Phoenix. “We had…have…have it under control.”

“I’d say,” Rooster chimed in, brushing Hangman away from Phoenix's fighting stance. “That guy’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“Serves him right.” Halo stood and swayed. “Nat just gave his **** back to him.”

“**** straight!” Phoenix yelled.

After more yelling, a bribe to the bartender, and more yelling, the five aviators were situated in their proper vehicles. Phoenix and Halo had started up a rendition of “Evacuate the Dancefloor” that was just the chorus over and over in the back of Rooster’s Bronco, while Daydream was wiping away some tears from saying goodbye to the two in Hangman’s passenger seat.

“Over and out,” Rooster saluted as he drove out and joined the singing.

“You okay there, Dreamgirl?” Hangman glanced at his passenger.

Hallie nodded, then sat up straight. Jake raised his eyebrows.

“My name and Callie's rhyme! We're like…name twins!”

Jake laughed and shook his head. “Might as well be related.”

Hallie laughed and then settled down, evidently very interested in the pattern of the leather seats. The only sounds came from the wind through the cracked windows and the mild country singing from the radio. For a moment, Hangman thought she’d fallen asleep.

“...thanks for coming,” she mumbled.

“Anytime, Dreamgirl.”

---

Phoenix, Halo, and Daydream all woke up the next morning in their respective residences with matching headaches. Phoenix was the first to recover out of the three women, leaving the following text:

🔥 Phoenix 🔥: same thing next weekend? 😜

---

#daydream writes #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun fanfiction #dagger squad #oc: hallie a jones #hallie daydream a jones #natasha phoenix trace #callie halo bassett #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #my fanfic is almost always pure silliness but i hope it makes you smile :)#my next oneshot might be a lil more deep but #for now we have fun!#also I'm still navigating between using their names vs callsigns so be patient lol

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kindcore · 5 months

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The whole quest I was the drifter w/ her main (saryn) so wally would show up as little maggie and mag would just think. I could punt that thing. It would be so easy.

#will o' whispers #the operator is magdalena but #baby version is called maggie (mag as main ofc)#drifter is mag (main is saryn #baby version prefers being called a variety of callsigns #the only one who can actuallg call them maggie is the drifter lol #warframe posting

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rainbow-universe · 6 months

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the fact that the top gun verse is just perfect for reader inserts bc a pilot!reader can have the callsign « Reader » is just *perfection*

idk. i like it and it was a random thought i had

#not even while reading top gun fanfiction #like i was reading criminal minds fanfiction and briefly in between fics just had that thought #thats probably been thought before but idc #altho i do like when authors give other callsigns those are cool too #i would like a nickname lol #oak txt

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olli-online · 9 months

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"so you do like me?" "i like you alive..."

"we're friends, no?" "we're teammates, friendship's not in the field manual, johnny"

"taken a shine to me, then?" "not in the slightest. still got a lot of ground to cover"

"i was on the run. ghost waited for me"

"of course, no?"

"no-" "yes."

#lol we r not friends but i will call u a nickname based on ur first name despite u having a callsign and i will be the only one allowed to #use it and the only one allowed to call u by ur first name #also. we should make weird flirty jokes as i watch u with a sniper from the church to protect u and i will get distracted by looking at u #and almost get shot if it wasnt for the fact u killed them before they had the chance

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odessastone · 7 months

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When the OW characters use each other's first names in-game, you know it's gonna be something either sweet or heart-wrenchingly sad

#overwatch #i love it bc it's like. enrichment for fans who actually pay attention to the characters outside the game #i used to play with a group of boys who didnt even know the characters HAD real names lmao #to be fair back then they didnt really address the characters in any way other than their callsigns #and I still remember when DVa's MEKA name (Tokki) was an easter egg from Chu's twitter known by only the most hardcore fans lol

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mortal-kombattore-115 · 8 months

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Hi mortal! If your still doing the oc ask, could you do 8 and 20 for Julie?

Hello!! and of course !! ☺️

8. What was your OC's most embarrassing moment? Does it still bother them or are they able to shrug it off?

Cheung’s most embarrassing moment would be from when she was celebrating New Years with her friends in the Canadian Army days. Long story short, Cheung was basically a walking sparkler for a while. The moment didn't bother her as much, as she and her friends got a huge laugh out of it, but it did leave some scars on her body though…

20. Has your OC ever done something terrible and lied about it? Did they run away or blame someone else for it? How long did they maintain the lie and did the truth ever come out?

To this day, Cheung still feels guilty about stealing her friends' doll house accessories for her own doll house when they were little. Even though they forgave her and got a laugh about it, she still feels guilty about it lol

#the new years incident was basically how she got the callsign “sparks” even though I just call her by her surname lol #will probably figure out a better backstory for her callsign or something idk #Julie Sparks Cheung #ask

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letsturnandburn · 2 years

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I have caved...also my tags are slight spoilers if you haven’t see the movie yet

#Muse: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin #Muse: Hangman #He'll Always Hang You Out To Dry. (Hangman's Aesthetic)#This Guy Needs An Ego Check. (Hangman's Writing Aesthetic)#Haha I bet you thought it was going to be Rooster #Don't tempt me because I have nothing but free-time at the moment lol #also I don't know if I want to tag just his callsign yet so there's both if you want to filter any threads with him...incase of spoilers.

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fyrewalks · 9 months

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# for jake in javy's phone.

#a1truist ft hangman #ft. javy machado #javy is capital and grammar adverse when it comes to texting #prefers callsigns for contacts but adds initials so it's not total chaos #also plays chicken with the battery lol #also i feel like birdshaw was them just being assholes one day #and it got saved by autocorrect and he's never cared to fix it

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the-californicationist · 3 months

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i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well.

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled.

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname.

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.”

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door.

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation.

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen.

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate.

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis.

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages.

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare?

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound.

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand.

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt.

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised.

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand.

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load.

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened.

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission.

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking.

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into.

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually.

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing,

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!”

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed,

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing.

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy,

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes.

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated.

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time.

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

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