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smutstationchoochoo · 1 year ago

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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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fictionismyreality3 · 2 months ago

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Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So were Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

#simon riley x reader #gaz x reader #captain john price x reader #soap x reader #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #john price x female reader #john price x f!reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #johnny mactavish x female reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader

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remiratboi · 1 month ago

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Debt To Pay

Masterlist

Pay My Debt With Your Body Trope

4 Military Men X GN AFAB Fat Reader

CW: bdsm, forced, r@pe, non con, dubcon, gang bang, multiple penetration, oral, anal, dp, gaslighting, gambling, military troop

You marched down the hallway pissed off as all hell. Your boyfriend was supposed to have been home hours ago. He ghosted you all evening then sent some dumb, half assed drunk text begging you to come pick him up.

You couldn’t believe him. He wasn’t normally like this. He was wonderful to you. Yeah, his deployment was hard, really hard. But he was worth it.

So what the fuck was he doing now? You worried that this might be signs of something deeper.

No. You told your self. You’re over reacting. It’s one bad night.

You wrapped your knuckles on apartment 408 and crossed your arms. He had better answer fast.

It took far too long for him to open the door. You were about to lay into him, when you realized he hadn’t opened the door.

“Hayden?” You snapped at the annoyed looking man who opened the door. “Where’s Adam?”

“He’s just grabbing his stuff. Come in.” Hayden nodded his head back into the room before turning and walking in. You rolled your eyes and followed him.

The door slammed shut behind you, and before you even had time to yelp in surprise, you were tackled to the ground. A heavy hand snaked over your mouth.

“Shhh, shhh. None of that.” Your boyfriend’s sultry voice soothed in your ear. You roiled at the recognition and fury raced through your body. You whipped your head back to smack his, but he deftly moved out of the way.

He struggled you up and off the ground and held you against his chest, hand still over your mouth.

“Alright baby, here’s the deal.” You stared wide eyed at the three other men you hadn’t noticed until now. They stood in a crescent in front of you. Your boyfriend’s voice was rough. “Let’s just say I lost some money to these guys here.” He gave you a peck on the cheek. It felt like betrayal.

“You know them, remember?” He asked in an all too casual tone. “These are my boys, my troop. I’ve been to hell and back with them and I’m not the type to skimp out on debt.”

The arm wrapped around your chest, squeezed. “But, I just kept losing, baby. You know how I am.” He chuckled darkly. “So we came to an,” he shrugged. “An understanding. Tonight, you are going to pay off my debts. And we are all going to have a great time.”

With that he shoved you forward into the arms of the other men. You tried to scream, but a gag was swiftly and roughly shoved into your mouth. Their hands were all over you. You couldn’t even tell who did what. Your clothes were ripped from your body. It happened so fast, you were reeling just trying to process what was happening. It didn’t feel real.

The men, Hayden, Marc and the one whose name you couldn’t remember but had labelled “beefcake” to only yourself, touched you, everywhere. Adam, your boyfriend, was calling encouragements from the side.

In moments you were naked. They squeezed and pinched all over your thick thighs, your stomach, your chest. One of them pulled tight on your nipple. You cried out and fought back as hard as you could. But there wasn’t much to be done against 3 strong, very capable men.

“Damn, you weren’t lying about that pretty pussy, cap.” Beefcake said to Adam. Of course it would be beefcake.

“Mmhmm.” He practically moaned back. You knew that tone he used. You were shocked to realize he was enjoying this. Your lovely, sweet, kind boyfriend, was enjoying watching his partner being attacked by his friends. A sob wracked through your chest.

“And look at that ass.” Marc whistled. He gave it a hard smack. You cried out behind your gag. “Baby, you need to start showing that thing off! Damn you’re hot as fuck.” You couldn’t help but blush. It wasn’t every day people showed your chubby body the appreciation it deserved.

Someone’s fingers played with your fat pussy. They were dragging their fingers up and down your slit, dipping in, but never fully entering you. You couldn’t help it as you started to feel wet.

“Damn, this sluts getting wet!” Hayden said. So it was him teasing you. “Yo Adam, you never told us what a slut they are.” Both men laughed.

“Wait till you try their head.” You heard Adam make a chefs kiss sound.

That sealed it. The boys weren’t just messing around. You heard a series of zippers, and felt Hayden pressing his cock against your cunt.

“Be a good slut, now.” He mounted you from behind. They shifted and Beefcake brought his cock to your lips. He ripped the gag off.

Hayden and Beefcake both forced their way in at the same time. If your mouth hadn’t been full of cock, you’d be screaming. Hayden was big, and you weren’t ready. The stretch was incredible.

As fast as it had all happened, they were now pounding into you from both ends. Marc had lowered himself under you and wrapped his mouth around your nipple. His fingers snaked up to rub your clit.

There was so much happening all at the same time and you couldn’t stop it. You felt your orgasm building. You redoubled your efforts, thrashing and kicking out. The men just laughed. You screamed around Beefcakes cock as both men came inside you. Your orgasm crashed through your body. Your eyes rolled back in your head.

They swapped. Marc sunk his cock into your sloppy cunt. Adam took Beefcakes place at your mouth.

“Yeah, you really are a slut.” Adam said fondly as he looked down on you. Marc set a brutal pace and soon you came again on his cock. Adam forced you to stare in his eyes as Marc came deep in your pussy. He followed shortly after.

The night continued like that. For hours they rotated who fucked what hole, and they took everything from you. You barely even remember everything. By the end of the night you were only half conscious, fucked out and dazed. You came more than a dozen times, your body exhausted and sore.

*******

You woke hours later, the morning sun just barely started to peek through the windows. You were in your bed. Your favourite candle burned and a large glass of ice water sat on your bedside table.

Adam kissed your shoulder gently and pulled you back against his chest. You were wrapped in his arms and your blankets.

“You did so good baby. I’m so proud of you.” You snuggled back into his body. “Did you have a good time? Was it what you wanted?” He asked.

You nodded. A huge smile split your face. You were still sleepy and dazed, but utterly content.

“I love you so much baby.” Adam spoke lovingly.

“Did you have a good time?” You asked. Your voice cracked, your throat more sore than you expected.

You felt him nod. “It was a little scary, being so mean to you. But I know it’s what you wanted, and honestly, you were so fucking hot” he chuckled. “I got over it pretty quickly.”

You blushed and nuzzled into your blanket, cozy and warm.

“Uh, fair warning though, the guys…” he laughed again. You felt nervous. Had they not liked it? Had they not liked your body? “Well, let’s just say they are going to be begging you to let them fuck you again.”

“… Really?” You asked innocently.

“Baby, that wasn’t just talk. All three have been crushing on you for years, and now, well, now it’s gonna be a lot harder to dissuade them.” He kissed up your neck. “But I don’t mind sharing.” Adam teased. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy, my love.”

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devil-in-hiding · 2 months ago

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I'm having a real bad day... Feels like I'm losing my grasp on literally everything; mentally, financially, emotionally, with my family, etc... Just want you to know that reading through your fics gives me just enough of an escape to get through the day... So, thanks for existing. <3 If you have any 141 x female reader fluff/comfort bouncing around in your head I'd love to read it. 🥺

(I genuinely hope things start to look up for you babe and that your day gets better, it’s still early 🫶🏻. I understand that feeling all too well and it can be overwhelming and overstimulating because your brain is sending panic signals every other second, i’m sending you big hugs)

how about some soft 141 x assistant reader? *doesn’t look at my price x emotional!reader everyone has screamed at for more*

The day had already started terribly, it was a downpour outside, and your car had refused to start that morning. Some jackass didn’t have the decency to slow down, soaking you more on your mad dash towards the base. Your foot slipped off the curb more than once and your ankle was throbbing as you limped your way towards John’s office, defeated and embarrassed.

You would have laughed at the shocked faces, and Ghost’s wide eyes, if it weren’t for your chattering teeth and tears blurring your vision.

“I-I’m s-sorry I’m l-late sir, my car-“

“Bloody hell woman why didn’t you call me?” John grouses, standing from his desk as he sends the boys running with a flick of his wrist. “Towels!”

“Aye!”

“On it Cap!”

Gaz and Soap make a mad dash down the corridor, and Ghost hovers next to you. “How’d you like your tea this mornin’ lovie?” He asks, voice gentle and you feel your lip tremble. “Just anything hot. Thank you Lieutenant.”

He just nods, striding out the door and towards the rec room, and when you turn back around, John is rummaging in one of his drawers. “You should have called my pretty. I would have come and picked you up myself. Walkin’ in the rain like that, what were you thinking?” It’s an affectionate scolding as he takes a shirt and pajama pants (how long had those been there? That damn man was he sleeping in his office again?)

“Here ya are lass, let’s get ye cleaned up.” Soap announces, wrapping a towel around your shoulders as Gaz turns you around, grinning as he places a towel on your head, gently drying your hair.

“Little wet rat.” He snickers, and you gasp, slapping his chest as you cross your arms.

“Arse, how could you say that after I’ve had such an awful morning?” You pout, and he chuckles. “Got that sad look out your eye didn’t I?”

“Oh very cheeky Garrick.” You glare, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

“Bleedin’ Jesus hen, what happened to ye ankle?” Soap grunts, crouching down and you wince when he pokes the tender skin around your ankle bone.

“I must have rolled it-“

“You are never walkin’ ‘ere in the bloody rain again, understand?�� Ghost states as he reenters the office, mug in hand.

He’s ushering you off your feet in seconds, herding you towards Price’s couch, laying out a towel he plucked from the pile before easing you down.

It was a funny sight, four large, highly trained military men, crouching around you as they inspected your ankle. “Gonna have to cut it.” Price says solemnly, and you choke back a snort as you giggle, covering your mouth at the somber nod the other three give.

“Aye, not much to do about a rolled ankle lass. Desperate times an all.”

“You all are idiots.” You laugh, shaking your head at the pleased looks that spread across their faces.

“There she is.”

#call of duty #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price

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lilacliquors · 3 months ago

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kinktober day ten: fucking machine

pairing: phillip graves x reader

word count: 807

notes: welcome to day ten! i've been so looking forward to writing this all day even though i had a nasty nail break at work whoops but LOOK IT'S MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

phillip graves was a busy man. he was the ceo and commander of one of the world’s largest private military companies, and he was running back and forth like a mad man. he always tried to make time for you, but sometimes, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. and he missed you like crazy, it was no secret. he knew it, his men knew it, and most of all, you knew it. and that was why a recent purchase of his didn’t shock you too much.

“it doesn’t replace the real thing, but it’s good enough,” he’d said when he showed it to you, and after laughing a bit, you had to agree.

he’d purchased you an automatic fucking machine, something for you to use in his absence. and while you both preferred the real thing, it was damn near close enough to him, you had to wonder if he’d done one of those molds, just for you.

and now, it was time to break it in, and send him the evidence.

he was busy, off in mexico on an assignment, when he got the message from you. worried, he excused himself from a debrief and went off to his private quarters, a bit of anxiety welling in his chest. when he was alone, he opened his phone and saw that it wasn’t a text, or an audio message, but a video. arching a brow, he clicked on it, and it began to play.

thank god he was alone.

the sight was obscene, deliciously so. you were on your back, your phone propped up at just the right angle, and the brand new toy he’d purchased for you was slowly pumping in and out of you. his eyes hungrily gazed at the recording, watching one of your hands grip your breast while the other reached down you spread those pretty folds, and rub gentle circles on your clit. the sounds of the machine mixed with your moans, and god, how he missed you, how vocal you were, how eager you were.

“oh, phil …” your voice whispered, just loud enough to hear over the whir of the machine. this was downright sinful, and he was glad he’d left religion behind long ago. he could feel himself growing hard in his jeans, so with his free hand, he unbutton them, and slipped his hand under the waistband of them, and his boxers. his hand wrapped around his leaking cock, and as he watched that pretty pussy of yours get stretched, he pumped his hand in time with the rhythm of the machine.

“that’s it, baby,” he muttered, watching the video intently. “so good for me …”

he continued to stroke his cock, watching your face as you let the machine hit just the right spot to make your toes curl, and he could feel an almost primal growl bubble up in his throat. how badly he wanted to be there with you; on top of you, behind you, inside of you …

he continued to watch intently, his heart pounding his his chest as he watched your lips part slightly, your eyes squeeze shut, and your brows pinch together. he knew you were so close to that orgasm, and so was he. he watched your chest heave, your muscles tense, all of your tells in one perfect video. and just as you were about to cum …

“o-oh my god, oh my god, oh - oh phillip! oh!”

that sent him over the edge. his legs nearly buckled beneath him as he came over his hand and boxers to the sound of you crying out for him in his absence. he had no idea how badly he’d needed to hear that until just then. he leaned back against the wall, his face damp with sweat and hot with exertion. but the video wasn’t over yet.

he watched as you fumbled for the remote to stop it, and whirring sound died. the room was silent, save for your soft, panting breaths. then, you looked at the camera with those beautiful eyes he loved so much, and you smiled. it was a soft, blissful, fucked out smile.

“i miss you, baby. come home soon,” you said, your voice soft. then you blew a kiss to the camera, got up, and crawled over to stop recording. despite what he’d just seen and done, he smiled, and he closed the video to go back to his text messages. he hit the microphone icon, and began to record an audio message for you.

“appreciate the gift, darlin’. i’ll be back as soon as i can. be good for me, love you.”

he hit send, then exhaled a bit. he had some cleaning up to do before he went back out to his men.

and he had a cover story to whip up.

#phillip graves smut #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves kinktober #lilacliquors kinktober 2024 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober2024

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wannaeatramyeon · 10 months ago

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Seong Taehoon x Reader: Military Service

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Fluff.

Your presence slips into stories with other troops. Places you visited together, things you both experienced, time spent side by side.

"Did you used to hang out at the arcade on your own?" A fellow soldier asks Taehoon.

Taehoon thinks of your face lit up in the artificial glow, his battle victories and KO reflected in your eyes. He responds to the question with a shrug.

It used to be true, after Do Woon, then it wasn't true at all once he met you.

"Are you stupid? Of course Haeundae beach is the best!" A voice pipes up amidst the mess hall chatter.

"Boring." Someone else dismisses, "Everyone always goes there. Overcrowded."

Overcrowded.

That's one way to put Taehoon's time with you and the Yoo Hobin Company at Daecheon beach, another well known tourist spot.

He spent most of the time annoyed on the train journey, irritated on the sand, shoulder barging people on the pier, and growling at men ogling you for too long.

But then you two ended up drinking on the pier alone that night; you swaying from drinking too much and Taehoon stone cold sober-

"You're really bad tempered you know," you narrow your eyes at Taehoon, who whips his head round at your slurred speech and scowls, "and your personality is definitely something. You're abrasive and mean and hotheaded."

Taehoon’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline at this unprovoked attack.

"How you have any friends I don't even know. It's like people are attracted to you being an asshole. I suppose I can't talk." You tap your chin, deep in thought and oblivious to how much he looks on the brink of storming off, "Though... I guess you're sweet in your own way. You're cute too. Especially when you pout. I don't pout!" You taunt, in a tone eerily similar to his and you cackle at your own hilarious impression.

Taehoon subtly stops his bottom lip jutting out.

"And you look after me. Even if you also deny that." You direct a drunken grin his way, and don't notice that he doesn't look mad anymore. You didn't even realise he was mad in the first place. "Your disrespect for my personal space is sometimes infuriating too but often hot." You take a swig of your beer muttering, "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Taehoon smirks, leaning into your space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilting you up to face him.

"Hot, huh?"

"Asshole," you breathe. You don't know whether the rush of blood to your cheeks is a result of the alcohol or something else.

Taehoon arches an eyebrow, incredulous at your audacity. "I'm the asshole? After everything you just said? You want me to beat you up?"

You huff, looking anywhere but him. "I don't really think you're an asshole. Most of the time. I think I just... I really like you."

You had your first kiss that night.

You always tell everyone you don't know who kissed who, and Taehoon is surprisingly gentlemanly enough not to say.

But you remember leaning in first, feeling his gasp-turned-chuckle-turned-sigh on your lips.

His lungs are on fire, heart thumping in his ears, sweat dripping down his face

Put through his paces with an 80lb pack on his back, paying for his cocky attitude in the first month to his superiors.

He feels their eyes, impressed though lips curled, as he finishes the 6am drills first yet again.

"Shit!" Taehoon turns to see a private finishing behind him, a good minute slower, before dropping to all fours and dry heaving.

"H-How the fuck are you so fast? Who did you train with?"

Technically his dad. Taehoon gives his answer, clipped and curt.

What he doesn't mention is you sitting in the dojo all those evenings and nights and early mornings too. In the corner on your laptop, surrounded by books, half falling asleep. Or simply - watching.

What he also doesn't mention, nor has he ever confessed, is that your presence spurs him on to work harder, kick harder, punch harder.

If just for the way your face lights up, mouth forming an 'o', the occasional applause when he's been particularly impressive.

He calls you cringe every time.

Yet he has never mentioned how his chest puffs with pride at your praise, but he thinks it may have been obvious anyway.

Taehoon spots you, back to him, gently swaying to the music on your own. No doubt eyes on Rumi and Wangguk’s first dance as husband and wife, like everyone else.

Your hair looks longer, though of course it is. It's been months.

Self consciousness creeps in. Taehoon wonders if you mind that he hasn't had time to change, his bomber jackets untouched for so long. He wonders if you will like his hair, short and natural, military standard.

Most of all-

If you will still feel the same. After all, young love is fickle, flighty, fleeting.

He swallows down his nervousness and ignores the fluttering in his stomach.

You feel an arm curling round your waist. The weight of the hand and the heat of the embrace you've dreamt about for nights on end.

"I've been waiting for you," you whisper.

Taehoon kisses you. It feels like the first time, on the sun bleached pier, all those years ago.

Except, he leans in first.

The softness of your lips just as he remembers, and tonight, he feels your pleased sigh ghosting his skin.

#taehoon seong #seong taehun #taehoon seong x reader #seong taehun x reader #how to fight #seong taehoon x reader #seong taehoon #taehun x reader #taehoon x reader #how to fight x reader #how to fight headcanons #how to fight manhwa #viral hit headcanons #viral hit manhwa #viral hit x reader #viral hit taehoon #viral hit #wannaeatramyeon

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hsakuras · 1 year ago

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𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 | 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑨

warnings: dubcon, stalking, yandere childe, alcohol consumption, facial, blow job, fem reader, degradation, cum eating(?), snowballing, breath play

wc: 4.1k

a/n: im baaaaack, also this is for @jozhenji ily bitch mwah

You hate Snezhnaya.

The cold that bites at your cheeks, the way your bones ache if you stand outside too long, and how blinding the snow can be on the days where the sun is the brightest. You hate holding onto candle light to maneuver your way down the hallway of your house, only to hear talk of the Fatui growing in size and manipulating more people into joining under the harbingers from the neighbors that stop by to chat in front of your door late at night.

“They each have their own agenda.” One of them says, as if that’s supposed to justify their actions, like they’re not all connected in some way.

“Did you hear Ajax got into another fight?”

“Again?”

You hate him. Ajax. You hate how he always needs to be the center of attention.

You hate his laughter, his gaze, the way he starts fight after fight and how he doesn’t care if his father cries or threatens to send him to the military. You hate how he knows so much, how he thrives off of the adrenaline that runs through his veins when he knows he’s won, when he can taste it, feel it in his hands and configure it so that it adds fuel to the fire burning brightest in his chest. It’s the one of the only times his smile reaches his eyes.

You hate that it’s the same smile when he looks at you. When he thinks that he can barge in on your walks to get firewood, or when he finds one of your siblings and walks them home. He only wanted to make sure they would get home safe, he swears.

If Ajax could put his pride on a pedestal, he would. He would bellow in letting people watch as it grows and swallows everything in its path to take up more space, thriving on the marvel painted on people’s faces who pass, who watch as he leaves the small village of your hometown to join the Fatui. It shouldn’t have come as a shock when he was recognized because of his ability to fight.

You think about the time that he went missing for three days causing a search party that grew so rapidly in size because his father is a respectable man, it hurt to see how little he slept. It hurt your community to see him attempt to console his other children.

It hurt even more when you were the one Ajax showed up in front of first.

You were looking out to the horizon, the firewood that had been collected by your side, stopping to enjoy the hot stew you had prepared for your siblings in the thermos that had been carefully wrapped to protect it from the bitter temperatures. It wasn’t exactly as hot as you expected but you welcomed the few seconds of warmth brought to your lips. It’s comforting and while looking out to the horizon, you make a silent promise to yourself to move to a nation that is always sunny, where the winds are warm, and the waters are blue. Something that would help your soul feel weightless in contrast to your current surroundings.

When the forest is covered in snow you can hear everything, the branches that fall under the weight of the ice, the crunching of footsteps when someone passes by, and even the curses of the men who were fetching more wood for their wives; tired, exhausted, and numb.

That day he came back, you didn’t expect to hear him, much less see him.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” You knew his voice, whipping your head around so fast because you never heard his footsteps approaching. His nose was bleeding, staining his mouth and shirt. “It’s nothing compared to you.” He smiled after wiping the blood off his nose and mouth with his sleeve, watching you in awe of how relieved you must have been when he showed himself to you.

He stumbles forward a little, laughs, “Hey, I lov-I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”

You’re the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

Years have passed since then. You watch when Teucer and Tonia come running by with their new toys, how much easier it gets for his father to take care of himself when he’s promised that Ajax is okay and the financial hardship doesn’t consume his very being. It’s hard not to smile when Teucer looks up at you with a toothy grin, begging you to play with him again.

You’ve never been able to tell him no, even though he has the same eyes as his older brother.

You feel uneasy when Pulcinella knocks at your door one evening.

It’s routine for him to visit Ajax’s home, he is the one who offered him the position in the Fatui, you knew he had good combat skills but never would have guessed it was enough for him to be recognized as one of the harbingers. His name is no longer familiar, replaced with Tartaglia. He erases the name given to him, fully accepting his role.

You open your door for him, it would be rude not to answer when the mayor comes to your door.

He smiles gently at you, it does nothing to relieve your nerves, makes goosebumps run down your spine and you will yourself to meet his gaze and return a smile that you would never call your own.

“For you.”

You let him place the box in your hand, it's rectangular, flat, and wrapped beautifully. It makes your stomach drop when his hand touches yours, you can feel a letter slip in between your hand and his, it reminds you of when your grandmother would place chocolates in your hand when you were a child.

“Thank you.” You mumble, mouth dry and lips chapped from the unexpected visit. He nods, leaving you and waving goodbye at Ajax’s family.

You set the box down next to the fireplace, you can hear the crackles from the wood engulfed in flames, it makes you feel less lonely at night. Now that your siblings have gone and left, you’re left to take care of the house your parents had left behind.

You carefully unwrap the bow that sits on top, folding it neatly beside you. Your palms are sweaty when you peel back the wrapping paper. The outside is revealed with the name of an expensive boutique known for the intricate patterns of beautifully displayed lingerie.

You stare at it in disbelief, the measurements are your size down to the millimeter, you feel like screaming. Like locking yourself in your home, blocking out the windows and doors so that no one, no one else could ever invade your privacy the way that he has.

The black lace is decorated with hints of glitter and the satin lines it feels so, so fine. If it were from anyone else you would be enamored, delighted to wear this for someone that you held feelings for, but the only thing you feel is fear.

You remember the letter that was placed in your hands.

You wish you hadn’t opened it. He only speaks of the past, how he never got to tell you how grateful and happy he was to see you after he had been missing for so long.

When you returned home with Ajax, he was different, asking how many days have passed to everyone that came to visit him during his recovery, contemplating how time passes differently where he was in. When you would see him, you had reassured him over and over that it was three days, though he argued it had been three months. He used to make you retell the story again, and again, and again going over the most miniscule details until you were in tears telling him that it’s all you can remember.

You throw the box and letter into the fire, watching the flames consume it all. You spend the remainder of the night fitting whatever parts of your life that you could in a suitcase.

You leave the next morning.

Your life in Fontaine is calmer than back home, you’re near the ocean and you bask in the warm windy hills during the day or dive into the ocean once you’ve finished your work at the small little dress boutique in the middle of the city.

Your boss teases you about one of the Gardes that have caught your attention when he patrols, you even sparked up a conversation about your favorite flowers you’ve encountered in Fontaine.

“Romaritime flowers!” you exclaim, “They’re beautiful. They look so pure in and out of the water.”

He places one in your hands the next time you meet, promising to take you on a proper date when he finishes patrol.

You assume the bouquet of them at your front door was from him, assume that you would see him that night when you closed the boutique and assume that he would ask where you would like to go next.

You spent that morning getting ready for work. Donning one of your favorite dresses, it compliments you well enough to make you stand out, but still allows you to work comfortably. It’s something your boss had given to you when you first arrived in Fontaine, the excuse was that you also needed something when you would go out. How else would you fit in?

You cried at her kindness, something you had not encountered in years.

You finish work that night, assuring your boss that you would close up. She gives you a hug, tells you that she wants to hear all about it when you come back after your day off.

The clouds start to darken when she leaves. You hope it’s only temporary.

You imagine this is what heartbreak feels like.

To trust someone with your feelings so easily only to be faced with the hard realization that they didn’t seem to care about that trust to begin with. The rain, which you hoped was short lived, only rubs salt in the wound. It’s pouring, your shoes are in your hands and your dress is stuck to your body. You waited for two hours after the boutique closed for him to come by, you waited another hour after his patrol ended. You finally left after ten more minutes, when a young woman knew the look on your face and offered you her umbrella. You politely declined, assured her that you would be okay.

In the end you’re left disappointed, cold, and wet. It reminds you of the numerous times you would come home from the harsh snowfall in Snezhnaya, greeted with silence when you stepped foot into your house shivering and attempting to start a fire. You hated it.

You ignore the stares from couples strolling the night, instead focusing on the cool pavement beneath your bare feet, how the rain feels somewhat cooling to your face and how you can hide your tears.

It’s better this way, to only rely on yourself. You’re all you have after all.

When you return home, you toss your shoes outside to dry. Slamming the door behind you and begin struggling to peel off your dress because the fabric is soaking wet and it’s stubbornly sticking to your skin. You curse when it doesn’t come off, panting and pulling it over your head, you step on something sharp, cursing again when you finally throw your dress off and the tears threaten to spill. You curse and throw the dress into the corner of your living room.

You’re left cold, shivering, and only in your bra and panties when you look at the blood from your foot. You begin to cry.

Your gaze then follows the trail of broken glass on your floor, the pool of water leading up to the broken vase of the Romaritime flowers.

“Do you let others stare at you like this?”

Your blood runs cold. You remember the same feeling back when he found you staring out into the horizon all those years ago.

He places a hand over your mouth, holds you flush against his chest when he sneaks up from behind you. “Shh, s’kay.”

You can’t scream, you squirm in his hold, kicking and clawing at his arm holding your face. He thinks it would be fun to allow you to think he’s off balance.

You shift all your weight onto him, hoping that in the fall you’ll have enough time to run, to hide, to fight. You could run to your neighbor’s house, the nice little old couple that lives behind you and hide in their garden until you’re safe. You wish you were safe, you wish you were home sooner. Oh fuck, if only you hadn’t waited for so long into the night.

He grabs your wrist before you’re able to move, bringing you back to him. You force yourself to find strength to move, to be able to turn around and face him. He anticipates this, he spins you around like a dancing couple would.

He laughs once and you stop.

You no longer want to look, you can only see the boy who was missing smiling and complimenting you with blood running down his nose, you remember the lingerie he sent when you were still in the village, how your stomach dropped when the mayor knocked at your door.

Nothing compares to this, to the goosebumps littering your skin when he peers down at you, blue eyes that don’t ever leave your gaze and make you feel like you’re drowning in the sea waters that surround Fontaine.

“I was waiting for you” he whispers, peppering your face with kisses while you stand there, frozen. It’s similar to the time when he collapsed in front of you, only this time you can’t find the words to scream.

It’s funny how this time he’s found you. Your poor attempt at hiding from him is amusing.

“Missed you so much” he continues to kiss you, makes his way down to your collarbones and doesn’t hesitate to get on his knees to kiss the softness of your stomach or the tops of your breasts that are exposed to him.

“Should have locked you up you know? You ran from me, took me forever to find you.”

“Ajax” you whisper, the tears that sting your eyes are threatening to spill. “Why are you here?”

You hold in a sob, you know why. You’ve always known why he was enamored by you.

“Does it matter?” he breathes, shifting his position so he is behind you again, kissing the tears off the side of your face, watching how your breathing shifts when his cold hands touch the bare skin exposed to him.

“Had to pay that Garde off really well. He wasn’t cheap, you know?”

Your heart breaks further, the sob you were holding building into your throat. “You’re so worth it though, pretty little thing. Look at how I found you, fuck, you missed me too didn’t you?”

He’s guiding you to your couch, laying you down while he towers over you. You feel nauseous when you feel his hardening cock through his pants, “look at you, look at you!” He laughs again, another bout of tears flowing down your cheeks, hot and heavy.

He leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but Ajax isn’t opposed to using force to get what he wants, you know this. You’ve always known this. He takes your face into his hands again, squishing your cheeks together like he did before except his gaze is demanding, icy, and bitter.

“Kiss me back”

You oblige, letting him press his lips against yours and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You flinch at the roll of his lips, clutching at his shirt when he groans into your mouth. He mistakes this as want, giving you more until you’re consumed by him, his presence, his scent, his touch.

He breaks away to let you breathe, smiles at the string of spit that connects both of you and how your eyes are hazing, even though he can’t tell if it’s from crying or from how dizzy he’s made you when he kissed you.

“Let’s celebrate” He’s off of you before you can register what he said, grabbing a bottle of one of Mondstat’s best wines. He’s unceremonious, rogue even, when he pops the cork off and takes a drink straight from the bottle before dipping back down to kiss you.

He didn’t swallow much to your surprise, he let the wine pass from his mouth to yours. Pulling away to watch your face scrunch up at the taste, “s’good” he slurs, taking another drink and swallowing this time.

“Here.” He’s pulling you to sit up, he’s so fast it’s hard to follow what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. He’s taking another drink again, it’s smaller this time, more like a sip that he thinks is adequate for you.

He doesn’t let you pull back, his hand is on the nape of your neck making sure you can’t escape his intensity. You try to keep up, letting his tongue enter your mouth and swirl with his. It’s so sloppy, so hot, and sticky that it makes your head spin. He only gives you a break to drink more wine, to make you both drink more.

He keeps giving you more and more, loves when you get weaker and you don’t protest as much anymore. When you whine and start anticipating the alcohol from his mouth to yours, it makes the taste more bearable and your thoughts aren’t as loud in your head.

The wine keeps spilling from the corners of your mouth, leaving a little trail of purple-red for him to lick up to. He’s sucking at the skin of your neck, finding your pulse point so easily. His teeth nip at your skin, you don’t mean to lean into him, the alcohol is making you slow to react. He swears he hears a small moan escape your lips when he nips at the sensitive skin again.

His hand slides down your chest, feeling your tits through the fabric of your bra, it’s still wet.

“Ajax” you slur, “wanna wait” you say. He looks at you, he notices the tears again. You feel them spill, you’re cold. You cling onto him because at least he’s offering you that sliver of comfort.

“Wait?” He repeats, licking a tear off of your cheek.

“Why would I wait when I know you want me too?” He whispers in your ear, his hands unclasping your bra in one go. His touch is cold, similar to how it feels when you first go into the sea. Your body has to get use to it, it starts to warm up and you feel like you could swim and float for hours.

It’s the same with his touch, the cool tips of his fingers warm up the more he squeezes. He likes the sound you make when he pinches at your nipples, he takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking. Groaning when he hears the little whimpers you try to hold back.

He makes his way back up to your lips again, grabs your hands that are clutching at his sides to guide them down to palm the shape of his cock through his pants.

He’s dreamt of this for so long.

“Oh fuck” he pants, his breath hitting your lips before he’s kissing you again, his tongue feels like he’s lapping into your mouth getting as sloppy as possible as if you’re going to vanish again. His tongue rolls over yours until he’s aching, cock throbbing for attention.

“Hey, feel me here.” He pants, eyes red rimmed and the blue of his irises brighter. You feel like you could drown in them.

He takes your hand and holds it in his, tossing his vision on your table. He’s undoing his belt & pulling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

He wraps your hand around the base, guides you in how fast and how much pressure to place around him, when he lets go of your hand you can feel him looking at you. You’re focused on the length of him, how heavy and hot he feels against your hand.

You feel like crying again. You oblige him because at least he’ll leave you alone sooner, you’re just another thing for him to win over, to declare victory before he gets bored with you and moves on to this next challenge.

“More fuck, please more” he pants, hips stuttering into your hand. You can feel the sticky, hot precum that coats the tip of his dick and now your hand. You look up at him and see that he’s got his head tipped back, moaning about how hot you are, how good you are, how he’s thought about this since you saved him. Since you found him, how he’s been in love with you since he found you looking out into the horizon. Even before, he’s been in love with you since the beginning, since he saw you.

“You owe me this.” he breathes.

“What?”

He laughs again, the same one that haunts you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know. I had you watched wherever you went, I made sure your siblings got into the school they wanted, fuck I even followed you here.”

He takes your hand in his, knows that your hand is coated in his pre cum, takes one of your fingers and licks it up the length. His eyes ever leave yours as he does.

“You should thank me.” He deadpans, cock still throbbing and hard when he stands up at full height.

“Thank me.” He repeats the length of his dick is on your face, rutting against your cheek until the tip meets your lips.

“Yeah, that's how you should do it.” He smiles, the one that meets his eyes. The genuine one.

He’s holding on to the back of your head before you can move. He doesn’t care if your hair is messy, it's almost dry now. He takes your hand again, planting it onto his thigh for leverage.

His grip returns to the base of his cock, tapping the tip on your lips again.

You don’t open your mouth, new tears building up in your waterline. He shows no remorse for what he’s doing, no concern, he thinks he deserves this. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s done for you.

He pinches your nose, catching you when you part your lips to shove his length into your mouth.

You cry, struggling to breathe at the pace he starts at.

“Woulda been so gentle to you if you would have been good, fuck.”

He seethes, eyes rolling into the back of his head when both of his hands are holding your head to match his hips. Your nails are digging into his thighs, your strength unmatched for how you try to push yourself off of him as he pulls you forward on his length. He can’t handle the hot, wet, tightness of the back of your throat.

“Fuck yes, more, more, more” he chants, pinching your nose again to see you panic when you look up again, he loves you like this. When your chin is covered in spit and tears and his balls hit you with every rut of his hips.

“God, gonna paint your fucking face, slut. Gonna cover you in my cum so you can never forget who you belong to”

You can feel that he’s getting close, he grants you grace for only one second before he’s holding your jaw in his hand again.

You take in gulps of air, coughing, and crying while he forces you to look at him.

“Don’t run from me again.” He seethes, forcing you back down on his length.

He’s ruthless this time, uncaring for the way your eyes can’t focus, or how you look like you’re going to pass out. You’re vision keeps going in and out, you can hear yourself. How you choke and gag around his length how he curses with each “ack. ack. ack” of his dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Gonna cum—shit”

He pulls you off, using one of his hands to keep you in place while he jacks himself off with the other.

“Say it, say who you belong to.”

You can’t understand, hazy vision threatening to go black.

“Fuck, say it and I’ll cum. I’ll cover your fucking face and never leave you. You understand? You’re mine. “

You don’t know what he’s rambling on about. You want to plead with him, talk this out and let him know he could pursue someone else.

“Ajax” you rasp.

“Yeah? You belong to me don’t you? Oh fuck—“

He groans, doesn’t hold his voice back, calling you all sorts of names but mostly that you’re his, his, his.

His cum on your face should be enough to prove it. He looks at you like a masterpiece, taking his finger and dragging it through his cum and putting it into his mouth before kissing you.

“Don’t let anyone else see you like this.”

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petew21-blog · 7 months ago

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Can you do an old man criminal young soldier body swap, please?

Ben, the freshly enrolled cadet, had to wake up early that day. Why? Because some old dipshit had to escape prison few days ago and was rumored to be in the area nearby. The military was there to help the police in order to capture this escapee.

The split into groups. Ben's group got the forest. They got near an old cabin that has been abandonem many years ago

They searched the area and entered the building. Besides discovering some voodoo rituals they also found proof of someone squatting here not that long ago. There was a warm lighter on the doorstep of the backdoor entrance.

Ben's P.O.V.

"He can't be far. Must have heard us closing in." one of my firends screamed out.

The group got out of the building. I stayed behind to take photos and look for more evidence for the police. What I didn't expect was that he run out of the secret room beneath the floor and jump me.

He was strong for an old man. But he had an advantage, because I honestly had no idea that he was there. I have to get him or I'll get in trouble.

A fight followed. He managed to get me on the ground and choke me. Then he pulled away a bit, because he resched for the voodoo totem in the middle of the ritual. He snapped the totem in half. Bunch of mess, dust and something smelly fell directly into mine and his face.

The last thing I remember was him laughing hysterically. Then, darkness.

I woke up to the sound of my group approaching. They must have heard the screaming and the old man's laughter. I opened my eyes and then pain followed. My face was pressed on the ground. My hands behind my back, handcuffed.

"Now you'll go back where you belong fucker." I heard a VERY familiar voice.

I turned my head and saw my own body talking to someone. At that moment, I don't know what came over me. I got hysterical. Maybe if I explained who I am and gave them some details, then they might have trusted me. But I only screamed and cried and scream again.

The police arrived and the last thing I saw was my body looking at me with a mischievous grin, grabbing my body's crotch and winking at me.

This can't be happening

Abraham's P.O.V.

I am finally free. The escape was only a small part of the plan. The bigger one was to get all the ingredients to do the ritual and swap with someone. Poor fucker, he's gonna get a proper beating in jail. Well that's not my problem now. My only goal is to go unnoticed and start my new young life.

Ah, man. I can't wait much longer. They have to leave now or else I might explode all this cum right here in these clothes.

It took them 30 more minutes before they left me alone. I didn't have any chores as a reward for capturing him. Heh, right you fuckers. I won't be staying much longer.

I collapsed on the chair. Pretending to be someone else is surprisingly more stressful than I rememeber.

Anyway. Time to explore this new body! Wait! This guy seems strong. Let me just try something

Holy shit. What a stamina. It doesn't even hurt to lift myself. And those abs. Yeah. I'll be enjoying this. I laid down on the bed.

These are so hot man. I have NEVER in my life had these before. He must be in great shape overall.

I took off my shirt and decided I want to have some fun

Let's show these fucker's who's really storno. I got into the gym to show off my new body. Some of the guys tried not to look at me, but others just kept staring.

I went to the showers to enjoy myself in the mirror. Someone left their shaving cream and I could already feel the need to shave.

"Man, I look great!"

I took off the rest of the clothes and hopped into the shower. Being this fit is truly awesome. The tightness and horniness that I feel from beeing this strong is undiscrabable. I started jerking my new cock. Which was nicely curved, not that big, but wide enough to please some of the women I'm about to fuck. Or men, who knows.

I masturbated with no shame at all. Someone even came during my session and rather left instead of watching me enjoy myself. I finished all over the floor and just left it there.

Before the end of the day I was released from my duties for many inappropriate behavioirs. How should I know that those guys don't like to experiment with each other. I don't know what their issue was.

Anyway, I got on the nearest bus to get into town. Found the nearest shop and got me some fine cigarettes.

"I have missed this so fucking much" I said before coughing rapidly. "Not used to it, huh boy? Well don't worry, that's about to change" I took a puff of my cigarette heading of to the nearest bar.

A new life begins!

#body switch #male body swap #body swap #Criminal body swap

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bengiyo · 2 months ago

Text

Love in the Big City Part 1: It's Gay

We’ve finally made it to the Love in the Big City TV adaptation. Despite all the drama going on around this show’s release, we got the whole show at once. We won’t get canceled midway through. Though I hoped for a global weekly release schedule, I understand the decisions that led to dropping the whole thing at once. Thankfully, Nam Yoon Su is so charismatic as Go Yeong, and I have much to say about how this show doesn’t hate BL, has great regard for the humanity of its characters, and so far is one of the better adaptations I’ve experienced in my life.

Nam Yoon Su’s Go Yeong

I just want to state plainly that I love how queer Go Yeong feels in this show. I love his pissy little expressions. I love his frustration and anger at gross straight men. I love his gay little run. I love his dancing in the street to girl pop artists. I love him making out with men in public.

I loved opening with Yeong in the midst of a new fling and openly having lots of sex before the military boyfriend came back home. I loved Yeong ending things before later going to a club to seek new partners. We haven’t had that in so long, with Queer as Folk being the biggest cultural memory for many.

More than anything, I love how lonely he felt. Many others have noted it in the tag, and I think that’s the part that resonates when something feels queer for a lot of us. It was notable that they brought Yeong’s friends forward this time, which gives us insight into the shallow nature of most of his relationships. His connection to them is through the club, music, and boys. Go Yeong keeps everyone at a distance. It’s the hardest part about being queer sometimes. You try to connect with others, but something always seems to come up to prevent that closeness.

Kim Nam-Gyu

I think casting Kwon Hyuk as Kim Nam Gyu was such an excellent decision. He previously played my man Jong Chan in The New Employee, and it feels like a nod from this production that they are not opposed to BL. BL is a drama full of romance tropes and huge optimism about relationships, and they cast the actor who played my favorite version of the ideal man in a way that showed empathy for his lonely, quiet nature. Casting Kwon Hyuk feels like a tactful way for this show to say, “We’re not BL, and we respect the work others are doing.” The New Employee was directed by a Korean gay activist, and I love this show giving K-BL a polite nod.

Nam Gyu is a quiet gay. As one myself, I get a lot of what I saw in Nam Gyu. He takes pictures of hot models because it’s a socially acceptable way for him to be close to hot men. He leaps at the chance to be with Go Yeong, and speed runs the intimacy route. He missed that he was smothering Go Yeong, and I think it’s because it’s clear he lacks friends.

I feel so sad for Nam Gyu, because it’s clear he overinvested in his relationship with Go Yeong. He was so ready to give Go Yeong everything, but it was way too much for a club gay. Despite all the ways he rushed in (like a fool), he was otherwise so safe in his life. He stayed in the lines everywhere, and it’s so tragic that he died while speeding.

I thought a lot about the lack of Kylie in this section and the health scare, and it adds a layer to the situation with Nam Gyu as @twig-tea pointed out in one of our conversations that Go Yeong asked how he died because he might already know his status. Did Go Yeong wonder if he’d infected Nam Gyu? It also makes me wonder about the sex we didn’t see with Nam Gyu and IG guy.

Finally, the empty funeral hurts me to my core. This man was so decent, and no one was there to see him off. I am still thinking about how all of the breakups mirrored each other in this section.

Choi Mi Ae

I think @lurkingshan already covered Mi Ae in this adaptation very well. I’ve been thinking about her for a few days, and I’ve decided that I like that we get to see more of her outside of Yeong’s POV in the show. We can see how her circumstances rattled her, and how it was clear that she couldn’t make it on her own long term.

I get her taking the cushy job. I get her finding a nice enough guy who didn’t want kids. I get her choosing to protect herself when cornered. The most tragic thing about her outing of Yeong is that she told the truth and it only seemed to make things worse. Jonho could never understand the solace she and Go Yeong found in each other, and he was not ready to ever hear the truth of Mi Ae’s life.

I feel more sympathy for Mi Ae in this version because we can see that their relationship meant so much to her. Learning that he actually went on to become a writer touched her because it feels like he’ll immortalize a time in their lives that was mutually important to them. It also means that one of them may not have to settle for the choices available to them. The singing at the wedding hits so painfully here because it’s the last fun memory these two will ever have. Yeong goes back to the apartment Mi Ae left for him to eat the last of their blueberries, and that’s the last we’ll see of her.

Final Thoughts

I’m so relieved that we have book club discussion again. I’ll be reading and reblogging people’s posts, and I’m looking forward to the next part to see how Hyung fits into the show’s narrative. This adaptation has been so beautiful so far, and it’s been really great to see how the show has softened some of its edges by putting us in third person perspective. We are giving room to understand Mi Ae, Nam Gyu, and the T-aras by not seeing them exclusively through Yeong’s eyes.

#Ben watches #love in the big city #litbc book club #korean bl #Ben writes

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boozenboze · 2 years ago

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141 and male reader who is angry and when he’s angry, he goes in the gym area they have and just punches the punching bad with bare fists for hours on end and basically breaks the punching bags but keeps putting new ones up. his fists are bloody and bruised and everyone is looking for him and they can’t find him so they search everywhere and find him with blood running down his hands from the countless hours of punching and they have to practically drag him out of the gym and they make him lay down which he wont go down without a fight but YA

SORRY ITS LONG💗😭

Calm Down!

Summary: After a certain soldiers constant slip ups and slacking off Lieutenant Rage gets angry.

Females She/Her and She/ They DNI

Today hadn't gone so well, in fact it went terribly. For starters two of the new recruits lost the files that the team had been sent to retrieve. Secondly, one of the same men had flunked out during training, only to later be seen running about with some of the other soldiers. And the cup of tea to pull everything together he did something he shouldn't have. That thing being talking about one of the higher ups, Lieutenant Rage, also known as M/n. The h/c haired male had his eyes on the recruit since the beginning, knowing that he'd be trouble from the start. The childish acts, the constant slacking off, and always holding everybody back by getting injured. It was clear as day that the man shouldn't be in the military for those exact reasons. The mans carelessness for himself and others would get them all killed.

"Captain do you not understand what i'm saying?" The h/c haired male asked as Price hummed, showing that he was paying attention to the males words as he filled out some papers.

"Rage look, I understand your concern but I haven't seen anything wrong with the seargent." Price explained as M/n glared into his skull.

"Besides maybe your overreacting-"

"I AM NOT OVERREACTING!" The male finally snapped as that cold glint in his eyes that would normally only be seen on the field was now visible. Price flinched at the males change of tone, it was hot yet scary.

"That bastard could get us all killed at some point and your sitting on yer ass like that's ok. THAT IS NOT OKAY!" The male yelled as Price shook slightly from the males booming voice. He was the males Captain, he shouldn't be getting yelled at like this. With one final huff of anger the male stormed out as Price sat in his chair stunned.

The h/c haired male stormed down the hallway, knocking a solider down in the process.

"Hey! Whats your problem....." The soldiers voice dragged as he realized it was his Lieutenant. "I-i'm sorry sir!" The soldier squeaked as he ran down the hallway. M/n was already breathing heavily out of anger, and that anger seemed to double after that small accident. He had to let off some steam at this point. If he was pushed any further he'd end up killing someone. The man was speeding over to the training area that he knew would be empty considering that it was around the time the soldiers would go to their barracks. The h/c haired male couldn't do that, his adrenaline was high and that would only keep him awake longer. He just hoped that he could blow off some steam before going to bed.

Timskip (Gaz pov)

I just came from Prices office and he seemed to be deep in thought. I asked if everything was oky but he said no. He told me about the conversation he had with M/n and from how he explained it, it seemed like he was pissed off. M/n was always the most aggressive out of us all, hell he'd probably yank a mans head off if he could.

We were all walking around the base looking for our beligerant soldier known as M/n. The man could do the unthinkable when he's angry so we hope he isn't doing anything crazy.

"We've checked everywhere for the man it's clear he isn't here!" Soap complained, getting tired of feeling like he had been walking circles. I looked at the man before turning my attention to Ghost. Seemed like he didn't wanna be here either, but he had no choice. We passed the training area and heard a loud slam which caught our attention. Price gave us a look before opening the door. I was surprised to see M/n standing over a punching bag, i'm guessing he broke it considering that the chain that the bag was connected to wasn't there anymore. The man was out of breath as he picked up the punching bag and throwing it to the side.

Ghost had walked over and put his arms under the shorter males arms. The man immediately threw a fit, he was kicking and yelling incoherantly and the men were only able to hear snippets of his words.

"Get the fuck off me-BITCH!" The male yelled as he whipped his head back hitting Ghosts mask. Ghost grunted from the sudden pressure being put on his face as he crouch down to the floor with the male still in his hold. The taller man had the h/c haired male pinned to the ground as the position they were in restricted his movements.

3rd pov

"M/n calm down, we can stay like this for as long as we have to, to make your relax." Price said as M/n huffed angrily. Slowly but surely the mans breathing steadied, despite that he still wasn't calm. Gaz had held the mans hand and furrowed his brows at the sight of the males bleeding knuckles. Ghost had already noticed the mans hands, so he picked him up and walked to the infirmary.

Timeskip

Ghost was seated on the couch next to Ghost, who was currently sipping on some tea as the h/c haired male groaned in annoyance. The slurping sounds aggravated him but he couldn’t since Ghost had him wrapped up in a blanket. He looked like a burrito, a angry one at that. The lieutenant looked at him for a moment before offering the male a biscuit, to which he took. He may be angry, but when snacks are offered there can’t be much of an argument. The male muttered a “thank you” while chewing the savory treat. In that moment Soap and the others came into the room in their pajamas. The Scot almost laughed when he saw the position the private had been put in.

“Well ain’t this nice to see.” Soap said while ruffling the males hair to which the male attempted to bite his hand. Soap laughed and poked the males side before sitting down.

“L/n...look, I thought about what you had said and your right.” Price said as M/n looked him dead in the eye.

“We’ll be terminating him tomorrow, he won’t be bothering anyone else.” Price explains as M/n visibly relaxed. Seems like the removal of that one recruit made a big difference in the males mood which made them all happy.

“Alright...Lets watch a movie since we’re still up!” Gaz said happily while the other men hummed in agreement as M/n squirmed under the blanket.

“If one of you dont get me out this hot ass blanket we’re having problems.” M/n said as Soap hurriedly tool the blanket from around the male. The sound of the movie could be heard as all the men sat back and relaxed. M/n had his head on Ghosts shoulder while Soap had his head on M/n’s. Seems like they would be having a peaceful night.

#male reader #cod x male reader #gay #mw2 x male reader #male y/n #captain price x male reader #gaz x male reader #lgbtq #soap x male reader #ghost x male reader

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celestialprincesse · 8 months ago

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Hi Angie!

I was wondering - if you have the time and will - would you write some more poly stuff?

Could be whatever you want.

Thank you!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One Xtra large helping of poly fluff coming right up 🤭🎀

Weekends are your favourite. When all the boys are home and you've got the time to just be. It's the little things, like how you go padding downstairs barefoot long after the sun has risen, stomach rumbling impatiently at the smell of freshly fried bacon and hot coffee, the kind from the expensive machine Kyle had bought you this Christmas just gone.

You can't help but grin when you feel Johnny's hands looping loosely around your waist, your head rolling back onto his shoulder with a contented sigh as he noses your jawline affectionately, murmuring about how lovely you look in the morning, how pleased he is to have a weekend with no plans. You, however? Oh, you've got plans. Having your four, massive military boyfriends home can only mean one thing.

Furniture shopping.

More specifically? Antique furniture shopping. Trawling the local thrift stores for anything that piques your interest, and might find its perfect place in your home. Seeing as the boys are back with the truck, and the the weather is just on the cooler side of summer, today is the perfect opportunity. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny are also perfectly happy to indulge you in all of your roosting ways, just as house proud as the day they'd all met you.

Fortunately, it takes all of fifteen minutes to find the boys and be on your way, the perks of military men, you suppose. Punctuality is engrained into their very person. It's unnerving sometimes.

They're happy if you're happy, even if Kyle does have to hold in his sneezes until Johnny can subtly slip him an antihistamine, all whilst you're fawning over old paintings with an unenthused Simon (he's trying) and a pensive John, who thinks he's getting old and needs to learn how to enjoy a melange of meaningless paint splotches on a canvas. You just like the colours.

Admittedly, you've also been watching all sorts of antiques programmes on the TV during their last deployment, hyper fixating on the promise of buying some cool, vintage piece for the house only to find out that it just so happens to be a lost furniture piece from Versailles, or maybe a Picasso drawing gone missing from a collection. The dopamine is also nice. Almost as nice as spending time bobbing around with the boys, laughing at the way John reaches for his wallet the moment you so much as look at something for too ling, or how Kyle keeps staring at your ass, getting distracted and almost knocking stuff over.

It's not so much the shopping, you realise, upon going home empty handed, it's the getting out with your favourite people, and getting to spend the with not a worry in the world (except for Kyle's obvious dust allergy)

Short! But! I'm back on my grind! Now that visitors are gone (hallelujah)

I've been literally scrolling endlessly through Josh & Matt's tiktok as some weird form of self soothing and it's made me miss thrifting so pls enjoy this until I can get my little secondhand purchase fix 🎀

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uknowmesblog · 4 months ago

Text

Ah, ah, I am an awful person for taking so long to write again.

Guilty as charged, I had a hell of week and It's still going strong. Pray for my soul, I have flour in my nose.

!!TW!!

FOUL language, kind off groping/pawing. Soft punisment. Virgin Reader. (I m a sucker for this trope and I won't be sorry)

No minors pls, I can't deal with this.

Also, does anyone know how to do a materialist? I m not the smartest 🤓

Oh what a debriefing it was, hands on you all the time. Small whispers almost passed without a second thought, your pussy literally weeping every time Johnny threw one of his panty-melting smile. You left the space dizzy, barely remembering where is that damned room you we're assigned, your mind a battle ground between hating the situation you are in and enjoying all the attention you could get.

Male attention wasn't a thing in your life, your dad scarring them like he was a rabid dog. No one will touch the daughter of a high military rank man, risking to dissappear like dust in wind out of nowhere.

And when you grew up? Your mind was already made, you would grow old with lots of cats and maybe a parrot just for the effect. Lost was the idea of even a fuck, your virginity now collecting dust figuratively.

Now two men, three if you take in consideration Price who's smirking from time to time, gave you more attention and more touches than you could register in your slow mind. (If you'll have awareness, you would count four.)

"Jesus christ" You sighed, closing your door and resting your forehead against it, cool wood taking the edge off a bit. After diner you had plans, something soft for your first night ready. Nothing scandalous, just taking a break.

═════ ◈ ═════

Dinner passed fast, you had some kind chicken and mashed potatoes. Good enough to not starve, you almost had a tantrum over the fact there wasn't dessert but one glare from Ghost had you bite your tongue. His baklava rised over his nose, scarred full lips staying flat as you glared at your food.

You listened as everyone was moving around their rooms until silence enveloped the whole space and you gracefully tiptoed outside, finding a spot concealed in shadows under the full moon.

It's cold, your fingers tightened around the pack of smokes as you seated yourself on some sort of decorative rock. A military base with decorative rocks, making you snort as your lips wrapped around a cigarette. You didn't smoke in a while, deciding is way too expensive and your budget was tight as a nun's ass. But now you had enough to live off a while, maybe two months at best.

Your new salary sounds good on paper, but it is worthy to risk your whole life for extra money? You don't have an answer as you look at the sky, lips puffin a cigarette. Your eyes fall on your phone, distracted by the sound of it, not hearing the silent men with a skull baklava approaching you.

One palm wrapped around your mouth, the other gripping your wrist making you drop your phone on the floor.

"Shh, it's jus' me" He whispered, hot breath fanning against your neck. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold on you. You huffed annoyed, his low and raspy chuckle making you shiver.

"You are such an annoying little doll, aren't you?" His hand leave your mouth, wrapping around your throat. "So mouthy, so bratty" his hand travelled further down, making your breath hitch.

"Now keep it nice and quiet for me luv, your punishment will be easy tonight"

His fingers cupped your cunt over your pants, making you yelp and trash. He slapped it twice stopping you yelp, stopping all the movements.

"Stay still, you won't want Johnny to hear you, he will be between these pretty thighs s'fast you will cum before even thinking about it."

Your eyes rolled back, his fingers dropping under your waistband and finding your dripping pussy welcoming all hot and bothered.

One finger gingerly rubbing your clit, your breath coming out panting. This is so wrong, deep in your mind you know this is power imbalance and he shouldn't be doing this.

You should stop this, you should cry for help.

But a depraved part in you it's enjoying the way his fingers are working you higher and higher, so close to -

"No, not tonight ' He retreated himself so fast, like you are burning and he just got some of it.

"W-what?" You blinked, confused and worked up.

"Good girls receive pleasure, brats receive the punishment. " The audacity of this man, made you open your mouth instantly.

"Isn't like I can touch myself?"

"You could do that and receive a worde punishment " He looked at you with that impassive face, the only thing showing his sick pleasure it's the bulge that was showing off a lil too much.

"And trust me I will now" He grunted, tilting his head.

"You can't be serious, you can't just ban masturbating"

"Watch me, if you want me to finish what I started, you can beg tomorrow on your knees." He turned around, leaving you flustered and confused. Red cheeks, eyes ready to shed tears and a pussy leaking wetness ready to be stuffed.

Your plan just backfired, you need to find something new thats sure!

@brxghtlxghtz @niresenrab @nes-kopi @chickennn-soupp @clear-your-mind-and-dream

Its short ik ik, Don't kill me.

I had some time today at work and I said why not? I need a break from life.

#soap #call of duty x y/n #ghoap x reader #141 x reader #captain john price #ghostsoap reader #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #gaz garrick #ghost cod #call of duty

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ranposbabe · 1 year ago

Text

You Dangle The Mistletoe

summary: how some mtp men react when you dangle the mistletoe above you ;)

warnings: slightly suggestive in all except louis n herder (??)

WILLIAM JAMES MORIARTY

William had spent the entire day locked in his study

He didn’t mind as the hours flew by but you begged to differ

All was quiet while he continued to read his book until he heard a rather loud knock at the door.

He wonders who it is (not)

He expected you to simply walk in and yet when he didn’t hear your footsteps or was only then did he turn around.

You stood there with the mistletoe laying on top of your head

Like a statue waiting for his reaction first

He attempted to hide his smirk but of course you saw right through

“Take that off your head, y/n” He sighs, his eyes still stuck to the page.

You don’t even think he was actually reading at this point, surely it doesn’t take that long to read one page

“I will if only you-

“If only I what ?”

“Take off your clothes first”

William could no longer hide his smirk

ALBERT JAMES MORIARTY

It was late eventing and Albert had finally returned from his military duties

But what you didn’t expect was to find Albert still in his uniform.

But it was a good surprise

You always thought he looked good in any colour but he something about him in red had you hot and bothered-i always get carried away when writing about Albert plss

Anyways he’s standing there looking proud and you’re dangling that mistletoe with your shaking hands and all is well

He then joins you by your side and does not hesitate in kissing you

You both enjoy yourself as you spend hours minutes kissing

When I say enjoy I mean like really enjoy

But next thing you know he’s groping your chest :0

“Albert !” You gasp at the sudden pleasurable sensations

He apologizes but he doesn’t mean it

He looks down at you with this mesmising emerald eyes that are glazed over with lust as he chuckles at the sight of your face becoming hot-

“You were holding it rather low, y/n”

LOUIS JAMES MORIARTY

Louis stood rather anxiously in the kitchen as he listed to himself the ingredients he needed to gather to prepare supper

As always you were prepared to lighten the mood

Of course it never made him feel better you just got a laugh out of it most of the time

With his back facing you, you did spend quite some time simply watching him as he worked.

You were about to make him stress even more

“I think you’re missing something.”

He acts like he knew you were there but he didn’t (at least the whole time you were there)

“What is it ?” He rather blunt while you giggle showing off the mistletoe

He just stands there looking at you and you’re starting to get freaked out by his judgemental stare

He can’t help it though he struggles with expressing himself :(

He quickly catches on and trust me he wants to give you a little kiss but what if moran walks in ???!

Nobody is ever in the mood to deal with that man

Eventually he does come to your side and gently presses a kiss to your cheek

He does look behind your back to make sure no one is there

“Here” You hand him a napkin from the kitchen counter only for him to raise a brow in confusion at you

“You have a squished berry on your cheek”

SHERLOCK HOLMES

Sherlock had mentioned to you earlier in the day that his day would be filled with jobs so he of course told you not to wait up for him

Of course you never listen to him

To be far as it was already late you didn’t think you’d have to wait long for his return.

You were so wrong

You decided to wait up holding the mistletoe above your head waiting

Sherlock was gone so long you literally fell asleep

Some time went by Sherlock was busy :(

Your eyes flutter open to see the room in complete darkness except for a candle keeping the room in a dimly light

“What’s this ?”

You jump up in shock to see the sight of Sherlock standing over you holding the mistletoe as if to inspect it

“Nothing !” You laugh, without hesitation you grab it right from the detective

But still Sherlock observed it, noticing immediately how hot your face became as you twiddled with it nervously

“Perhaps it should be lower.”

Next thing you know the mistletoe is laying on your stomach ;)

Let’s just say…Sherly knows where to place his kisses <3

VON HERDER

You didn’t have to search far when it came to looking for Herder

“Herder !!!” You called, of course not surprised to see the man hunched over working on something you could only guess was an invention or so

With his back facing you as he was sat in his chair you didn’t hesitate to make your presence more known

“Oh hello” He smirks at slight ticklish sensation of the mistletoe touching the tip of his nose

Still sitting, he looked straight up tilting his head back already anticipating exactly what you came for

He couldn’t help but chuckle as you rather hastily pressed a quick kiss against his lips

“Well thank you for my present, y/n” He stands up from his seat.

He could tell you were blushing

With his figure now standing in front of the table tho truly did begin to wonder what exactly he was working on

But with Herder you were never left wondering long

“Here’s your present !”

Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw what was laid out on the table

“My very own gun !!!!”

272 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 1 month ago

Text

"Ice Cold Jax" Geechee!Erik Killmonger

Pairing: Geechee!Erik Killmonger x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Supernatural Horror, Period Piece, Erik Stevens AU, Black American Folktale.

Summary: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens is a Geechee wanderer and lover of big-legged women and good moonshine. On a trip to visit his favorite juke joint in 1940s Mississippi, he entertains a lover of sorts, Lulabelle, the juke joint owner and Madame of the nearby whorehouse. Erik battles two mythical creatures from Black American folklore, the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man in order to save Lulabelle and her establishment. The tale is told from the perspective of a ghost who was once Lulabelle's best friend.

Word count: 5.5K

youtube

"The winter time is coming

And it's going to be slow

You can't make the weather baby

it's dry long so

You betta come on in my kitchen

because it's going to be Raining outdoors..."

Cassandra Wilson – "Come on in my Kitchen" (Written by Robert Johnson)

There were two things Lulabelle Humphreys knew how to sell in Itta Bena Mississippi and that was moonshine and other people's pussy.

She did that very well until one night of the Harvest moon when cotton would soon be harvested by the local sharecroppers and itinerant Mexican men who traveled through the delta region looking for work like every other Negro or poor white trash far and wide. On that night under a sweltering heat full of drunk patrons and her smooth-talking whores inside her juke joint with the "special ladies" house attached by a rickety bridge that crossed over a tiny creek full of frogs and singing crickets, Lulabelle witnessed the showdown of all showdowns between the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man, shonuff, right inside her little rambling hot music-havin' and ice-cold beer havin' establishment.

And if it hadn't been for that slow walking city-to-city wandering Geechee man with the gold teeth, slick smile, and flashy suit standing by her with the smarts of his low country kin back in South Carolina, why Lulabelle might've lost everything that night like she lost me so many years ago when that Plat Eye stole me away when we was teenaged girls in these backwoods. But thank the Lord up above for Erik Stevens ramblin' through with that shiny switchblade, and his Gullah ways, cuz shonuff, that was a night to remember and I'm gonna tell it exactly how it happened from top to bottom and all the sides in between. I ain't been dead long enough or forgotten long enough to not tell it all...

"Mavis, how much lavender water is left in there?"

Lulabelle shouted into the open door that led to one of the "loving" rooms inside her special house.

"There's one bottle left," Ruth called out.

The young woman was nothing but string bean arms and toothpick legs, however, she was a favorite among the darker-skinned Black sharecroppers who admired her fair skin and limp shiny black hair. Even the high yella gals envied what Ruth could pull in because the men were willing to part with more money to fuck what was as close to a white woman as they would get.

Lulabelle knew clearly what a fetish was, so she used Ruth for the high income, but she also had Mavis, a crystal Black pearl with a dark hue so deep that negro soldiers from the military base lined up for hours waiting to part her dusky thighs to taste the sticky sweets within. There was someone for everybody at the house. Big women. Little scrawny women. Big Bodacious titties and itty-bitty mosquito bites. For the richly endowed there was Starla with a pussy so fat and deep that blues ballads were written for her. For the poorly imbued, there was Tweety Pie, a tiny woman with a small tight snatch that rivaled Starla in particular-sized fans.

For the men who didn't fawn over the womenfolk, there was Honey Boy, a twenty-something pretty little thing with bow lips, high cheekbones, and a fat ass that posed as a houseboy who brought fresh after-sex towels, water for the whore baths, and rubbers for the men who forgot to prepare for penetration. Honey Boy could dress like a pretty woman and serve clients fat wood if that was to a patron's liking. Lulabelle was surprised at how popular he was becoming on the low low, especially from the men in the military. Men with men had always been a reality, but Honey Boy was multidimensional. He could turn into a Butch boy from a chain gang, to a bullying Army sergeant to dominate and spread male ass cheeks that needed fat balls against balls. Or he could be a dainty femme movie star in a bra and heels with his hard dick swinging. Lulabelle kept a ready supply of costumes for him, more than the women. All the ladies needed were pretty underwear, strong garter belts, and lipstick. She kept quiet that she paid Honey Boy more than anyone else.

The second world war was putting money in her pockets. 1942 was a profitable war year for Lulabelle. Her pocketbook was fat with cash, and she could now afford real jewelry instead of the cheap costume fare she sported the last three years. She could even maintain a steady hot comb appointment at Mamie's Wash and Curl uptown. Her latest favorite style was imitating Joan Crawford's immaculate curls that she saw in the talkies at the Bijou theater. When she really wanted to look glamorous, she would have Mamie swoop up her thick hair on top of her head with a pinned curl on the front and an under curl in the back. The rich white women she saw in the new color catalogues wore their hair like that.

She wore her hair like that for that evening. It was a special night. The Harvest Moon was going up, and the men would be arriving in droves to drink, dance, and fuck.

He was coming too.

The Gullah man. That sly Geechie with the gold teeth.

Erik Stevens.

His arrival always coincided with some new moon every few months. She'd dress up extra special when she thought he was coming through. Her pussy was already twitching thinking about him.

"I'll have Honey Boy get you a fresh bottle," Lulabelle said patting the back of her hair.

It was hot already, and she worried that her hair wouldn't maintain until Erik saw it. Ruth stepped out of the room. The yellow silk camisole Lulabelle bought for her came to her thighs and had enough lace in the front to cover the baby bulge that was threatening to peek out. The girl got knocked up and none of the home remedies the cook Eva concocted worked in knocking the unwanted pregnancy out. Ruth could probably hide the truth for another month or so, but eventually she would have to go on convalescence and Lulabelle would have to rely on the other women to please the Ruth fans until the woman returned or left for a new life in the North. Until then, Ruth was about making her money and camouflaging the bump.

"Can you tell?" she asked.

Lulabelle squinted.

"These men will be too drunk to notice. Keep the garment on and don't worry about it."

Lulabelle checked in on the other ladies and all was well. Seven rooms, seven whores, seven sources of revenue on top of the juke joint next door. She peeked in on one of the mirrors inside a room and felt satisfied. Her beige dress hugged the curves of her big wide hips and large backside. Her heels made her short body have a little height. She needed a little more powder for her round nose, and the grease pencil she used for her eyes held the dark wings she gave herself.

"Eat your heart out, Joan," she muttered to herself.

She crossed the little wooden bridge that led to the juke joint making sure her crème bow top summer pumps didn't get dirty. Her name was painted in fading blue letters above the entrance. By Christmas she hoped to get a fancy electric sign that sparkled "Lula's". Honey Boy swept the porch entry and she could smell the grease being heated on the kitchen stove inside by Eva. There'd be fried chicken, black-eyed peas, collards with ham hocks, and plenty of buttermilk cornbread to sell with the ice cold Jax beer and corn liquor.

Her eyes scanned the lowering sun over the canopy of Tupelo trees. A loud shriek startled her and made Honey Boy stop sweeping.

"What was that?" Honey Boy asked.

His pressed hair was slicked back, and his copper brown skin was moist with sweat from the oppressive heat.

Lulabelle clutched at her chest. The sound came from deep in the woods. The darkness there shrouded any mysteries that lived within it.

"Sounded like something caught," she said.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

A memory.

Being a young teen girl with...

No. Don't think of her. That was the past.

Lulabelle pushed down on the terror in her throat and hid her shaking fingers in front of her dress.

"Probably some unlucky racoon ran across Old Man Rickers trap," she said.

"Yeah, you prolly right, Lulabelle. The man been hunting out there this week."

She heard the doubt in his tremulous voice. The lie hung in the air like dark sap on a dying tree between them.

"That sounded like death is on his way," Eva said.

The older plump woman opened the screen door of the juke joint while wiping down a plate.

"Don't say that, Eva. It's just an old coon, or a slow wild pig—"

The shriek pierced the air again.

"Lord have mercy," Eva said.

The older woman cradled the cheap gold-plated crucifix around her neck.

Rifle shots sounded in the distance and Lulabelle jumped, then smiled.

"See? Just some hunters putting some fresh meat down. Let's get ready for tonight, y'all."

Not one of them moved from the porch until Archie started tinkling on the piano keys inside the juke.

Pussy poppin' in the whorehouse, music jumping, bodies swaying, lips sucking down moonshine and dark beer, Lula's juke shook on its foundations. Dollar bills came in hand over fist as Lulabelle strolled around the property checking in with customers and hustling Eva to fry up more chicken plates. She rounded the corner of the makeshift stage shaking her hips to the hot sounds when her eyes slid to the entrance and saw Geechie Erik swagger in. Double-breasted gray suit with shiny silver buttons and matching cufflinks. Steel-blue silk tie, and black and gray woven Oxford shoes had the Geechie man draped. Lulabelle already knew he smelled like a million bucks even though she was standing nowhere near him. Erik took off his black fedora hat. He had kicked up the waves on his close-cropped hair, and his lightly bearded cheeks gave him a pronounced sophistication compared to all the clean-shaven military men taking up most of the space in the joint.

His eyes scanned the wide room and when they fell on her, her heart sang a minuet in his honor just to see those dimples in his cheeks. He strode toward her with long confident strides and when he circled his arm around her waist, she shivered at his touch.

"Lulabelle, Lulabelle. You get prettier every time I see you."

He gave her a wet sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she swooned. His scent was expensive leather, imported cologne, and Murray's hair pomade.

"Lemme get you a drink, Daddy," she purred.

"No, let me get you a drink. Stay right here."

He sauntered over to the big counter and within minutes he brought her back a small glass of whiskey to match his own. They toasted, tossed the liquor back, and he led her to an open table in the low-lit corner as bodies pressed together dancing around them. His thick lips were on her neck before she could gaze into his eyes, and his thicker fingers were already under her dress creeping over a seamed stocking, her garter belt, and the bottom of her girdlette. He inched closer to her core.

"Goodness gracious, you already hot down here," he whispered in her ear.

His finger swiped across Lulabelle's panties bringing her clit to life.

"Oh... there it is... my jewel," he crooned before he slid the garment aside and fingered her slit.

Erik had her sopping wet by the time the band switched tunes. Two of his warm fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, making her pant and writhe on her seat next to him.

"You gon' sweat my hair out already!" she yelped reaching for the back of her neck.

Erik flipped his digits over palm-side up and finger fucked her until a puddle of creamy juices flowed out onto her chair. Once her legs shook and she squirmed uncontrollably, he bolted up from his seat and grabbed her hand. His dick jutted out from his pants and he dragged through the side door that led to the wooden bridge and the loving house.

"Get the fuck out," he told a patron having his dick sucked in the first room they came to.

Tweety Pie was on her knees, her bright red lips puckered around a small light brown penis. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Erik and the rigid length straining against his zipper.

Erik whipped out his switchblade and flicked it open.

"Out!" he barked.

Tweety Pie scrambled from her knees and pulled her customer by his hand with his trousers dragging around his ankles to another room. Erik slammed the door shut on the gawking eyes of the other whores and pushed Lulabelle against a mahogany cabinet that held lingerie.

"Turn around."

The snarl in his voice made her spin and toot her big ass out toward him. He dragged the cool blade up against the bottom of her stockings until it dipped just under the hem of her dress. He yanked her dress up around her chest and the sharp blade skimmed across her black satin-covered ass cheek. With just a little more pressure he could break the skin on her fat rump through the material and make her bleed. Erik jerked the blade and sliced her panties off. She gasped and clutched at the smooth wood of the cabinet for balance. She heard his zipper peel down slowly and felt his hands fumble for a rubber.

"You miss Daddy?"

"Yes!"

He parted her folds before she could catch her breath. The fullness stretching her out made her shout his name and grit her teeth. Pumping into her slowly at first, he teased the hell out of her by pushing in deep, then pulling all the way out so that her pussy lips throbbed needing his dick back inside of her.

"I missed this pussy... so much... taking me so deep!"

His switchblade rested on the middle of her naked spine and tickled her skin purposely.

"Take this dress off!"

He helped her wiggle her arms out of it before unfastening her bra with his hands. Cradling her heavy breasts, he made her cheeks clap as his weapon clattered to the floor. His full concentration was on pleasing her body. Rough wide palms spread her ass cheeks wide as he grunted and pushed down on his thighs to hunch over her.

"Lula, shit... Lula..."

Erik gripped her hips and slammed into her before pulling out and lifting her up. He tossed Lula on the soft lumpy bed, undressed, and plunged back into her. The gold in his mouth glinted above her as he thrust harder and faster knocking the breath out of her body.

Her garter belts bunched up then stretched with her girdlette when he pushed her thighs back.

"Big legged girl... mmmm," he groaned.

He shoved his head down to her folds and sucked on her lower lips before spitting on them and sinking his girth back inside her walls.

"Daddy hittin' that bottom yet?"

"You in there... real deep, Daddy."

"Lemme get deeper..."

Her ankles met her earlobes and the heavy pressure from his dick made her cock-eyed a spilling gibberish from her mouth.

"Oh, Jesus!" she yelped when his fists rested on her sides and he bucked into her, slapping his balls against her ass.

Before he could press his mouth into her swollen pussy again to glisten his face, she clenched up around his dick and squeezed it with rhythmic pulses she had no control over.

"That's a good girl... let that pussy talk to Daddy's dick, Lula."

His eyes watched her contractions yank on his length, and when he finished talking her through her release with high praises and slow wet kisses, he pulled off the rubber and stroked himself against her clit. The silky curls of her pubic hairs were wet with her creamy orgasm and became even wetter when Erik splashed hot cum all over her vulva. His shouts of pleasure filled her with quiet confidence.

"That's it Daddy, cum all over your fat pussy."

He hissed when she said that, and his heated glare encouraged more of his release. A thick rope of semen painted her stomach, and he collapsed on top of her with hard ragged gasps.

"God, I wish I could be in this pussy every day, Lula."

"You could," she said stroking the waves on his hair.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling with her.

"Not with the work I do. I try my best to get here when I can. But shit, baby. If I didn't get this pussy for free, I would pay a fortune for it."

She rolled on her side to look at him, happy that he thought of her like that. His eyes were still on the ceiling, but there was a frown on his face.

"She's in the room, y'know. Up there hiding in the corner."

"Don't say that, Erik. You know it scares me."

"If you did what I told you to do, she'd go away."

"As long as she don't start no foolishness around here, I can live with a ghost."

"Can you? Then how come you're scared?"

"She was my friend. I know she blames me for getting away and not her."

"A good coating of haint blue all around the doors would keep her out..."

"I can't. I can't do that to her. If she's just lingering as a ghost, it makes me feel like she can live a little."

"If you say so."

"Let's not talk about her."

His eyes were still focused on the ceiling, looking at Elizabeth, her childhood friend from so long ago. She couldn't see the dead teenager at all.

"She mad?" Lulabelle asked.

"She loves you. It's why she stays around... floating from room to room... following you."

Lulabelle pulled his chin toward her.

"Don't look. Please."

Erik slipped his tongue in her mouth. A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Lulabelle, sorry to disturb you and your Mister, but I need this room," Tweety Pie squeaked out.

"Give me a minute."

Lulabelle peeled the rubber from Erik's dick and tossed it inside some tissue and chucked it out of the window into a well-placed bucket outside.

"You ruined my panties," she scolded as she jumped up to rinse her privates and stomach in lavender water at a large basin sitting on a maple console table.

She dried her folds and fixed her bra back around her breasts.

"Don't need 'em, I'll be back inside of you soon enough," he said.

Pulling her dress back on, Lulabelle tried to fix her hair and make-up in a mirror.

"You look fine," he said zipping his pants.

Erik picked up his switchblade and opened the door.

Tweety Pie had a new man with her, a handsome young soldier with lust in his eyes.

"Pardon us," Erik said as he guided Lulabelle back to the juke joint.

Lulabelle sat on Erik's lap as he joked with some patrons and slammed back shots of moonshine. She fed him cornbread and pieces of chicken bites with her fingers, and occasionally she would bounce on his hardness that rested against her backside. He tortured her clit with occasional strokes under her dress, but he wouldn't let her cum. That would happen later when he was ready to plunder her pussy once more. Tradition held that he would fuck her at least four more times before he disappeared until the next new moon in the future. She sat on that hard meat all hot and bothered knowing he was going to be cruel by plucking at her bud and sticking his tongue in her ear all night. She watched him dance with a few women and flirt while she checked on her women out back and collected her money, stuffing it in her bra.

Erik was a little too handsy with a couple of fancy ladies and she had to check him. He'd become contentious then, argued with her until she argued him down threatening to cut his balls off if he cheated on her. If she pushed him, just a little too hard, his neck would move in a hostile way that put her in her place and made her drip down her thighs. He liked her mouthy and jealous, but not too jealous if he caught her rubbing her ass against some other patron to provoke him. He'd spank her hard and tell her about herself until she stopped being bratty and soothed his ego. That was his way every time he came to the juke. Arrogant. Loud. Threatening other men who got too close to her, then all seductive when he needed her loving once more.

When no one was looking, Erik unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and slid her on top of it raw at their private table. Her dress covered the action, and he lifted her up and down.

"You bet not cum," he ordered with harsh breath.

"I won't, I promise," she insisted with clenched teeth.

She was snug on his dick, and the friction was too much to bear. She clutched onto his knees and leaned forward, dropping her weight on his thighs. The rhythm was perfect until a slender man as tall as a Tupelo crept over to their table and sat down. He didn't seem concerned that he was witnessing a woman getting fucked within an inch of her life in the midst of her own rowdy and lascivious establishment.

The man's face was long, and he had long teeth... and long fingers... and long legs... and a long tongue that lolled around in his mouth. He had skin the color of a soft sunset and one big eye in the center of his face. The music and dancing slowed all around her, and all she could see and hear was the long man with his long deep breaths.

"Lulabelle... Lulabelle..." the slender man said, and the voice that spoke her namesake was not pleasant and inviting like Erik's. It was sinister. Conniving. Filthy to her ears.

Erik thrust up into her walls, and she gasped. The slender man smiled with his long teeth, and his one big black eye blinked and Lulabelle fell forward and down into a vortex of hideous darkness until she landed on soft grass in front of the crossroads that led into the dark woods near her juke joint.

"Lulabelle, hurry up! If we don't go now, we'll chicken out!"

Elizabeth ran ahead of her. Dear sweet Elizabeth, eighteen and glowing with a gorgeous figure and good hair, and the good sense to know that Itta Bena was to be left behind. They were going to New York to become showgirls in Harlem, leaving all that country backwoods shit living behind. No sharecropping or cleaning after white folks for them. They were young. Beautiful. Full of life and ready to see the world. That meant crossing through the woods at the old dusty crossroad just as the sun was setting. The last train outta town was due in an hour. Going through the woods was the fastest route to a new life.

But then the slender man came. The Plat Eye. The Haint that haunted the trees and lingered in the darkness deep inside the woods.

Lulabelle, full of eighteen-year-old spunk, dropped her heavy suitcase and pulled Elizabeth back with a hard tug on her arm.

"Dontcha see him, girl?" Lulabelle shouted.

"Oh, he's just another traveler headed outta here too, pick up your suitcase-"

"It's the Plat Eye. You don't see its face. The one eye? The long teeth?"

"You so silly girl! Look at him... just a man tryna run like us."

"No!"

Elizabeth dropped her suitcase and stood with arms all akimbo.

"If you don't wanna go, then say that, Lulabelle."

"You don't see that monster right there?!" she shrieked, and it startled Elizabeth.

The Plat Eye smirked.

"Fine, stay here then you big baby. Hey, Mister, wait up!"

"Elizabeth!"

An arm grabbed Lulabelle's elbow stopping her from running after her friend.

"Don't move, gal."

The voice didn't have Mississippi in it. It was low country and slower than cold molasses. South Carolina lived in it.

"She done made her choice and if you move one inch, I can't protect you."

Lulabelle didn't turn to look at the stranger. His words were wise, and she did as she was told.

"Elizabeth! Come back!"

"It's too late, Lulabelle."

"How you know my name?"

"I've seen you 'round here before with your friend."

She tried to turn around, but firm hands held her shoulders in place.

"Don't hurt me, Mister."

"Nah, I wouldn't do nothin' like that."

The Plat Eye grew taller almost reaching the height of the nearest tree.

"She can't see what it is?"

"She see what she wanna see."

The thing that was as tall as a Tupelo bent down and opened its tall mouth and Elizabeth stepped into the dark maw...

Lulabelle gasped and her thighs sensed the strong muscles of Erik's legs holding her up once more. He fucked her still, hitting her walls harder. His hands gripped her breasts as he grunted and rolled her nipples with agile fingers. The slender man of her past smiled, his greasy lips splitting wide as he was long. That single eye a tainted monstrosity to behold on its face.

The juke joint partied on, and men filed out through the side door to pay their money for an extra good time with her girls. The Plat Eye reached out for Lulabelle's arm and Erik slammed his switchblade down on the table.

"Nah, haint. This one here belongs to me."

The Plat Eye blinked that Cyclops eye in shock and its mouth fell open.

"Should've known you'd be around here," The Plat Eye grumbled sitting back in his chair.

A clammy wetness dampened Lulabelle's neck. Memory boomeranged back into her chest. The low country voice. The strong hands that held her waist so that he could rut into her pussy.

Lulabelle turned her head and the glint from Erik's gold teeth became a glowing source of ethereal light. The full lips and bright white teeth still looked human but the reverb of hidden power sat under the guttural rasp of his voice.

The man from the Crossroads.

The one who stopped her from entering the throat of the Plat Eye and turning into a floating haint that lived in the ceiling like Elizabeth.

The Geechee Man.

"Ya don't play fair," The Plat Eye grumbled again.

"And?" Erik said.

Erik's firm hands skated up her sides and rested on her shoulders. Lulabelle's pussy squelched on his dick all rude and loud. Plat Eye licked his fleshy lips.

"This here the one I wanted. Not that other one—"

Lulabelle snatched up Erik's switchblade and jumped up from his lap. Her pussy throbbed from being removed from his erection. She held the open switchblade against his throat. Why couldn't anyone else in her juke joint see or hear what was happening?

She knew the stories. All kinds of frightening things could be met at a crossroads. And if the Crossroads Man himself showed up—

"Put that down, Lula. It's not a toy to be played with," Erik said zipping up his pants.

The Plat Eye leaned forward and shot his arm out to grab her, but Erik was quicker. He snatched the switchblade back faster from her grip than she could blink, and he slashed the creature's arm. Black festering ooze seeped from the wound and sizzled as it splashed on the table burning holes through the wood.

"Give her to me," the Plat Eye demanded.

Erik stood up and straightened his tie.

"Nigga you ain't getting shit but an ass kicking if you keep playing with me. I told you already. This one is mine. Get on about yourself before I send you on your way to a very bad place."

"There are rules!"

The Plat Eye leapt to his feet and towered over Erik. Not by much though.

"I make the rules," Erik said.

An arrogant chuckle tumbled out of the Plat Eye's mouth. He gripped the lapels of his suit and blinked that one beastly eye. His open wound continued to drip ruining her good table.

"My man," The Plat Eye said and held up his long fingers to placate Erik.

The creature slid out from the juke joint with no one the wiser. Erik turned to face her and Lulabelle jumped away from him.

"Stay back!"

"Lula... c'mon, baby. I've been coming to you ever since you opened this place. Have I ever harmed you once?"

"No."

"I just give you good lovin' when I can."

"That's why you can't be with me all the time?"

He nodded.

"I guard the way, and I open it up. Everywhere."

Lulabelle ran to the bar and made Eva pour her the biggest glass of moonshine possible. She gulped it down. Erik sauntered over to her.

"Don't be scared of me, Lula."

"What are you... really?"

"Your man."

"You ain't no man."

"I'm no demon if that's what you're worried about."

"God forbid if I'd been fucking the devil."

"I'm no devil, girl. Far from it."

He stroked her face.

"Let's go to the back. I need you... right now."

His voice made her insides tingle. This was their time. But how could she go back and make love to... to a what? Spirit? Guardian angel? Supernatural being?

He never did hurt her. And never once did she suspect that he wasn't anything other than a switchblade carrying Geechie that made her backbone slip.

"Are there others?" she asked, "Others like you around here?"

"Always. But you don't have to worry about nothin'. You got me. No one fucks with me.'

"How come you didn't save Elizabeth?"

"She didn't want to be saved."

"But I loved her. She was my best friend. Why would she leave me?"

"She's still here. She'll never leave until you chase her on."

"Is she happy?"

"Like I told you, she loves you. If you're happy, she's happy."

"God won't punish me for being with you, will he?"

"She won't. I promise."

"What about me selling pussy and a little dick?"

"Not even on her mind."

Lulabelle smiled.

Erik slinked over to her and rubbed his big body against hers and nudged his bearded face against her soft cheek.

"How many women have you seduced over the years?"

"You my favorite."

"That didn't answer my question.," she said putting a hand on her hip.

"You wanna argue or get some more dick, gal?"

Lulabelle checked the room. Her patrons were happy and not having a care in the world. Eva cooked more food, Honey Boy kept the girls refreshed in their loving rooms, and the Harvest moon spilled in through the window behind the juke band.

Moonlight bathed Erik's face and he slid his hand under her dress again.

"Daddy needs to take care of you... oh see now, my sweet jewel is all plump again."

He removed his hand and licked his fingers sticky with her essence. She rubbed on his crotch and he gifted her with a hard bulge. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.

"Elizabeth wants you to get all this," he said grinding against her.

"Can you tell her that I miss her? That I love her?"

"She already knows."

Erik lifted her up and carried her across the rickety bridge and back to the soft lumpy bed.

That's their story, and I ain't tellin' it twice. Lula and her Geechee Man played nice for a long, long time. I keep watch and makes sure that stays true. Until we meet again on the next new moon...

Part 2 "There's Some Whores in This House" HERE.

A.N:

This was a birthday story I wrote for @soufcakmistress back in 2021.

#Ice Cold Jax #killmonger fanfiction #Killmonger AU Fanfiction #Killmonger Smut #Black Panther AU #Erik Stevens AU #Black Supernatural #Uzumaki Rebellion #Black American Folktale

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attapullman · 2 months ago

Text

INTRODUCTION: Just For Tonight One Night Only // series

A commitmentphobe and a serial dater meet in a bar. Then decide to have a one night stand. A relationship just for tonight.

All the paths they lead / To the single solemn place / Then we'll stay for a weekend / And leave without a trace - JUST FOR TONIGHT ONE NIGHT ONLY

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Maggie Brentley (female!OC)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors and blank dni), alcohol, yearning, later chapters will have explicit language, smut, anxious attachment style, and angst

A Note From Mo: Hello, I am nervous about posting my first OC fic! This fic has turned so deeply personal while still being so unbelievably fun and goofy, so I can't believe it's finally ready to share with the world. Enjoy!

ONO MASTERLIST

Nothing is permanent.

But how Maggie Brentley wished some things were. Perfume on the skin. The sunset over the ocean. Her dog’s puppy coat. Not anything too substantial, but the little moments that make life special. A smile to be enjoyed at any time without the sorrow when it leaves.

Her whole life she had looked for something constant. A childhood shipped between military bases, the most consistent part of her upbringing had been the inevitable moving sign on their front lawn. The faces of friends had changed, neighbors had been replaced, and languages had swapped. Maggie just wanted something that was hers. Something that was forever.

And maybe holding onto a dream is how reality happens, sitting at this weathered Navy bar no better than the ones her dad and his colleagues hung out in, wearing her tightest jeans and too much mascara. Living this close to North Island almost felt comforting, all these men in uniform and the smell of engine fuel mixing with the sea air. It was a scent she’d happily enjoy for a lifetime.

Maggie chewed on her bottom lip as she surveyed the crowd. Close-cropped hair, biceps for days, not a scruff in sight. Exactly what she had come for. It wasn’t really a matter of if one of the uniformed men took her home, but which one. But for the love of all that is holy, could one of them please commit to happily ever after?

Her nails tap on the screen of her phone, the godforsaken app open to their messages all week. Some aviator hot shot who promised he could rock her world and show her the sky. His profile said he was looking for a long-term relationship and that was enough for her. When the bar is in the sand, find a guy who flies a plane. Worst case scenario he would buy her a well whiskey and soda and never talk again.

There’s a hand on the back of her barstool and suddenly a thick chest pushes into her line of sight as a man puts his tanned forearms on the bar. “Oh, Penny, my dear!”

He could do. No ring, strong arms, the slick smile of a man who gets what he wants. Maggie’s hands fidget to straighten her top, make herself more open and alluring. The man casually looks to his left, unknowingly taking in the way she sips her sweating drink through its tiny straw and batted her lashes. But his sea glass eyes instantly drop away, uninterested.

The man grabs his beers and heads back to the pool table, his group of khaki uniforms whooping and hollering loud enough to be heard through the bar. Maggie holds back the sigh she desperately wants to let out - a sound of defeat - and focuses again on waiting for her hot shot to text her back. Silence since last night, but her mother had always said she admired Maggie’s optimism.

Any second now.

But when her first whiskey soda turned into two and a small clump of mascara collected under her eye, it was clear that hot shot had found another way to spend his evening. The evil part of her brain hoped it was in the infirmary with a full body cast. Or shipped out to a November in Oymyakon.

The ice in her glass melts a bit more - a sad excuse for a drink at this point - and Maggie knows she’s was avoiding the bartender’s questioning glance. Did she want to stay for a third? Between Hot Shot and the man with the sea glass eyes, any hopes of a self-confidence comeback were slim. Might as well pack it in and go home where at least her couch and dog would love her.

But despite the change Maggie disliked, everything happens for a reason. And that was how when she raised her hand to pay her tab, she accidentally smacked a cup of peanuts right out of some poor, unsuspecting man’s hand right onto the sandy, beer-covered floor.

“I am so sorry!” Her face floods with color as she leaps from her barstool. The man stands dumbstruck. Peanuts in his hand, gone the next. Without a second thought she’s crouching in jeans meant for standing, brushing nuts into the cup and hiding her embarrassment.

Most of the peanuts are swept up when Maggie sees khaki slacks kneel beside her, a large hand outstretched at the mess. “It’s okay, please don’t pick those up. I don’t even like peanuts that much.”

And when she looks up to apologize again - her cheeks hot and blooming with color - the freshest ocean blue washes over her. She didn’t know they made eyes that beautiful. Clear and honest, with a sliver of sapphire at the edges. The crafted frames resting on his nose only highlight their organic beauty.

Words are lost on her lips, the last handful of peanuts falling back to the ground. Of all the Navy men in the world, she just had to hit the one with the prettiest eyes.

Before she’s even fully standing up Maggie’s waving down the bartender. Her elbow comes way too close to his face, another accident narrowly avoided. “Let me buy you another cup, that was full.” This whole situation is a disaster. He shakes his head, promising it’s fine. “Really, I insist.”

Her parents had always said she was too stubborn, too focused on having things how she thought they should be than accepting the world for how it was. Maggie would roll her eyes and say she just believed in fairness. If you destroy a guy’s cup of peanuts, you buy him another. Who cares if he doesn’t want one?

With a hesitant smile, the stranger takes the barstool next to hers. He falls into it, all limbs. She uses the support to hop up into the seat. Her original plans for the night might be dashed, but renewed optimism fills her senses at her new company. His face is warm and genuine. He looks like he steps out of the way for lady bugs. When it came to bed companions, he was looking promising.

“I’m Maggie,” she croaks, her hand shooting into the space between mechanically. Raised by a Navy General, she had a firm handshake before the third grade. Warm, calloused fingers slip around hers, palm zinging at the first touch.

“Bob. Nice to meet you.”

Nothing is permanent.

It was a mantra Bob Floyd lived by every day. Every time he got up into that jet, it could be the last time.

The temporary nature of it all was why he didn’t do relationships. The deployments, the constant moves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home for two holidays in a row. It was not only his own heart, but the hearts of others he was protecting when he said goodbye after a night between the sheets.

Attachments were messy. He was the best of the best, and any self-respecting WSO kept a tidy backseat.

Plenty of squadrons had seen him deploy this method of dating - a girl never seen twice - and joked more than once that his call sign should be “One Night Only”. But he took their jesting in stride and continued to bade his goodbyes in the wee hours of the morning. When nothing was serious, no one got hurt.

So when he made his way back to the pool table and his cup of peanuts was assaulted, there was no harm in a little flirting. She had a too big smile and eyes that begged for conversation. But it was the mischievous grin when she slammed her card down to pay that kept him in his barstool, that familiar itch of want crawling up his spine.

Fresh peanuts in front of him and a full drink in front of her, Bob doesn’t realize he’s completely ditched his group until he hits the bottom of his cup. They’ve talked about different Naval bases they’ve lived on, whether pepperoni or sausage is better on pizza, and for the past few minutes she’s been guessing where his accent is from. She got it right on the first guess, but he’s enjoying watching her forehead crinkle as she goes through all the twangy states in her head.

His mother had always told him he was too set in his ways, that sometimes a little hiccup or break in the routine actually benefitted in the long run. Bob had always rolled his eyes, there was a reason they were called routines. You could have a good time with just about anyone, his years of deployments were proof. Whatever this flirty bar conversation was, he enjoyed the moment for the temporary joy it brought, especially with Maggie’s outraged expression when he revealed where he grew up.

“That was my first guess!” Her hand shoots out and smacks the shoulder of his khaki uniform. The skin is hot where she touched him, a shot of warmth shoots down his arm fueled by flirty tension and whatever peppy retro track is blaring from the jukebox. Just as quickly, she tucks her palm back at her side with an almost guilty grin.

He can’t remember the last time he felt at ease in a crowded room.

Since initially sitting, Bob’s shoulders loosened and he’s practically on top of her with how far he’s leaned over during their conversation. Bright hazel eyes twinkle in the warm light, that mischievous sparkle beckoning him in.

“You want to get out of here?”

While Bob remained composed and lightly put his palm to the small of her back as he led them out, adrenaline rushed his system. The excitement of a new adventure ahead, of the unknown. The same energy as every time his front seater starts the engine.

He heads toward a particularly thick throng of people in front of the entrance and his hand drops to let her go first. Maggie tugs his hand back, linking them together again - a zing of electricity! - and his fingers stray too close to the rounded seam of her impossibly tight jeans. The blood rushing to his lower extremities pleads to find out what those jeans look like on the floor.

It’s an unseasonably warm night, the lightest breeze brushing the surrounding palms and loose sand. The absence of music and bodies and lights out here in the parking lot has Bob nervous. His eyes meet hers and a moment passes between the two amorous strangers. As if waiting for the other to come to their senses.

It’s only one night. I’ll never see you again.

Bob motions to his truck, a small hopeful smile playing on his lips. “I’ll follow you?”

That obnoxiously wide grin splits open and lights up the dark lot. For the next twenty minutes his focus is solely on the taillights in front of him as North Island fills his rearview, her little sedan forking left onto Harbor Drive. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, the combination of road sounds and the staticky radio not enough to drown out his thumping heart.

Blood rushes in his ears when they finally reach Maggie’s stucco-and-terracotta apartment a few blocks from the beach, the red paint on her door peeling. His hand makes its way to her hip - a comforting gesture - as she unlocks the door and lets it slowly creak open. His sapphire eyes meet her hazel in the dim lamplight.

Nothing is permanent, so let’s make the most of tonight.

Now that you've met our players, who's ready for more? Our commitmentphobe and serial dater are almost here with their first chapter (which I promise is longer, there's a reason I made this a prologue)!

Since this is my first OC fic, I'm skipping a taglist and letting this find who wants it. But of course need to tag my babes who have been so supportive with this fic and the journey: @sorchathered @bobfloydsbabe @baezen @roosterforme

#fic: one night only #one night only fic #bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #x oc #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd fic #top gun: maverick fic #bob floyd x maggie brentley #one night stand au #failed one night stand trope

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