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I need a fix it post where reader (readers Been in the group for awhile now and was kidnapped before the kids for whatever reason writer comes up with 18+ reader) finds finds Henry impaled on what the fuck ever that pokey thing was in the mind flayer and after being in the house with Henry alone for a time period reader came to care for him and after learning his backstory reader saves him and tries a lil redemption ark😭😭😭 my man has the potential to become good again I PROMISE
can we get some hicks or cody nsfw hcs pretty pls? 😝🫶
CODY'S HEADCANONS.
PAIRING - cody bowman x reader
CONTENT - !smut. a few nsfw headcanons of my favorite big boy. fem!reader.
WC - 700
NOTE - not to project anything, but in my head he likes chubby girls alright 🤫 also I chose to do with cody bc I'm just not ready to think about hicks like that
CODY who likes to have control in bed but thinks it’s adorable when you take the initiative. A grin on his lips as we watches your hands running over his chest. Playing with the hem of your shirt as you sit on his lap, rolling your hips looking for any kind of relief.
CODY who is huge in every sense of the word. He worked hard to be that big and he loves how much you appreciate his muscles. He likes the sensation of your nails scratching his back or holding his biceps.
CODY who is burring his face on your neck anytime he can. Your scent is like a drug to him and he is fucking addicted. It’s not even about your perfume, it’s your scent.
CODY who is very strong and knows it. His favorite position is standing, your legs around his waist, your back pressed into the wall and his mouth on your neck. He’s a big fan of marking you. Hickeys all over your neck and chest – it’s his payback for the marks you leave on his back.
CODY who looks so pretty with his mouth open and head back, appreciating how you trace his V-line with your tongue. He looks down at you with fuzzy eyes, groaning. “You are so pretty, babe. So goddamn pretty.”
CODY who’s pretty silent when it comes to sex. He doesn’t moan or groan a lot, but he talks you through it. Pretty much all the time. He want to hear you asking for exactly what you need. When it’s too much and you close your eyes, he stops, holding your chin “Or you tell me what you want or I’ll stop. It’s up to you, angel.”
CODY who’s a big fan of pet names. “Such a needy thing, aren’t you babe?” He is obsessed with the way you say his name, your voice luring him like a siren.
CODY who thinks that there’s nothing hotter than eating you out. He loves it, really. The eye contact while his mouth is buried between your legs makes him crazy. Hearing you whimpering and feeling your legs shaking while he makes you cum. He doesn’t stop until you’re physically unable to get up. Sometimes it’s more about the control that he has over you than the actual act.
CODY who can make you feel like there’s no one else in the whole world by the way he looks at you; he’s so desperate to touch you, to fill you and to be as close as possible.
CODY who doesn’t need to be rough or too hard, he knows your body, he knows when you are enjoying what he’s doing. He is calculated even. Memorizes exactly how you like him to fuck you, how fast, how deep. He knows when you are feeling needy too. He watches how your tone changes, how you cannot stop touching him – even when you don’t realize it.
CODY who loves your hands. He notices how small they are compared to his – doesn’t matt how tall or big you are, he’s bigger. You love it too, how safe you can feel around him. He likes to watch your hands stroking his dick, so softly around his pink tip, leaking so easily with your touch.
CODY who is pretty well trimmed. He doesn’t have anything against hair anywhere – yours surely do not bother him. He just prefers to be clean and smooth; he says he can feel your cunt better like that.
CODY who has a praise kink. He lives to tell you how good you are to him, how good you make him feel. “Doing so well, angel.” His tone is low, his murmurs being muffled by your lips. That man just loves kissing you; he is a softie deep down.
Sooooo am I just going to have to sit here and continue to maladaptive daydream about Cody bowman or are the writers going to start rolling out these fics😭😭😭
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Content: mentions of previous injury and reference to past torture.
You stare at your hand in a complex mix of awe and trepidation. Or, well. Not your hand exactly. You’re gawking at the thing in your hand. It’s much bigger than you expected, and heavier.
“Why is it so warm?” you mumble, thumb caressing a hard ridge.
“Because it was in my pants, bienchen.”
You flick a nervous glance at Krueger’s amused expression and shift, a fine tremble in your fingers. You didn’t think it would make you this nervous.
“It’s… not going to go off is it?” you ask, wrapping and rewrapping your fingers to get a feel.
“Only if you keep playing with it like that,” he chuckles.
You jolt, nearly drop it altogether, but he barks a laugh and catches your hand between both of his. Your eyes dart down again, enraptured by the roughness of his palms, how much bigger they are around yours. Stronger, more confident.
“I kid! It’s not loaded. See?”
He guides your wrist to the side, gentle but firm, and pushes a smooth button at the bottom of the trigger guard. He catches the magazine as it ejects, showing you an empty clip.
“And then, just to be sure…” He pushes the magazine back in with a movie-perfect click, then braces your hand while he pulls the slide back. “Nothing in the chamber.”
He releases it, letting it spring back into place.
“Even if it was,” he taps the side of the gun again, showing you a little switch, “it is not live. The safety is on - and it stays on unless you intend to shoot. Understand?”
Assured of everyone’s safety, fascination crowds out the trepidation as you hum an affirmative.
“Red means you’re dead, right?” you muse.
He chuckles. “You watch too much fake crime, but yes.”
“I saw it in a YouTube video,” you explain, “when I was first doing research. They never talk about how heavy these are.”
“It is why getting hit in the head with them hurts,” he explains.
“Pistol-whipped,” you supply turning the handgun this way and that.
You note how the lights catch it, how the grip feels against your naive skin. The scent too - you realize you’ve smelled it all over your neighbors’ house, all over your neighbors. Gunpowder.
You kick your feet in the open air, let your heels tap against the cabinets beneath you. Shithead is standing on the counter next to you, just at Krueger’s elbow, head cocked curiously to observe.
“Why does it say HK?” You ask. “Your initials are SK.”
He laughs again, but you recognize this as his more genuine (you dare say even charmed) chuckle.
“It is the brand, Heckler and Koch.”
You make a noise of understanding, flipping it around the other way to inspect it from the other side.
“There’s no safety on this side?”
“It’s right-handed.”
“There are guns for different hands?”
Krueger settles in closer, his hip pressed against your knee.
“Nikto has a left-handed one. We will have him bring it for dinner, hm?”
You nod. Tentatively press the button to eject the magazine again. You turn it this way and that, then try to put it back - with no success.
“More force, little one. Mean it.”
You bop the heel of your hand against the bottom and get that satisfying movie noise.
“Can you shoot it one-handed?”
“I can. You might have some trouble. Four pounds of pressure to pull the trigger.”
You perk up, make grabby hands for your notebook, abandoned on the other side of the counter when Krueger offered to let you hold his gun. Eyebrow cocked, he brings it to you, gently nudging Shithead’s paw away when she bats at the ribbon bookmark.
There’s already a bullet list of facts and statistics listed out from his initial explanation. You scribble out the new additions with one hand, balancing the notebook on your thigh with Krueger’s help.
“Do you guys ever decorate your guns?” you wonder.
He clicks his tongue. “Konig does. Like a schoolboy.”
“With what?”
At some point, he gently takes the gun from your cramping grip, tucking it back into his waistband while you continue scrawling details. He doesn’t move away. If anything, you’re vaguely aware that he’s leaning closer, inspecting your messy handwritig. His voice goes lower and quieter the closer he gets to your ear, a pleasant rumble that you try (and mostly fail) to ignore.
“What does it feel like to shoot it?” you ask finally.
“Like shooting a gun.”
“That’s not helpful.”
In the corner of your eye, he shrugs.
“Well… well could you take me to try it?”
He grunts. You can’t discern an answer from that, so you tilt your face towards his. He’s somehow even closer than you expect. Eyes you now realize are gunmetal gray smoldering as they trail down to your mouth, a sweet slow burn.
“You want to learn to shoot?” he asks, slower and rougher than you think the question warrants.
“I just want to know what it’s like,” you mumble, cheeks warm.
“No.” He twists until he’s facing you, crowding you. Not between your knees, but hipbone pressing against one. He taps your chin with an index finger, expression simmering with something that makes your heart stumble. “You learn proper. You do not try. It is not for fun. It is a tool for killing.”
“Oh.” You feel stupid and childish. Tears of embarrassment prick at the corners of your eyes. “Sorry.”
He huffs quietly, the line of his brow softening. He curls his finger along your jaw, unexpectedly comforting. “Do not be sorry. Learn. We want to teach you.”
“We?” you breathe, momentarily distracted.
“Konig has been whining about teaching you for weeks and Nikto thinks you need protection.”
You stutter for a second, caught up in the warmth of his gaze, and the revelation that they talk about you when you’re not around, and that those discussions include teaching you to shoot guns. And that they want you to be safe, they want you protected.
It’s all enough to make a poor romance author swoon.
“Well?” he prompts, arching one of those sharp brows again.
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay?” He teases.
You blink. “Please.”
He grunts, pinches your cheek gently. “Anything for our sweet little bee.”
You roll your eyes to hide the steam that must be coming off your face by now. You’re so flustered you’re damn near sweating and there’s not a thing you can do about it. Not when the cause is still looming over you, one big hand planted tantalizingly close to your thigh.
“Now then.” He reaches over and past your head, and you’re overwhelmed by the metal-gunpowder-cologne scent of him. “We start on dinner, yes?”
It’s Konig’s turn to help with lunch. Well, technically he’s helping with a part of dinner - kneading dough for the homemade bread rolls to accompany some nice steaks - but you digress. Konig’s in your kitchen, all six-foot-something of him, sleeves scrunched up and gloves gone, big hands in a bowl of dough and making you think sinful thoughts at noon on a Wednesday.
“What about that one?”
“KA-BAR knife. I was protecting my neck.”
You take another slow sip of punch, eyes perusing the uneven tan lines and spackling of scars that decorate his skin.
“And that one?”
He twists his wrist to glance at the outside of his arm, half hidden by flour.
“Bomb shrapnel.”
He says it so casually. Like he scraped his knee roughhousing or something.
“You got blown up?”
“Nein, or I would not be here for you to interrogate.”
He shoots you a sideways grin, assurance that he’s just poking fun and not actually annoyed. You didn’t think otherwise, but it’s sweet that he wants you to know.
You huff. “Yeah, I’m sure this torture.”
He hums, eyes on his work so he thankfully doesn’t see how the sound makes your eyes flutter. Christ, you must be ovulating or something because you should not be this affected by that rich, warm voice echoing in that thick chest.
“I would know,” he agrees.
Wait, what. “You would?”
He clicks his tongue as his sleeve slips down his arm, threatening to get in the dough. You automatically reach to fix it, rolling up the fabric so that it won’t come down again.
“Danke,” he says, “Will you do the other?”
You round to his other side, get distracted by the tiniest sliver of… ink?!
“You have a tattoo?!”
He glances down, as if he could have forgotten it’s there.
“Oh. Yes. Krueger’s idea.”
You coo in delight, tugging gently at the fabric hiding it. You’ve seen Krueger’s tattoos of course - flaunting them about shirtless and sweaty as he does. (Not that you’re complaining either.)
“Can I see?”
“I don’t think the sleeve goes up that far,” he replies, pausing to let you try.
It doesn’t. You’re teased by dark lines, the bottom of what might be… feathers? You’re terribly curious, but you can see Konig’s face steadily flushing darker the longer and harder you look.
“What is it?” you inquire finally, not quite to the point of demanding he take his shirt off. (Even if you want to.)
“You will have to wait and see,” he replies, turning back to the bread.
You frown. “Wait for what?”
He winks at you (despite the bright pink at the tips of his ears) and it shouldn’t be so endearing but it is, so you spin on your heel and busy yourself with the last of the lunch items.
You don’t stop thinking about it, though.
“How many do you have?” you ask as you pour him a lager.
He slides you a half-amused, half-exasperated (yet still so fond) glance. “Three.”
“Where?”
“You will see.”
“Well, that’s ominous!”
“Mm. Watch your head, Biene.”
You poke your head around his elbow as he’s cutting chicken.
“Did they hurt?”
He shrugs those big shoulders. “Some. I have had worse.”
You hop up to sit on the counter, waiting for things to finish cooking.
“Do you plan to get more?”
His lips twitch with amusement. “Maybe.”
“Where?”
He steps closer, giving you a put upon sigh. Even sitting up here, he’s just a little taller than you, head tilted indulgently at your antics. You stomach flips and lands low in your abdomen. (It reminds you too much of Krueger teaching you about guns.)
You make your expression as guileless as possible until he breaks on a chuckle.
“I see where the bubchen gets it from.”
You glance at Little Guy, who is indeed giving Konig a similar expression in the hopes of getting scooped up. (Nevermind that he’s been threading between Konig’s legs since he came through the door, and was making “biscuits” on the counter in solidarity while you were asking about scars.)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.
He clicks his tongue. “Krueger has them too, you know. Why do you not ask him?”
You scrunch your nose. “Maybe I will.”
He narrows his eyes in amusement, opens his mouth - just as Krueger and Nikto enter. With you distracted, Konig scoops up Guy and escapes.
“Sebastian, how many tattoos do you have?”
“Many.”
“Will you get more?”
“Eventually. Why? Do you wish to give me one?”
You blink, dangerously intrigued by the idea. “What?! No!”
He grins wickedly as Konig shakes his head. “I could get your name right over my heart, hm?”
“Absolutely not!”
But he does tug the short sleeve of his shirt up so that you can inspect the crossed daggers on his tricep.
“What’s the 2-8 for?”
“My unit when I first joined the KSK. This was my first tattoo.”
You trace a finger over the simple outline, noting how the ink looks slightly faded, almost bluish now. You thumb the 8, mostly just enjoying the excuse to touch.
You turn to Nikto, currently trying to hold Shithead at bay without disrupting Rasputin’s perch on his shoulder. “What about you?”
“I did.”
You frown, about to ask but think better of it as you remember the glimpse of his face he entrusted to you. Right. You can put two and two together, no need to ask and possibly bring up painful memories.
“Why this sudden interest, bienchen?” Krueger asks.
“I noticed one of Konig’s but he’s being mean about it.”
Krueger glances over your shoulder (presumably at Konig) then barks a laugh.
“Ah, you see the truth of him now. He is a sadistic bastard. Not nearly as sweet as old Sebastian here, hm?”
You drop your hand from his arm. “Nikto is my favorite.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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