Hey, I'm Fallen, welcome to... Chaos. Figured I would make a navigation post for this blog so I, and you, can get around easily. I'm active in the Call of Duty, Transformers, and Marvel/X-Men fandoms (poolverine). I am multi-fandom so you may see something random in between there as well!
I started this blog off of ships and I will be trying to get it revolving around ships a lot more again, because I personally like them more than the current dynamic.
My AO3 is NotSoPassivelyAggressive.
Bluesky is here
Requests are open! I will write for Reader of any gender and (most) sexual orientations. I will write ship fics as well.
Come bug me with absolutely anything, I write for most characters from the Modern Warfare trilogies. Most Transformers characters (except humans).
If you're a minor please don't interact with me in any way as it does make me a bit uncomfortable to see you skulking around. Blank blogs that follow me will be blocked. (No name, no photos, no age etc)
Down below the cut there will be a list of all the current fics, drabbles, and AO3 links on this blog so you can skip right to reading!
COD:
How they are in bed pt1 (all)
Alpha!Ghost x Omega!Reader pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Christmas specials. König, Ghost, Soap, Price,
AO3 fics:
GhostSoap powerplay
PriceGhost aphrodisiac smut. (Trans Ghost)
GhostRoach smut.
Puppy Soap in a rut with his fwb Ghost. (Trans Ghost)
Making it official - OptiRach.
Work arrangements - MegaSound.
Talk dirty to me - WaveWave.
Wants and needs -CrossDrift.
Cowl on, Hood off -Poolverine.
You with me? -Poolverine.
There are 18 fics currently in my AO3 and the majority of them are Transformers. So this is an example of ships you'll find there. Enjoy!
Challenges:
A mile high In hopes. (Aviation pilot Simon)
No name challenge. (Not smut)
Simon 'Ghost' Riley:
Trans Simon Riley, 1, 2, 3 (Male reader)
Man whore Riley test out.
Johnny likes to share. (Johnny/Simon x reader)
Zombie Ghost breeding.
Serial Killer/stalker blurb.
Friends with benefits
Ghost x Virgin Reader
Virgin Ghost x Reader
Sharing is caring - (Ghost/Price x Reader) (Sharing Price's wife)
Zombie Ghost x Reader
Ghost x New hotshot recruit.- (Ghost is determined to make you cum)
Warm welcome - (Ghost comes home to an unsuspecting Reader)
Keep still - (Can't stay still, stuck in a closet with Ghost)
There's no such thing as privacy on the Nemesis, but that doesn't stop the occasional Decepticon from indulging in "organic activities" when they want. But Soundwave finds a particular 'con a bit curious.
A/N: Reader is gender neutral, however, I wanted to try something a little different. Reader is depicted as having both a valve and a spike.
No one has ever questioned the privacy risks of living on the Nemesis, where every camera, microphone and scrap of data that flows through the ship are all connected to one singular mech. Then again, as a simple soldier, you've never had the luxury of privacy. The war was something that took all priority, and no matter what Soundwave saw, it wasn't like he was a mech who would care about any of it.
All of your squadmates fear Soundwave, and to be fair, you were too. He was strong despite his size, and his frame could accomplish a hell of a lot more than it looked like. He was solid and deserved to be at a higher rank than he was.
Your run some errands for him before. You were taller than he was at the helm, but his shoulders were broad enough to fool some people.
You'd never fully considered the repercussions of Soundwave receiving the data that travels the ship. You've never fully considered that whenever you're alone in your corner of the room with your fist around your spike or digits in your valve that he would see. And the one time it did, it only made you ashamed for a moment.
Soundwave had never looked at you like he knew. He didn't emote, just nodded, occasionally hummed in acknowledgement, but nothing more.
The ship was quiet tonight. There wasn't much activity around the base, and most of the soldiers were out in the main rooms drinking energon and wasting the night away. You were in your berth. Your thighs ached, not from all the walking you did this morning, but from something else.
It had been too long, and you couldn't bring yourself to care properly about the camera that was slotted into the wall across from your bunk. It was just to watch everyone, to keep the ship running.
You stared at it as if the moment you touched yourself it would turn on. You dared it too. If it were any other mech, you would probably go through the trouble of leaving the ship to masturbate, but you didn't.
You slowly let your servo slide down to your interface panels and work then open, feeling a slickness already responding. You glanced back at the camera. What if he looked? Even for a moment. What if he saw you? Did he keep any of those recordings? Blackmail?
You swallowed and focused back on your array, coaxing your spike up from your forward valve, the tip slowly leaking. Your thumb digit brushed over the top, and the nodes beneath the head flickered from the sensitivity.
You tugged down, groaning softly when the nodes lit up under the friction of your hand. You glanced at the door, but no one came bursting in. Still stroking your spike, fist twisting up and down slowly along the ridges of the length, feeling more of the fibre strengthen.
You grit your denta and hissed softly when you tug up over the head. Your free hand moved further down between your thighs, two digits nudged the panel open and you pressed them inside the valve.
The nodes lit up with sensation, and the calipers fluttered inside, brushing against your blunt digits.
You bit back a moan, swallowing it in your throat. Your hands worked swiftly, your organs leaked, your valve taking priority. Your third digit pressed inside, stretching the mesh, the clusters of nodes inside lit up, and pleasure shot up through your limbs.
You let a moan slip, your heavy optics fell to your flushed lower body, your thighs spread wider, twisting up and down on your spike, thrusting and curling in and out of your valve.
“S-shit-” you gasped softly, your first defense vents clicking on. The sound of the low vibration, the cool oxygen cycling over your systems, made you buzz all over.
Your gaze shifted up to the camera in the corner. And that little blinking light. You exhaled sharply while your spike twitched. The image of him at the control centre, doing so many things, watching you jerk off. Was he paying attention? Was it just water in the backlogs of his mind?
“Ah-” you glanced back down, tugging the base of your spike, “S-Soundwave-” His name fell from your derma, but you had no sense to correct yourself. More images instantly filled your mind, imagining him getting off too, or those data cables stuffing you full, pulsing inside your valve.
You clenched your valve around your fingers, whimpering as you overloaded. Both your valves shot pleasure to every node in your lower body, fluid oozing from your spike, down your hand.
It was quiet for a moment, left with only the sound of your fans going. You glanced up at the camera, but there was no light. You shook your head and stood immediately, fixing yourself back up. Obviously, you were imagining it. Soundwave had no time for you or any of those stupid activities.
Soundwave–POV
Input: visual feed, berth quarters 07-B.
Status: low-activity cycle.
Primary processes: ship diagnostics, signal monitoring.
A flicker on one of the auxiliary channels catches his attention. An unscheduled movement signature, soft heat blooming against the dark. He adjusts the feed, a habit.
The soldier again.
Soundwave does not “watch” in the organic sense; he observes, categorizes, stores. Every frequency on the Nemesis belongs to him. Still, the frame lingers longer than protocol demands. Breathing pattern: elevated. Field readings: unstable. He recognizes the waveform; he’s measured it before in combat, under stress, in fear.
He should reroute the feed to storage and move on. He doesn’t.
A faint sound breaks the static. His own designation, ‘Soundwave’, uttered low. The audio trace spikes across his sensory board, bright as a plasma arc.
He records automatically. He always records. But for once, the data doesn’t file neatly into its usual folder of voice samples and field reports. It loops and plays back through the private channel in a near-inaudible whisper.
“Soundwave.”
He isolates the clip, filters it for interference. It’s imperfect, touched with static and breath. Organic.
The rational core of him classifies it as irrelevant noise. Another part, quieter, buried beneath the processing hum, labels it ‘curious.’
He doesn’t signal the soldier, and he doesn’t let the feed light blink to life. Instead, he closes the file, locks it behind encryption only he can open, and returns to his work.
For a long time afterward, though, the name keeps echoing faintly in his audio banks, a line of code refusing to shut down. He doesn't address it for many cycles. He never addresses the things he sees unless they threaten the Decepticon cause. Organic behavior doesn't fall under that category.
But it happened three cycles later. Berth quarters 07-B’s camera loop piqued his attention. He switched it into view, and it was a similar scene. They did like organic activities. But he didn't watch. Instead, he categorized. It was mindless data he picked up. When your vents acted, when you twisted your wrist joint, when your fingers twisted inside your valve. These were useless notations of data, but they went into the back of his mind.
Curious.
The day was long. You were tired, and your body was sore. You slowly walked into the bunk room and wandered over to your berth.
You’d spent the whole day half-expecting to feel a gaze on the back of your helm. Every time the comm static fluttered, you wondered if he was there, listening.
By the time you made it to your berth, exhaustion had dulled the edge of embarrassment. You’d almost convinced yourself he hadn’t seen until the door sealed behind you and the room went completely silent.
Then the console screen lit.
—Playback initialized—
A small audio clip, distorted by static: your own voice.
You turned sharply, and that was when you saw him.
Soundwave stood by the console, still as a shadow, visor bright and steady.
“Curious.” He played back in Knockout’s voice.
You stood straight, half expecting him to go back to his work. Soundwave rarely visited the barracks unless he had to fix something directly. But even then, you guys rarely saw him. He rarely couldn’t fix something on the ship from one of his control consoles.
“Is something wrong with it?” You hesitated to ask, looking at the console he was still in front of. Soundwave didn't reply, of course.
He messed around on the console as if you didn't exist for a few moments, then pulled up the audio clip. He didn't need to do it this way.
Soundwave could have done it any way he liked, but he was interested to see how you would handle confrontation.
The audio clipped, eliminating all other sounds. Just your breathy voice, your desperate whisper of his designation, practically begging for him.
Your optics cycled and widened, and you felt a sudden pulse of embarrassment through your frame again.
“You clipped that??” Was the first thing you could think of to say.
“All data is important.” He replied in Shockwave’s voice.
He turned away from the monitor slowly. That visor bore into you, staring you down. You didn't know where he was looking, what he was assessing and why. But that wouldn't remain unanswered for long.
“Why do you simulate organic experiences so often?” It wasn't a voice you recognized that spoke, but it certainly wasn't Soundwave's. Not that you'd heard it, but it didn't match quite right.
Regardless, you felt more embarrassment plume in my chest cavity and lower in your hip plates. He'd been watching you, but you'd known that. You had been hoping he was. Whenever you stroked your spike or ground on your valve, a little fantastical part of you said he was watching.
His data cables released from the plates along his sides and approached you. The little shocks of the feelers as the sensitive heads trailed down your frame toward your valves startled you.
“S-Soundwave, sir-” your voice was quiet, weak, but not like the sound bite he had of you. He wanted that. For research.
“You would have done it again regardless of my presence, correct?” That voice returned.
You stared into the unnerving blank visor and swallowed. Primus, you were doing this… you slowly opened your valves, nodding slowly. “Yes…”
You glanced toward the door, but the moment you did, you heard the override click. No one was getting in or out until Soundwave decided.
At the moment you looked away, one of his data cables had wrapped around the base of your spike. It was a thin cable. The slow data lights pulsed up through the cable and into him. The idea of him getting data from this organic exchange rather than strapping you down and tapping into your processor was… hot.
You shuddered and sat back, and Soundwave could follow your frame. He took up the other section of the berth, but his cable continued to squeeze and pulsate along your spike.
The monitor behind him flickered back to life, but it took you a moment to process what you were looking at. Your own face, your own body, flush and trembling already. And then down at your leaking spike. You could see it perfectly fine, but he could see it better.
The dribble of pre-fluid already rolling down the tip, the twitch it made when his cable pulsed up near the head, the nodes reacting to his, making sensations and pleasures travel down your body.
Soundwave is silent, but he watches. He is interested. Perhaps clinical, perhaps something else. He wouldn't name it.
He tugged your spike, and it made you whimper. Your servo moved down between your legs, but his other data cable shocked you.
“Hey-” You whined. You tugged your servo back, pressing it flush to your chest.
“You are fine. Your condition requires no further assistance.” Knockout's voice this time.
It felt like a whole menagerie of people were watching you get stroked off. You groaned at the thought. Knockout and Starscream and even Megatron would watch as you squirmed and whined around Soundwave’s twisting cables.
Soundwave took stock of the extra pre-fluid that was leaking from your lower valve. He reached his second data cable down there and pressed the panel open, and the feelers experience the soft silicone around the harsh lip of the valve. But no matter, he's seen a valve before. His own is similar, though he rarely pays mind to it.
His cable slipped inside, a surprisingly narrow space for how many digits you usually cram inside. Your thighs tremble, and he evaluates that.
His feelers brush along the clusters of nodes around your channel, particularly at the thick cluster of nodes at the top of your valve, the anterior node pulsating brightly with each wave of pre-fluid.
He pulled out, and his feelers brushed over the anterior node, and then gave it a playful shock.
You gasped and moaned, clenching your thighs together, but it hardly stopped him. He watched you, evaluating. Your derma parted, your optics grew smaller.
It was an expression he rarely saw on other frames, but he found himself… oddly fascinated. Perhaps Shockwave is rubbing off on him.
You watched him work. You couldn't assume anything he was thinking. He'd barely said a word, yet he had your mind in a whirl. His cable was still easily pumping up and down on your spike, and below he nudged your anterior node a few more times before pumping back inside.
His cable could reach further than your digits ever could, and it was incredible. The sensations collided in your lower body and made the pleasure input momentarily go haywire and send sensitivity rushing up your spine.
“S-Soundwave!”
He cocked his helm toward you, but if he was pleased, he didn't show it.
His cable pushed firmly up against the cluster of nodes he'd found, and you moaned into your servo, your thighs clenching and opening several times. Indecisive of the pleasure.
“You are emotional.” Came Megatron's voice.
“No!” you squeaked out, imagining the mech standing over you, watching with scrutinizing red optics as you trembled and leaked. A weak little soldier. “You're just hitting a pleasant spot!” You croaked.
Soundwave didn't reply, but he heard you, because his pace picked up inside you. Stroking hard and pressing his cable in against those nodes. You leaked, your valve clenched around him, and your hips bucked up aimlessly into the air.
“Primus, don't stop there-” you begged.
His other cable tugged down on your spike, your hips twitched and met the movement. The berth squeaked, your servos twisted on the edge of the bed.
You were leaking so much, your optics trembled while trying to process the sight.
Soundwave was interested. Dare he say he was a tad amused? He zoomed in on the way your valve clenched around his cable. You were watching the screen, seeing what he was.
Your valve was slick from all the leakage. The silicone was pliant and puffy under his assault. His cable pressed in and retracted, covered in slick, the pulsing pump of data returning to him, all of it useless information. You liked those spots. You were most sensitive there.
All of your nodes were positioned there, and you produced slick because of those things, and those things made you twitch and whimper. He did the same for your spike, evaluating where you were most sensitive, where you enjoyed being stroked and how.
Your eyes glued to the screen, you moaned into your hand as his cables twisted and pumped without stop. The sensations were building, and you couldn't stop yourself from trying to touch, to aid, but his massive arm came up to block you, surprisingly swift for the small space.
You bucked your hips, desperate to overload. Your fans had turned on a moment or two ago, and Soundwave's cables flared with data. You whimpered. He was going to take this, look it over in the dead of night.
Would his cables do the same thing they do now while he did? Recording your every moan, keeping it in his storage until he offlined.
You whimpered when your overload came. Your thighs ached, clenching with every pulse that spread through your lower body.
Overload spilled down your valve, around his cable, and it was slick when he pulled it out. A thick dribble of overload came from your spike, slowly spilling down over his cable.
Soundwave stood and took a moment to clean his cables, an automatic protocol they all had for things like dust. You trembled beneath him, slowly trying to adjust yourself and clean up while you recovered.
“Soundwave…” you whispered, your breaths heavy.
He watched you for a moment longer, then turned away. “Curious.” He replied in Breakdown’s voice, then walked to the door.
He clipped that sound, got rid of the fans, the hum of the ship, and he rather liked the organic and… human breath that followed his name.
You sat up and glanced toward the monitor. It winked out, but not before you saw a view of yourself from a higher, fuller view.
You looked up, and the camera in the wall’s light was blinking. You were extremely tempted to give him a second round. If he hadn't tired you out.
You lay down and shudder. There was more to Soundwave than he let on.
John is jealous of his sergeants who are already starting families. It makes no sense to be jealous, but seeing his lovely wife again after his deployment makes the fantasy all the more fun.
A/N: I am back from about 4 days of straight go-go-go because of Thanksgiving weekend! So I'm here you go, this was requested by an anon! I wrote this at 7AM because I couldn't sleep any more.
John Price is getting older. He's begun to feel creaks in his knees and a tightness in his back. But that a lack of care for more than his beard could also explain it. Most of the younger men in his squad don't have these problems. Soap already has a kid, imagine that. John had never wanted kids, even when he met Soap's son, and the boy was an absolute sweetheart.
“You're a natural, Captain.” Soap had grinned while John bounced the boy gently on his hip, inspecting the toy he was showing him.
“Ah, maybe in another life, sergeant.”
That's what he had said. But now that he was coming home, he was having second thoughts. He walked inside and took off his hat. His muscles were tired and sore all over. He slowly dropped his bag and tried to accept he was home.
“John?? Love, want a coffee?”
He looked up, and hell, there you were. His beauty of a wife. You smiled softly, approaching in a large sweater of his, slung over your shoulder, the patch of skin making his mouth dry. What was up with him?? He was better than this. He'd just walked in the door. John slowly walked over, neglecting to take off his boots, and cupped your face.
“You're beautiful, you know that?” he said in a husky tone.
You looked up at him and gently cupped his wrist. “So, do you want that coffee??”
He looked down from your face to the patch of skin on your shoulder, down across your lovely top.
“Do you want to have kids?” He blurted out.
You blinked, then laughed a little. “That's sudden.” You rubbed his forearm, leading him slowly toward the kitchen, and he let you lead him.
“I'm serious. We should have kids.” He said while watching you.
“John, we've had this conversation a hundred times; you don't want kids.” But you knew how this went. Every leave. He'd go back to base and talk to his sergeants, doting on their kiddos, and then he'd come home desperate for some kids of his own. It usually wore off in a day or two.
As you turned and started the coffee machine, he came up behind you, slowly stripped off his gloves and slid his hands up under your sweater. “Imagine, you'd be such a wonderful mother…” he murmured.
Your shoulders lifted, warmth spreading through your body. His rough hands left a tingle behind on your skin, and his breath made you shiver. You'd missed him just as much while he was gone, and all this talk about children and how you'd look was making this worse. John was a temptation, a man you would consider having children with, but his job was always the concern.
John kissed your neck, lightly nipping at the skin there, making you gasp. One hand slid down to your pants, easily opening your belt and pushing his hand down.
“John-” you attempted to protest, feeling his large hand squeeze, wanting you out of these pesky things.
“Let a man dream for a moment, love…” He murmured into your skin, his beard scratching softly against the spot. His lips, rough and warm, kissed from your shoulder to the crook of your ear, all while his hands were down your pants.
Your hands froze around the coffee and moved to grasp the counter instead. His rough palm slid beneath your underwear, and two fingers pressed firmly against your clit, slowly rubbing the bundle of nerves in a circular motion.
You moaned softly and pressed your back into him, his fingers making you wet almost instantly. It had been months, and he knew the second he came back that your body would want him. You grabbed onto his hand, barely accomplishing stopping him. “John, can we go somewhere-”
He twisted you so you faced him, and your flushed face met his. His expression was the same, but something in his eyes had changed. He leaned in and kissed your lips, then down your neck, and your heart rate spiked again.
“John-”
“Shh, love. You let me take care of it.” He murmured against your skin, slowly untying the top you wore and pulling it off.
The cool air prickled, but the stronger feeling of his lips around your nipple quickly replaced it.
A gasp and a groan left your mouth, glancing down at him. His rough hand cupped one, while the other was facing the fullness of his mouth and tongue. He sucked like a man expecting some kind of reward from your body. And he'd get it quickly if he kept this up.
Your lower belly was warm, tight, and slick was soaking through your underwear quickly.
You leaned back on the counter and squeezed the ledge. Your fingers combed instinctively through his hair, giving a small tug to pull him back, but he wasn't having it. You couldn't complain.
It became hotter the more you thought about it. John knew you were on the pill. He knew you probably wouldn't get pregnant, and yet here he is, mumbling about babies and getting you pregnant.
He glanced up when you went a little quiet, and to your disappointment, left your breast with a soft pop, a string of saliva trailing between the two. “Something wrong?”
You looked down at him. “You want to get me pregnant?”
“Maybe.” He replied.
“You know I'm on birth control still, love?”
“I know…” His tone became more melancholy.
“You're delusional if you think you'll get me pregnant.” You ruffled his soft brown hair gently. It was teasing mostly, but John Price would find a challenge in your words.
“I'm a man, love.”
Your eyes rolled. “Right. Well, if you're a man,” you squeezed his shoulder, your core burning angrily for relief, for John to boost you onto the counter and fuck you. “Fuck me like one.”
That was all it took. John never backed down from a challenge, and making you see stars was never much of a challenge for him. He picked you up, his strength never faltering, and he sat you on the counter.
“Legs wide for me, love.” He murmured, kissing between them and then tugging your pants down and discarding them on the floor.
“John…” you whispered. Your heart picked up pace again, his fingers pressed to your core, separated only by your soaked underwear. John smiled and also pulled them down, his eyes never leaving yours.
He pulled away, and the lack of connection made you instantly regret speaking. Your core tightened. He was going to ramble again.
He was talking so much today. Usually, he was quiet. Usually, he was quiet for days. But he went to undoing his belt, pushing down the zipper and stepping out of his underwear with them.
His cock bobbed between his thick thighs, half-hard and twitching. A bead of pre-cum rolled down the swollen head and along his shaft. Your eyes met his when you finally looked up from staring at him, and he had the cockiest fucking expression.
“Still think I can't get you pregnant, love?”
You sighed softly and leaned back, opening your legs, showing off for him. “Only if you're better than the birth control.”
He stepped forward, his rough hands held your hips, his torso nudged your thighs open and your legs loosely linked behind his back.
“I can be better.” He rumbled.
He smelled of cigars and smoke, and you breathed in deeply when his cock pressed against your slick slit and then inside. Your legs tightened around him and brought him in faster, more of his length pressing inside you, opening your walls. Maybe you missed him more than your body let on.
His arms encircled you, and his lips found your jaw, kissing you softly as his hips pumped inside you. The slick length should have been too much, but it never was. It’s always just the right length and width to make you go positively crazy.
“John-” you gasped his name when he brushed your g-spot, and another good thrust later he had you. Your legs trembled, but before you could fall, his hands were there to grip them and hike them back up around him.
“Want a boy or a girl?” He mumbled against your neck.
You groaned in pleasure and grabbed his shoulders, nails tempted to pierce the skin of his back. “I don't know, John. I don't care.”
He bucked in fast, and your head fell back, a moan left your lips before you could stop it. He kissed down your neck and collar, and took your nipple back in his mouth, this time the other one.
His pace wasn't jackhammering, but it was quick. His skin slapped against yours, his base pressed up between your legs every time he connected fully. He wanted to get you pregnant.
Hell, he wanted you pregnant. Maybe it was the idea of having a kid, or maybe it was the crazy idea of seeing John light up, happy to see your belly grow round. It was an odd turn-on, but your mouth was moving, desperate, needy whispers for him to come inside you.
He groaned and pulled away from your breast, his pupils dilated and full of something dark and so terrifyingly John.
His hand smoothed over your stomach, giving it a little squeeze. Then your hip, and he kissed you as he moved inside you. Your tight walls clenched around him, and you could feel your orgasm coming, a sensation you knew very well.
John didn't let you pull away as he kissed every inch of your skin, told you how pretty you sounded, how good you felt. “Give it nine months, love… I'll be back for that, promise.” He groaned, his thrusts stuttering for a moment. He was on the edge too.
Your labored breaths met in sync, his warm body crushing on top of you, and it felt good compared to the cool counter.
“I'll be there… in the hospital…” He murmured.
It shouldn't be dirty talk. It shouldn't. And somehow it works, and it makes your body flush warm, pussy clenching around him. He glanced up, and he smiled softly. He'd sold you on the idea, bastard.
You groaned, and before you could comment on the smug look, you were in the throes of pleasure. Orgasm washed over you in hot, pulsing waves. John followed, thrusting in deep and quick, his own orgasm coming, and he didn't pull out.
And then there was only your labored breathing. John slowly pulled out and grabbed some cloth to wipe you up, his heart pounding.
You swallowed thickly and watched him move, your eyes drifting down the length of his body. He returned and gently cleaned between your thighs. And after a moment his eyes met yours, clearer.
Your head felt less foggy the instant you'd cum, and the idea of children suddenly seemed highly unlikely.
You're a brat, constantly disruptive and making life difficult for Captain Price. Ghost has had enough of it and plans to either make you a good soldier or send you packing.
A/N: I know it's the 7th but I don't want to rush these more than I already am. I want to get most of the ones I have planned done, don't worry.
You were always known for being loud and disruptive during briefings. Lacking the awareness to know when to shut your mouth. Everyone on base was used to it. No one pointed it out anymore, since you continued regardless.
A projected image of a map was on display while Captain Price walked back and forth by the board. He pointed toward the top, dragging his finger down as he explained the route that was expected in order to complete the most recent mission on the docket.
“Are we walking or driving?” You asked in the middle of his speech, forcing him to pause and look over the rows of cadets at you.
“We will start in vehicles up to the halfway point. Lieutenant Ghost will then lead the foot march.” He pointed toward Ghost, the massive man who stood silently in the corner.
You glanced over at him, your nails digging into your uniform. "But why can't we just drive all the way? It's gonna be so boring walking."
Price frowned. He looked like he might be better off having a heart attack. "Because, it's safest for the team to go unnoticed, so Ghost will lead you in tactically."
"Ghost is gonna lead us? Ugh, he never talks. This is gonna be so boring." You rolled your eyes. The bit of performance made your adrenaline rise when they looked at you. Even in the dim lighting, you could tell his eyes, dark and intense, weren’t happy when they locked on you through the mask.
"Private R. You can either listen to the assignment or I can make you stay back and give you bathroom duty for the rest of the month." Price said, his voice becoming more stern.
Some of the other soldiers shifted, either uncomfortable or trying not to laugh.
You shrugged and nodded. “Cool.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Ghost spoke up, voice deep and baritone.
“Sir, yes, sir.” You mimicked reluctantly.
You didn't speak for the rest of the meeting, but you could feel Ghost's eyes on you, and your resolve cracked when you occasionally glanced over at him. He was a wall of a man, intense, and someone you didn't want to fuck with.
After the meeting, Price flicked on the lights again and turned off the projector. “Dismissed.”
Everyone stood and nodded. The soldiers moved from their chairs and put their chairs back properly. As everyone filed out of the room, a rough voice called to you. His voice.
“Private R. stay back.”
You turned slightly. Oh, just great. As if he hadn't scolded you already. But fine.
“Yes, sir.” You rolled your eyes before facing him and stepping off to the side to let the others leave.
Ghost waited until the door shut behind the last soldier before he spoke again, low, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the overhead lights.
“Think you’re funny, do you?”
His boots thudded against the floor as he stepped closer. You straightened automatically, the weight of his gaze pressing down harder than his words ever could.
He didn’t need to raise his voice, not when the sheer authority in his tone already made your pulse trip.
“Interrupting Price. Talking back. You think that flies here?”
You opened your mouth, maybe to defend yourself, maybe to make another joke, but the look in his eyes stopped you cold. There was no anger in them. Just something deeper, unreadable… something that made your throat tighten.
He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.
“If you can’t learn to keep that mouth shut during a briefing,” he murmured, “then I’ll have to teach you.”
You swallowed hard, the air between you suddenly too close. The way he stood, the heat, the quiet intensity made the empty briefing room feel smaller, darker. You could almost hear the unspoken dare in his words: make a sound, and you’ll regret it.
“Understood?” Ghost asked.
You nodded too quickly.
“Words, Private.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said, almost under his breath. “Then we’ll make sure you remember that.”
He stepped back, gloved fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve, just enough contact to send a shiver down your arm before he turned and strode for the door. “Follow me.”
You watched his strong back and followed along. There wasn't much else you could do besides disobey him, and you don't disobey Lieutenant Ghost. Though you really wanted to.
"Fine, fine I get it. I'll shut up now." You muttered under your breath, "Asshole..."
He led you down the hallway and into his office. The door closed most of the way, but the lock didn't click.
"You're being way too serious about this."
You move to stand in the centre of the room, expecting Ghost to take a seat and lecture you or give you extra duties to complete for your loud mouth.
But he didn't. He turned toward you before he reached his desk and crossed his arms. Your heart lurched, and your brain quickly tried to connect new dots around his behaviour.
He spoke, breaking your thought process: “You've clearly forgotten what they taught you in basic, Private.”
His hands slowly uncrossed, his hands moved to the belt of his pants, and your eyes widened.
He paused there, thumb sliding in the loop, giving you lots of time to prep. To your own surprise, you didn't move. Something made you stay, made you want to believe this.
He unclipped his belt and tugged off his gloves, snapping his fingers at you. “You're going to bend over the desk, and if you make a fucking sound, I'm going to stop. And you don't want to know what'll happen if I stop.”
He nodded toward the desk, your eyes instinctively following his to look at the hardwood, polished desk, all the paperwork filed away, only a simple pen holder on the far end of it.
A little thrill went through your body, both from the idea of bending over, and the idea of what he'd do if you acted out. This probably broke an entire rulebook of guidelines, but hey, you like breaking rules from time to time.
“Yes, sir.” You replied, mostly insincere, and walked over to the desk.
Ghost came up behind you, allowing you to tug open your belt and bend over. He tugged down your pants, letting them fall to your ankles, and your underwear followed.
He lifted his mask to spit on his hand and then pressed his fingers against your entrance. His rough, calloused fingers rolled slowly around the area, pressing in a finger and easing it down to his knuckle.
You groaned, clenching around him. His finger was thick, and it curled inside you, making parts of you tingle.
“Can you hurry u-UP-” You gasped when his finger twisted, curling hard inside you, making your legs lock up. “Ow!”
“Shush,” Ghost said firmly, his eyes boring into yours beneath the mask. “Not a word out of you.”
You whimpered and slumped against the desk, reluctantly shutting up for him. His fingers went back to relaxed, another slipping in. He lifted his mask to spit in your hole again, stretching you open slowly and steadily.
“Good. Now you're listening.” He said. It wasn't praise as much as it was a statement. He didn't give you the pleasure of hearing him pleased you were finally playing at being good.
His fingers withdrew from you, and you whined in annoyance. Ghost didn't chide you with the sound so much as made you wait a few agonizing seconds without a lick of contact.
Just when you were about to lean up, he spoke again. “Stay. Do not move. I haven't given you any new orders, have I?”
You slumped back down and groaned loudly. “Fine! But you're not being fair!”
His hand came down roughly on your ass. The sting jolted through your body, and your teeth sank into your bottom lip to stop your whimper.
"Ow!"
You heard his clothing shift and his belt being messed with again. Your head remained ducked against the coolness of the wooden desk, heart thudding like you were running on the spot. He knocked your legs further apart, and you obeyed, finding that you had less will to fight.
You glanced back, and just off to the left, the door, still open. The hallway was alive. You could hear people walking around and talking through the door.
“You didn't close the door.”
Ghost didn't look away from what he was doing. He spat on his hand and slowly stroked his dick, unbothered by the situation. “If you're quiet, there should be no reason to close it.”
Anger rose like a spike in your stomach. You raised your head and glared back at him. “Are you insane?? Anyone could walk inside and-!”
He grabbed your head and pushed you back onto the desk. Not intending to hurt, but to assert power. He was showing you now is the time to listen.
“If you can't trust your superiors, you'll make a very unreliable soldier.”
You grumbled in protest, but he ignored your huffy rant and instead pressed his cock head against your warm entrance.
“If someone comes in, it'll be your fault, Private. So I'd stay quiet.”
You glanced back at the door, barely slit open, not an inch of space. Someone passing by shouldn't see, but if they decide to disturb the Lieutenant for any reason…
You swallowed and bit your lip around your moan when his length slid inside. Your feet raised, heels up to brace against his hips meeting yours.
It stretched you, the slick thickness pressing into your walls, adding pressure to places you hadn't been aware of before.
“Holy-” You swallowed again. You didn't want to get caught or to raise any suspicion of what was going on.
The military could easily dismiss you for this. Captain Price would probably cover for Ghost, but you? He probably wanted you out too.
Ghost gripped onto your hips, grunting softly as he moved in, then out. Slowly in and out, dragging out the motions. Agonizingly slow. You couldn't tell if he actually fucked like this or if he was just being a shite to you.
He looked intimidating and rough, but if anyone paid attention, he was always gentle with his soldiers. It made tears prick your waterline. The slow pace was even harder to deal with than something brutal and fast.
Your hole clenched, and you tucked your head into your arm, breathing out harshly into the fabric of your sleeve.
Ghost's left hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair, giving the base of your scalp a little tug. “You with me, private?”
Your eyelashes fluttered, your hole clenched tightly. You wanted to be quiet, wanted to keep people from hearing. But you wanted to impress him. You wanted to be noticed by your lieutenant. And wasn't that always what it was? Was there a recognition more than his cock sliding slowly in and out of you, his hand in your hair?
Yeah, there was. And you wanted it. You wanted praise. To be a good soldier…
“Yes, sir…” you whispered through a shaky exhale.
Ghost hummed softly and tilted his head ever so slightly. He stopped gripping your scalp and instead brushed some of your hair away from your ear and nape, almost affectionately combing it back from the side of your head. “Good. Keep still.”
He brought his hand back to your hip and picked up the pace. Ghost gave you a little more length, a little more speed, but kept the same motion with his hips. He slid forth, then back, rocking like a boat along harsh water, and it made your knees weak.
You were warm between your legs, dripping from the pace, the way he moved with you instead of against you.
A moan escaped your lips, and when he chided you with a ‘shh’, your instinct became to swallow it, to hide it.
You teased your lip with your teeth, arching back into him. He responded in mind, bending over you a bit more, his hands bracing on the desk on either side of your waist.
“Good soldier.” He whispered. “Told Price you wouldn't be hard to train.”
His warm breath against the top of your spine and your shoulder blade made you tremble.
You liked when their eyes were on you, when Ghost and Price would pay attention to your outbursts, their eyes would darken, their jaws would tighten. They'd chide you for being so childish and interrupting them. They'd pay attention for a few delicious seconds, and you were no longer a face in the crowd.
“Poor soldiers don't impress me,” Ghost said through another thrust, his large hand gripping the desk- it held impressively.
“Good soldiers? I like a good soldier.” He said near your ear. It made you shiver, made the warmth between your thighs worse. And you were suddenly very aware of how close you were to coming. How much you needed to.
“I want to be a good soldier…” you replied weakly. “I wanted attention-”
“I know.” Ghost said roughly, his thrusts returning to deep, agonizing drags of his cock inside you, letting every bundle of sensitive nerves get a taste of him.
“A good soldier is willing to learn,” he smirked under his mask, feeling you clench and twist and tremble beneath him. You weren't fighting or talking back. You were being so good to him. “And look how much you've learned.” He patted your hip.
“That's a good soldier.”
His deep voice near your ear, husky and praising and so proud, made you crack. Your thighs trembled, and you felt your orgasm, a warm heat.
It wasn't violent, but it was satisfying. Rolling through you like waves lapping desperately at the sand, milking his length of every inch for more.
He grunted, leaning up on his fists, watching you move. “Fuckin’ hell…”
But he didn't stop you. You'd been good, he'd let you have this little reward.
You groaned, relieved breaths passing your lips as you rode it out. He bucked back, biting his mask to keep his sounds from getting too loud, and he pulled out, coming into his hand.
“Cheeky little thing…” he watched you slump against the desk, hole clenching and relaxing, still a little buzzed.
He smirked and cleaned himself up with some tissues from his desk, and did the same with you.
As he cleaned your thighs, and between them, he leaned over to your ear.
“Don't let this go to your head, private.”
You panted and smiled softly, feeling the thrill of being
seen, of being noticed, of being praised for being good.
You're new to the X-men, and not everyone knows it but Deadpool has a little tradition of breaking in new members he takes a liking to. Logan can't let him break you, so he plans to supervise. And maybe get involved.
A/N: Deadpool occasionally calls you "kid/kiddo" but all characters depicted are over 18.
You zipped up the collar and tugged the sleeves down until they fit your wrists properly. Today was your official first time in the X-Men, and you were more excited than you wanted to let on. You'd gotten to know Storm and Nightcrawler over the weekend, and you clicked pretty well together.
You opened the door and startled when you saw two people in your room. Logan, the Wolverine, and a figure you could recognize even if you didn't know him well, the red suit was enough. “What are you-”
“Ooh, Logan, is this the kid??” Deadpool leaned off the wall, cocking his head when he looked at you. “Nice set of jammies you've got there. Very fitting. Do you guys do spandex too??”
You slowly nodded and glanced toward Logan to see if he was going to jump in at any point. Logan did not.
“Look, kiddo. Logan was telling me about your mutant abilities, and I was happy to inform him that upper management is coming to make sure you're in top shape.” He walked over to you, sneaking behind you.
You turned with him, coming nose to nose with the mercenary. “We don't have upper management. If you want, you can talk to-”
“Boo, nope. Not my style.” He turned on his heel to face Logan. “Are you kidding?? This is what I have to work with?? When I heard about powerful muscles, I thought of Gloryhole Tammy, not Rule Following- FUCK.”
Logan sighed, disappointed in both of you. “Do whatever the hell you want, bub. Just get his consent first.”
Deadpool leaned in toward you. He smelled of spandex and gunpowder. His breath escaped the mask, and it was warm, curling up along your face, and he grinned behind it. “Do I have your consent?”
You blinked. This didn't feel right. You glanced at Logan, then back at Deadpool. Was this some kind of initiation you didn't know about?? No. From the way Logan is acting, this isn't something that happens often. But the Merc is in your room, in your face, practically breathing down you like an animal.
“Consent for what?”
His shoulders dropped, and he grumbled on about how having sex with adults who don't consent is illegal and he could go to prison for a really long time for trying to butter your hole without your prior awareness.
“So do you have a safe word, princess? I prefer Unicorn. Makes it nice and distinct. Unless you're a freak, but join the club.”
Then it clicked in your head. Unsure why it didn't click sooner, maybe because the scenario was just so absurd. “You're asking to have sex with me.”
“Bingo! On the money! So what do you say, kiddo??” He clasped his hands together. “Want to shake on it? Come on. I'm in a bit of a time crunch, and Logan wants me to do a good job.”
“I want you to fuckin’ leave…” Logan grumbled. But also didn't move to remove Deadpool.
“Alright. Bend over, princess, let's see what treasures we hide.”
“Hoold on.” You pressed your hands to his chest to keep him from coming impossibly closer to you, your fingers squeezing the leather slightly. “Surely there is a better way to do this?”
You were hesitant about having sex with a random man you've never met. Some people don't have that kind of limit, and you'll congratulate those who chase their pleasure anywhere the cookie leads, but you're cautious. I mean, he is a renowned killer throughout Canada and most of the U.S.
Deadpool bounced his head from side to side in contemplation before landing on an idea. “Oh, I know how to settle you in.” He lightly tapped your chin. “Don't I know it, princess.”
“Ok, can we drop the princess thing?? Please?”
Logan sighed softly. And there's confirmation. Deadpool has his mark. And he won’t drop it.
Deadpool didn’t back off when you pressed your hands against his chest. If anything, he leaned harder, voice dropping to a low, amused rasp.
“Better way? Oh, sweet summer child. There’s no better way. There’s only my way- well, technically my way and Grumpy Cat’s way.” He jerked a thumb toward Logan without looking away from you. “And trust me, his way involves a lot more glaring and a lot less lube.”
“Wade,” Logan growled, tone a warning.
“Relax, Daddy Issues, I’m getting to the fun part.” Deadpool cocked his head, mask shifting as he smirked. “So, what’s it gonna be, rookie? You bend over nice and pretty, let us break you in, we call it an initiation. Or…”
His hand dropped casually to your belt, snapping the buckle with practiced ease. “...I keep calling you princess until you’re begging to be treated like one.”
Your breath hitched despite yourself.
Logan sighed as though someone had forced him into babysitting duty, and he wanted to leave, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped forward, his shadow falling across both of you, and hooked a finger under your chin. His eyes burned into yours. “If you’re in, you’re in. You say yes, we don’t stop until you can’t walk straight.”
Deadpool hummed, clearly delighted. “God, I love it when he talks dirty. Gets me every time. Say yes, sugarplum. I already made space in my calendar for spit-roasting and moral corruption.”
You look at Logan. His rough stubble and intense eyes make something inside you twist. You'd always acknowledged he was attractive. Hell, you'd wondered how much of the team had gotten their hands on him. It made you feel hope and jealousy all at the same time.
“Fine.” You conceded.
Deadpool chuckled and squeezed your hip, his hand trailing across your crotch, giving you a playful slap and making you gasp. “Good! Let's get to stretching, sugarplum. I have a feeling you're going to need the lube.” He teased.
Logan's hand traveled from your jaw to your neck, and his thick hand pinched the soft flesh there, and he led you to a chair near the center of the room.
“Careful!” You choked when he bent you over. Your knee scraped against the leg of the chair, dipping into the springy cushion, your hands gripping the edges to hang on. Deadpool's gloved hands traveled over your ass, smacking your backside sharply.
“Let's see if you can impress me, kiddo.” He unbuckled your belt and shanked down your tight pants. Blush crept across your cheeks when the cool air touched your skin and Deadpool's excited little chuckle filled your ears.
“Oh ho ho,” he hooked his finger in the thin strap clinging to your hip. “We hit the jackpot, wolvie. You are a little pervert, aren’tcha?” He grinned and drew the string back, snapping it. The sting warmed your flesh, making you gasp and grip the couch.
Your chest tightened, and butterflies fought desperately in your stomach to escape. Your dick strained against the front of your underwear, barely contained by the sleek fabric.
“Just get on with it.” Wolverine replied roughly.
Deadpool tugged up his mask, moving around behind you, his hands sliding up over your ass and down along the curve of your strong thighs. He tugged the string aside and rubbed his padded thumb against your hole.
“Hey! Take the fucking gloves off-” you protested, but his thumb only pressed in more firmly, pushing past the first ring of your hole without accommodating you with lube.
“Ah, ah, princess. You're the one bent over begging for it. Be grateful I'm giving you anything. After all. I could let Logan have you, and then you'd really not be walking.” He laughed.
You grit your teeth, a bead of sweat dripped down your brow, both from the aforementioned fluttering stomach and tight chest, and from the leather pressing into your ass. Eventually Deadpool let up and stripped his gloves off.
“Alright, sugar bear, you're holding up nicely. He spat in your hole, making you clench and tense up. He rubbed it around with his thumb and reached into one of his belt pockets, a small lube bottle hidden inside.
“Always have this little wonder on hand. Never know when you'll need to get involved in a threesome. Guns rarely fit well without lube.”
“You're insane…” you grit out, glancing back, but Logan's thumb pressed into your throat and kept your head bowed forward.
“Head down, ass up, pretty boy. That's how sluts take it. We’ll teach you.” Deadpool chimed.
Heat filled your face, and your struggling lessened slightly. This was humiliating.
Deadpool hummed behind you, the sound almost gleeful. “Oh, I love that look. Embarrassed, red-faced, trying not to rut against the chair like a desperate little bunny. Don’t worry, Wolvie, he’s got potential. Grade-A slut material right here.”
Logan’s grip tightened on your throat, forcing your eyes down to the wood floor beneath the chair. “Stop squirming. You’re gonna take what you're given.” His voice was gravel, cutting straight to your gut.
Deadpool drizzled lube over his fingers with an exaggerated pop of the cap. “And by given, he means me. Consider me the fun uncle of this threesome, here to ruin Thanksgiving dinner.”
One slick finger pressed into you without hesitation, making your back arch. “Christ, you’re tight. Like—like a vice grip. Like putting my dick into a coin slot at the arcade, but without the free gumballs.”
“Shut up and stretch him out already,” Logan muttered.
“Don’t rush the magic, grumpy,” Deadpool sing-songed, curling his finger until you gasped. “See that? That’s the sound of progress. That’s the sound of our boy here realizing he likes being used.”
He slid in another finger, scissoring you open while his other hand smacked your ass again, the sting making you jolt.
Your face burned, your cock straining against the front of your underwear, pre-spotting the fabric. Logan noticed. Of course he noticed. He leaned down close to your ear, his stubble scratching your skin. “Pathetic. Hard already and he’s barely touched you.”
Deadpool snorted. “Oh, don’t be jealous, Wolvie. He just appreciates my charm.” Another hard thrust of his fingers made you cry out, muffled by Logan’s palm pressing your head into the chair cushion.
Your throat burned under Logan’s palm, the weight of his hand keeping you pinned as Deadpool’s fingers scissored and curled inside you. Every drag made your cock twitch helplessly against the chair, the friction of the cushion cruel.
“God, listen to you,” Wade crooned. “Moaning like I just promised to buy you dinner first. Don’t worry, cupcake, I’ll settle for a Happy Meal toy and a handy under the table.” He shoved a third finger inside, stretching you until your knuckles went white gripping the chair.
Logan’s lips ghosted over your ear, his voice a low growl. “You’re gonna split when I put my cock in you.” He tugged your head back just enough for you to meet his eyes, those amber irises sharp, almost feral. “And you’re gonna beg for it.”
“Bet he will,” Deadpool chimed, pumping his fingers mercilessly. “Bet he’ll take us both. Ever done that before, Bambi? Two cocks, one tight little hole? No? Oh, first times are my favorite. Like popping the cork on a really expensive bottle of champagne- messy, bubbly, but oh-so worth it.”
You whined, your body betraying you, clenching around his fingers. Logan noticed immediately, his free hand sliding down to palm the bulge in his jeans. He pressed it against your hip so you could feel the thickness straining there.
“Hear that? He’s already squeezing down like he wants it.”
Deadpool withdrew his fingers suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. “And he’s gonna get it. Ooooh, teamwork time!” He undid his belt with an obnoxious jangle, tugging his suit down just far enough to free his cock. He slapped it against your ass with a wet smack.
“Front-row seat for the Logan & Wade DP Show, starring you, lucky boy. No refunds.”
Logan shifted behind you, his hand finally leaving your throat to fist in your hair instead. He yanked your head back and spat, low and commanding: “Open your mouth.”
Your lips parted on instinct, and he pushed his cock against them, dragging the blunt head across your tongue. The taste of salt and sweat hit you as he eased in.
Meanwhile, Wade lined himself up at your hole, rubbing the head of his cock against your spit-slick rim. “Deep breath, sugarplum. One, two…” He thrust forward, forcing himself inside inch by inch. “... three! Oh, fuck, yeah! Tighter than Wolvie’s wallet.”
Your body jerked, choking on Logan’s cock as Wade buried himself halfway inside. Logan groaned above you, hips rolling shallowly as he fed you more. “Don’t fight it. Take it. Both of us.”
Deadpool groaned too, pressing flush against your ass now, fully sheathed. “God, you’re a perfect little cocksleeve. Look at that- stuffed front and back. Bet you won’t last five minutes.”
Your muscles ached, but you clung to the chair. Logan pressed his thick cock into your throat, your tongue pressing up along the veins with effort to know the thing in your mouth. Behind you, Deadpool’s slick length pushed effortlessly inside, the lack of hair on him making for an interesting sensation.
“Don't sell us out yet, pumpkin,” Deadpool grunted, his hands digging into your hips, keeping your arched back pulled onto his dick while Logan tried to tug you onto his.
“I've never minded my donuts with a little extra filling inside.” He winked at Logan, making the man growl low in annoyance.
“I'm never doing this with you again.”
“Sure you are. You're a hotter slut attractor than the fresh chicken stand at Costco.” He chuckled. “And trust me, this one is promising, right, baby??” He leaned down toward your face, your sounds coming out choked and muffled around Logan.
“Sorry, babes, can't hear you over all that dick in your mouth.” He thrust in deeply, making your back arch while your muscles already ached. The chair creaked, your hips pressed over it, feet grappling for purchase.
Your hand flew out and grabbed onto Logan's hip, trying to grab anything to hang onto. His rough hand grabbed yours and tugged it away from him, holding your head by the bottom of your chin, saliva drooling down over his fingers.
“You just focus on sucking.”
It was a small scold, but it made your stomach twist and burn. Your cock twitched, dragging against the arm of the chair, pre-cum drooling down the side, soaking your underwear.
Deadpool smacked your ass again, rutting his hips into you. His hand wrapped around your hip, fingers tracing the outline of your cock.
“Ooh, someone's wet his panties~ someone should tell Chuck his newest arrival is lacking a bit of resolve. Or maybe we're just that good.”
You moaned, tilting your head to take Logan's cock, your throat relaxing slowly, allowing more of it to press into your throat. The oxygen begging to reach your esophagus burned your sensitive throat.
You closed your eyes, focusing on the rocking motion from front to back, Deadpool's hand stroking your dick, his thumb rubbing the tip, adding to the impossible amount of stimulation your body was trying to process.
You moaned, nails digging into the chair's fabric, tearing it open. Deadpool giggled and looked down at your tight hole clenching around his cock, sliding in and out, the lube making each slide easy and slick.
Your vision blurred as Logan bottomed out in your throat, his growl vibrating against your lips. “There you go. Take all of it- fucking take it.” His grip on your jaw was bruising, forcing your mouth open wide enough to swallow him whole. Spit slicked your chin, dripping onto your chest in obscene strings.
Behind you, Deadpool’s pace grew erratic, thrusts sharper, harder.
“Ohhh, look at this greedy little toy,” he panted, watching your hole swallow him down to the hilt again and again.
“Stuffed full front and back and still crying for more. You were made for this, baby. A real team player.”
Your body burned, hips rocking helplessly between them. Deadpool’s fist pumped your cock in quick, sloppy strokes, thumb teasing your slit until your whole body jolted. Logan shoved deeper into your throat, his cock twitching against your tongue.
“You’re choking so good on me,” Logan snarled as his hips ground forward until your nose pressed against the rough hair at his base. He groaned, low and guttural, the sound scraping down your spine. “Gonna come down that throat if you don’t- fuck-”
Your stomach twisted tight, and with Deadpool’s filthy hand dragging you mercilessly, you broke. Your orgasm ripped through you, cum spilling hot into your ruined underwear, coating his hand and dripping onto the chair.
Deadpool laughed wildly, rutting harder into your overstimulated hole. “Fuck yes, that’s it! Milked him dry like a good little cockslut. God, you’re clenching- shit, gonna-” His hips stuttered, and with one last brutal slam, he spilled inside you, warmth gushing deep inside you.
Logan didn’t let up. He growled, pulling your head tight against him, cock throbbing as he came down your throat in heavy spurts. You gagged around him, throat working to swallow it all as his release burned its way down. His hand in your hair loosened only once he was sure you’d taken every drop.
Deadpool slumped against your back, chest heaving. “Best. Initiation. Ever.” He gave your ass one final smack, cum dripping down your thighs as he slowly pulled out. “Welcome to the X-Men, cupcake. You passed the oral exam with flying colors.”
Logan grunted, tucking himself away and glaring down at you like you weren’t still dripping and trembling on the chair. “You made it through. Don’t make me regret it.”
Deadpool leaned in close to your ear, voice playful but hot. “So… round two later? I have so many ideas right now, you've got my crazy, sugar plum."
You were dizzy, your crotch was warm and fuzzy, you needed a moment before you considered a second round of anything.
You work as a ring girl in the same underground fighting club where Vi has made her mark. You've gotten used to the routine of helping the rough and tough fighter, but tonight is different, and Vi is getting handsy.
A/N: Should I have started writing this a week ago? Yes. Will I do all of Kinktober? Who really knows. Have some Vi smut.
The room smelled of sweat and blood, two things you'd gotten used to over the last few months here. The battles were always intense, and the blood was plenty. You stood near the cage, a towel clutched in your fists, your knuckles ached from the tension in the fabric, you would soak it in your own sweat. You'd seen her fight a hundred times before, but you still tensed up with every hit.
Vi slammed her wrapped fist into the jaw of the man in front of her, spit flew from his mouth, beads of sweat landed across the floor and blood dripped from his broken nose. Her muscles flexed, biceps relaxed and moving, her back rising and falling with her breath.
The man plunged his fists to retaliate, and it made your heart lurch, twisting the towel so hard it might rip. But Vi was ready, dodging the closest wild attack and punching him in the back, sending him crashing to the ground. Dust and sweat spilled up into the air, and she dug her foot into the man's back.
She was facing you now, her chest heaving, the bandages holding against her chest, her muscles were amazing. Her face and neck were slick with blackout paint, having melted down her body with her sweat.
The match was called, and the referee raised Vi’s hand, letting the crowd see their victor. Some roared, others booed her, your body moved, your heart lurching in your chest while you climbed up to the ring.
“You did well.” You said.
Vi took the towel from you, wiping her face roughly before tossing it back. She leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "Too close for comfort, huh?"
Her hand came up to grip your chin gently but firmly. "You worried?”
You swallowed, feeling the warmth of the grime on the towel. You shouldn't want to squeeze it as much as she does. But it comes from Vi. She's strong, she's incredible. It's dangerous around her, everyone has their rumors about what she's like.
"No. It's just... intense." You said, feeling her heart lurch at her warm touch.
Vi snorted, releasing your chin and stepping back. She flexed her muscles, cracking her neck as she stretched. "Intense is putting it lightly. That guy was a beast." She smirked, and your eyes drowned in her body.
The warmth that filled your chest flooded your mouth, your body producing more saliva than usual. Stop that, no, you're her assistant. Or, sort of like that.
“You should rest, you've been doing this for a while. It's probably best to take a break.” You tucked the towel under your arm. Vi's expression softened slightly at your concern.
She sighed, running a hand through her sweat-soaked hair. "Fine, fine. You're right.”
Vi passed you, her shadow falling over you, the warmth radiating from her body nearly touching you, your eyes slid up to watch her pass as if this moment was in slow motion. As they walked, she called over her shoulder, "And get me something with extra protein.”
She left for her room, and you left to go get her something to eat. There was a food bar set up for people who came to watch the fights and for those participating. But sometimes the guy there could be a jerk.
He winked at you when you came over and ordered, staring down over the edge of the bar at you. Sometimes you forget the clothes you wear show so much skin because of how hot it gets in here.
The skirt clung to your hips, barely considered a belt the way it ate into your thighs. The top had a little more flare, allowing for oxygen up along your sweltering ribcage.
“Hey sweetheart.”
“Not interested, Rex.” You replied cooly as you took the plate of food from him.
“You're lucky you're pretty!” He yelled after you. “Or I’d be charging that ass extra!”
You rolled your eyes and walked right back to Vi’s room. A mural of colors, stickers, and paint covered the door. You knocked once and then slipped inside to find Vi laying prone in bed with her pillow covering her sweaty, dirty face.
“Brought you food.”
She flicked the pillow away and looked at you, she was tired, that much was sure. You walked over and placed the food down on the table next to the bed. You didn't want to push your luck tonight. She took the food with little enthusiasm and began shovelling it into her mouth.
She didn't seem to care that you were there, watching her messily consume the protein provided to her. You couldn't blame her though, the food only got so good around here, even for reigning champions.
Vi finished eating and flicked her fingers at the plate before flopping back down on the bed. Her chest rose and fell, you knew you shouldn't be looking, ogling her like you were. But her body was strong, the jeans, the wrap around her chest, all of it made your cheeks warm and your heart lurch. The admiration was dangerously dangling over a precipice of another feeling, lust.
She exhaled slowly and looked up, her eyes meeting yours. “What? You gonna keep watching me like I’m still in the ring?”
You blink and meet her gaze, she's smirking now. She sits up, tilting her head, her sharp eyes glancing down, then back up to your face.
“C’mere, princess.” She crooked her finger toward you, warmth flaring up in your stomach. You slowly approached, and she reached out, grabbing your wrist.
She wasn't rough, but she wasn't gentle either, guiding your hand exactly where she wanted it to go. She brought your hand to her thigh, feeling the flex of the thick muscle under her pants. They were wide and firm, warm from the exertion of her fights.
“You like these, huh? Go on then. Don’t be shy.” She teased.
Your mouth felt dry, your fingers splayed over the muscle, squeezing timidly. Vi adjusted. She didn't bite, but her sharp eyes watched you as you touched her.
“There you go…” Vi smirked.
Your hands slide up her thigh to her hip, feeling the warmth beneath her clothes. You couldn't believe you were doing this. Would she stop you? Direct you? Scold you if you touched her too much.
It didn't seem to matter. You'd spent so long watching her in the ring, honing her body day after day, taking down men twice her size, winking at you from under the bright, flickering light.
Vi’s smirk deepened as you squeezed her thigh, and she leaned back on her elbows like she was giving you a front-row seat.
“Mm. That’s it. You’ve been staring long enough- ’bout time you put those pretty hands to work.”
Your fingers dug in firmer, mapping the muscle through her pants, and Vi flexed beneath your touch just to make you gasp. She liked that. Her chuckle was low, smug, but when your hand slid higher to her hip, her eyes softened, heat sparking where her gaze held you.
Your fingers teased at the top of her jeans, trembling slightly from the anticipation of it all.
“Don’t stop there. I work my ass off for this body, princess. You better appreciate all of it.”
Her words burned down your spine. You shifted closer, pressing your knees to the edge of the mattress, both hands traveling up and down her thighs now. The heat radiating off her was intoxicating. You couldn’t help but bend down, pressing a tentative kiss to the firm swell of her thigh.
Vi’s breath hitched, quick, and then she laughed quietly, but it was breathless.
“Oh, you’re dangerous.”
You trailed kisses higher, tasting sweat and salt through the fabric, your lips and hands greedy for her. Every inch you touched made her twitch, made her thighs tense like she was holding herself back from grabbing you and grinding you down then and there.
But she let you worship. She let you linger.
When your hands skimmed up to her stomach, her bandaged chest rising with shallow breaths, Vi caught your chin again, tilting your face up to hers. Her thumb stroked your cheek, and her cocky grin gentled.
“Didn’t know my girl was such a worshipper. Gonna make me cocky, y’know.”
You flushed, lips parting, but Vi was already tugging you higher, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her thigh slid between yours, pressing up against you, unyielding muscle where you were soft and needy.
Vi’s eyes glittered when you felt a shiver run through you.
“That’s it. Ride me, princess. Show me how badly you get worked up watching me fight.”
Her hands clamped firmly on your hips, grinding you against her thigh, slow at first but with steady force. Every flex of her muscles dragged against you, heat building, your own breath catching as you clung to her shoulders.
Vi kissed your jaw, your neck, her teeth grazing as she muttered against your skin, voice rough and hot, “Knew you wanted this. Knew it the second I caught you staring.”
Your lips parted, soft, trembling moans left your lips as your core ground down against her thigh, the thick muscle pressed against your clit, stimulating you more than you would have thought. Your own legs trembled a little, a wet spot soaked through your panties, slick and warm against her leg.
“Fuck…” She had a glint in her eye, watching you slide your hips along her thigh, dragging the slick of your panties against her. The wetter you got, the less friction you found.
Your hands braced on her biceps, squeezing the muscle there, nails scraping lightly against the sweat of her body. She chuckled softly, her hands adjusting along your hips, bracing you and forcing you to keep riding. “Easy, princess, I got you.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, your thighs clenching around hers, a throbbing ache started in your core. The soft warmth, tortured by her firm muscles, makes you tremble and moan against her.
She flicked her hair back and slowly released you, wanting to see you do it on your own.
“Ride it, I know you can, good girl.” She grinned, sharp and knowing. She tilted her head to the side, and one of her rough hands reached up for your top and pushed it above the soft tissue of your breasts.
“Look at these. Now there's a pretty body.”
“Vi-” You gasped, her thumb brushing over one of your nipples. You braced her thigh, hips stuttering through the motions against her. You were soaked, face flushed, your whole body felt hot and you couldn't hide it.
“Easy. Keep going.” Vi encouraged you. Her rough hand cupped your breast, squeezing and brushing her thumb over your nipple, rolling it smoothly.
You dug your nails into her jeans, your hips flicked desperately back and forth now, chasing stimulation desperately, wanting nothing more than to reach the peak of the high and come crashing down on her.
She's incredible, she smells of grime and sweat, and somehow it's intoxicating when it's her. Her eyes are sharp, and you can't tell if they're patronizing you or encouraging. Either way, it's hot, and you don't want to ruin the moment.
Vi grabbed your hips again and continued to guide you, grinding your clit down on her, her muscles ache beneath you, not from the strain, no, her core is about as hot as yours. Seeing you on her, gasping softly and trembling, wanting to get all the stimulation possible, greedy for it.
“Oh-” You gasped, the sound barely leaving your throat before your thighs clenched like steel around her. She twisted your hips effortlessly, pulling multiple desperate moans and pleas from your lips as she dragged your core across her thigh.
“Is this all it takes to get you to come all over me, princess?” She smirked.
Your pupils were the size of saucers, and you were trembling in her embrace. Your walls spasmed, the pleasure overtaking your entire lower body reached up into the root of your brain and rewrote something inside you.
When the last of your sensitivity had faded, Vi flipped you over effortlessly, pressing your back into the mattress. Her fingers slid between your thighs, probing your slick, soaked panties.
Her smirk made your head spin, along with her cocky remarks about how soaked you were.
She slid her fingers across your pussy, gathering the slick and cum there. She brought the tip of her finger to her lips and licked it.
“I'm lucky, princess. This might last if you're ok with that.” She crawled over you, her fists planting on the bed at either side of your head.
You looked up at her through your lashes and nodded weakly. “I don't… mind…”
She smirked again and then kissed your neck. “Good…” Her kisses trailed down your collar, then between your breasts, her hands cupping each one and kissing the supple flesh.
“I like to take my time,” she nipped your nipple.
Having her between your thighs, worshipping as she cleaned you up, you knew this moment would be your downfall.
I know I always try to do Kinktober and it goes horribly wrong when I try to do it alone. So starting now, I want to extend the offer to you guys to send in your own prompts for Kinktober for me to write! I'm starting now in order to compile them and write them for October! This is just a list I made so if there is something that isn't on here, don't be afraid to test the waters and send it to me.
Kinktober prompt list
Send me a number (or multiple!), pair it with a character from a given list/fandom provided and I’ll try to write it for Kinktober!
List of my characters/fandoms: Arcane, Deadpool and/or Wolverine, Call of Duty Modern Warfare, Fallout, Transformers.
Ex: "#15, Vi from Arcane, dom!reader"
1. Praise kink
2. Degradation
3. Overstimulation
4. Orgasm denial/control
5. Size kink (big or small)
6. Edging
7. Somnophilia (consensual, established partners only)
Hiiii Astrotrain anon here, the one who asked about of you wrote for him,
Can I request like.. a fluffy fic?? Anything works, it's just that he's my favorite, choose whatever version you want I'm just desperate for Astrotrain content.
"Five more minutes"
Hopefully I did him justice! Astrotrain x Reader Fluff. Cw: G-rated comfort.
You didn’t mean to fall asleep.
You’d meant to sit down for a second, only until the hum in your bones stopped from all the Decepticon tech you’d been handling. But the floor of Astrotrain’s shuttle mode was warm. The lights dim. And you tired.
Working alongside massive conscious aliens was no straightforward task, and you'd found yourself at the bottom of the Decepticon scrounge before. Working with Astrotrain had become a daily routine you now took pride in. Seeing him around with his often sour expression and his arms crossed like a sentinel of death was typical. You liked him, though.
You liked him enough to get close to him, to load up cargo into his hold and hang around to bug him when you were on your break and he wasn't. Why he tolerated you anymore was still a mystery, considering the first time you met, he flicked you out of his cargo hold for sticking around too long.
But today was one of those rare days work caught up with you.
His cargo bay wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm either. You crossed your arms behind your knees and curled up to your chest against the two cargo blocks that you’d loaded earlier. Your breath passed your lips, and you had your head tucked against the crook of your arm. Next thing you knew, something shifted beneath you, not gently either. Like the whole shuttle had... sighed?
You cracked one eye open and groaned. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough I considered opening the hatch and letting gravity deal with you.”
Astrotrain’s voice was a low rumble around you, not angry, just gruff in that way he always was. You smiled into the crook of your elbow and stretched like a cat.
“You didn’t, though.”
“Tch.” You could almost hear the eye-roll in his tone. “Lucky for you, someone grounded me for the last hour. Not like I could take off with a meatbag rolling around back here, anyway.”
You sat up, blinking as the shuttle’s walls adjusted to a brighter glow. You’d tucked yourself near a wall panel between two supply crates. Apparently, he hadn’t even bothered to move you.
“How long have I been out?” You asked, brushing the sleep from your face.
“Seventy-three minutes.”
You froze. “Oh. Wow. That’s… a full nap.”
“An unplanned one.”
He sounded irritated. But you knew better by now.
“You could’ve woken me,” you said toward the speaker grid where his voice always seemed loudest.
“Could’ve,” he said. “Didn’t.”
Your smile widened. “You were worried about me.”
“Its hard to worry about someone who drools on the cargo bay floor.”
You gasped in mock offense, swiping at your mouth just in case. “I do not-! Wait, do I?”
A low, amused grumble rumbled through the shuttle’s walls. “Relax. You didn’t. Would’ve dumped you if you had.”
The fondness in his voice made your chest warm. Astrotrain wasn’t exactly known for being cuddly. But you’d flown with him enough times to recognize the version of softness he gave. Fewer pet names, more dry sarcasm. Less gentle pats, more not-yeeting-you-out-of-his-cockpit-when-you-crash-on-his-floor.
Still half-drowsy, you leaned back against the wall with a sleepy sigh. “Five more minutes?”
There was a long pause.
“You’re pushing it.”
“Pretty please?”
Another pause. Then, that same quiet mechanical exhale.
“Five. But if someone walks in and thinks I’ve turned into a taxi service, I’m blaming you.”
You closed your eyes again and grinned. “Deal.”
The lights dimmed slightly, just enough to take the edge off the ceiling glare. The floor beneath you warmed again. Somewhere in the shuttle walls, you felt the faint hiss of a vent shifting to gently circulate air your way.
He wasn’t going to say it.
But you knew.
Earlier...
Astrotrain noticed your silence first. Then the stillness.
At first, he thought maybe you’d passed out from overexertion, humans had a habit of pushing themselves far past their limits. He scanned your vitals through his internal monitors. Heart rate steady. Breathing shallow, but calm.
Asleep.
He stared at you, or rather, stared at the console feed that showed you curled up between two crates in his cargo hold, like some stray cat who’d wandered in and made itself at home.
He should’ve kicked you out.
Should’ve called someone to come collect you.
Should’ve at least flicked the vent system on full blast just to watch you squirm awake.
But instead, he dialed the lights down.
Turned the internal engine hum low.
And locked the outer doors.
You weren’t even wearing full gear, just that beat-up vest and those patchy pants with a tool belt that jangled when you walked. You’d collapsed like someone whose limbs didn’t belong to them anymore, knocked out cold without even asking if it was okay to nap on his floor like he was some kind of mobile hotel.
Astrotrain scoffed under his breath. “Unbelievable.”
And yet... he didn’t move.
Didn’t transform.
Didn’t say a word to disturb you.
Instead, he stood guard. Watched as you shifted once in your sleep and curled in tighter. Watched the little furrow in your brow slowly melt away. Not because he cared (he didn’t, okay?) -but because someone ought to, and the others were off doing who-knows-what.
That didn’t leave a lot of options.
By the time the console blipped a 60-minute timer, he sighed and muttered, “You drool on my floor and we’re gonna have words.”
And despite all his quiet grumbling, he relaxed slightly, making sure you were warm, undisturbed, and cocooned in the dim light of the bay. He didn't like the idea of you waking up startled right now any more than he liked the idea of you drooling on him. Such a shame…
He sighed. Five more minutes, then he'll wake you up. Just... five more minutes.
okay so like… i’m short (thriving at 4’11) and cod guys are like super tall.. sooo smutty blurbs with simon keegan and konig? ☺️💕
Hello! I know my ask box has been literally rotting and for that I apologize. I have dropped off the face of the planet because school, work, and my personal life have been incredibly stressful and I have not been managing it well. I'm hoping to begin posting again, and I'm hoping you guys can extend me some patience while I figure out things. I haven't written a lot in the time I've been away so apologies if this is shit, lol. For now, here are your blurbs anon! Reader's gender/genitalia is not specified and is as gender neutral as possible!
Big men (Ghost, Keegan and König) with a small reader.
Size Kink + Dom Ghost + Undressing Him First + Penetrative Sex
The door shuts with a solid click. You barely have time to breathe before you hear the low scrape of combat boots crossing the floor, heavy and purposeful. The room shifts with his presence, like it always does.
Ghost stops in front of you, his massive frame looming as he peels off the battered gloves he hasn’t touched since the helo landed. The mask’s still on, eyes dark.
He doesn't touch you. Just looks down and rumbles, “Take it off.”
Your breath catches. He doesn’t need to clarify. You knew this was coming the moment he stepped through the threshold with blood on his sleeves and something unreadable in his eyes.
Everything about him is heavy, he's exhausting, his muscles are tight and his presence weighs on you. When he comes back he either acts like a wet cat or a starved wolf, but the combination of both is new.
Your fingers twitch toward the hem of his shirt, but your hands stall midair. Ghost watches; doesn’t help, doesn’t move, just lets the moment hang thick. He doesn't have the energy to help, because it was all going toward his restraint not to throw you on the bed and remind your body of his own.
Then you glance lower. His belt is what you can reach first, so you start there.
Leather creaks as you unbuckle it, and your fingers barely span the width of his waist. His abdomen rises slightly, just the shift of breath, and his voice comes low like a growl in your ear.
“Always start there, don’t you?”
You blink up at him. “It’s… the easiest thing for me to reach.”
A low, amused exhale flutters through the fabric of his mask. His hands are bare now, and when he holds one out to you, palm-up, it swallows yours entirely.
“Look at this,” he mutters. “Missed you here.” Your hand shakes as you slide your smaller one into his, and he closes his around it, warm and rough. You can feel the calluses on every inch. You always forget how much bigger he is until he lets you see it like this.
He turns slightly, just enough for you to tug his vest down off his shoulders. He lets you work. He doesn’t rush you.
Each layer reveals more heat, more skin, more Ghost. When you finally tug his shirt over his head, you stand on your tiptoes to drag it upward, but your arms don't reach high enough. You grunt, frustrated, and he finally helps, grabbing the back of the collar and pulling it up in one swift motion.
You glimpse his smirk beneath the mask. “You’ll need a step stool next time, sweetheart.”
You scowl and slap his hip, but your palm lands like a gentle tap against the muscled curve of his side. He doesn’t even flinch. He just grabs your wrist gently and brings your hand to his chest.
“Touch me properly.”
His heart is working hard under your palm, at the apex of his chest its warmth soaks into your palm. The gunpowder that soaks into his skin and reaches your nose reminds you of war, of the field, of his mission. He could have died, and then all you want to do is touch him.
Your hands explore the scars, the tattoos, the raw strength. He’s warm, radiating heat off his sore muscles, strained and coiled tight.
He lets you marvel for a while.
But then his tone shifts to something lower and rougher. “Bed. Now.”
And when you scramble back, wide-eyed, he follows, slow and hulking. You feel it again, that dizzying size difference, when the mattress dips under his weight and he takes up so much of the bed that there’s nowhere to go but under him.
But that’s okay.
You’d rather be under him anyway. He tugged down your pants and helped you kick them off, followed by your undergarments. He spread your legs and pushed down his boxers with his cargos, shifting closer to you.
You shuddered, feeling his body right up against yours, his cock pressing against your lower body, clearly wanting you.
Ghost spat on his fingers and slid down to help open you up for him. His thick fingers slid inside your entrance, and moans softly spilled from your lips. Your brows pinched and your nails dragged along the bedsheets.
They were thick and the callouses gave extra stimulation to your body, his movements were practiced. Like finding the sweet spot on a gun, he knew where to pull and stroke to get you loosening for him.
Once satisfied, he pulled his fingers back and splayed his hand over your stomach, watching you firmly. He lined up his cock, pressing the head to your clenching warmth.
“Deep breaths, love.” He said and slowly pressed the head of his cock into you. You tightened around him, and he breathed in unison with you while sliding deeper inside you.
You gasped in a sharp breath, feeling him sliding in deep. He stretched you, your legs clamped around his wide hips, and your toes curl, heels pressed into his butt.
“Simon!” You gasped again, desperate for oxygen while he moved.
He stopped moving, his hips pressed deep against your body. He leaned over slightly, and his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down it.
“Breathe, love… just breathe.”
You shuddered and leaned into his rough palm, your body slowly relaxing around his thick cock. He was so deep inside you, so much to take. He'd fuck you so good your legs wouldn't remember how to close.
After a moment you nodded, and he mimicked it in understanding.
The bed shifted and groaned as his hips moved into each fluid roll. Your moans slipped off your lips as he fucked you, sliding in and out over and over.
“Oh, yes!” You shuddered again.
He huffed softly through his mask and leaned down, reaching for your hand. “Take it off.” He rasped.
His deep brown eyes met yours, and your shaky hands reached for his mask, pulling it off. He smelled of tobacco and smoke. His lips are rough, his lashes are long and brush against the smeared black makeup across his eyes.
You cupped his jaw and kissed him, tasting the warmth of his lips and tongue against your mouth. He leaned into it, pulling you into his lap, your back leaning off the bed, the squeaky sound the frame made while the mattress dipped below you both.
“Fuck yeah…” he rumbled, squeezing your ass.
You rocked your hips into him as much as you could, shaking softly as he moved inside you. You pulled away and pressed two fingers to your tongue, then slid the hand down between your legs.
Your moans fell from your lips louder and your head fell back, head bobbing with his movements. He was in control. He could hold you, he could make you tremble and squirm on his thick cock.
His free hand, holding your back to keep you up, moved to shadow your hand down between your legs, mimicking your movements over your sex.
“Gonna come for me?” He asked, his hot breath against your ear.
Another wave of tears prickled your eyes, and tears slipped down your cheeks as another bout of fire filled your veins. Lighting you up like paper, you curled in at the edges as the core of you burned up like embers. Waves of your orgasm crashed down on you, and Ghost’s large body shielded you as you shuddered and came, clenching around him.
When you came, the warmth of his cock inside you turned to hot, quick shocks. You moaned with each buzz, feeling him fuck you through the shocks, right to the end.
He released you slowly, still shadowing you, but he slid his cock out from your clenching entrance. Despite the shocks that were rolling through your body, you whined when he pulled out, leaving you empty of his length.
Your eyes fluttered, and your heart pounded hard in your ribcage. The warmth remained, and your breathing labored. The bed dipped, and then Ghost's thick thighs were on either side of your head. You looked right up at him, seeing all of him right above you. The thick swell of his pecs and the arc of his belly and his abs. His cock twitched, and when he pressed down with his thumb, his cockhead leaked across your cheek.
“Don't worry, sweetheart, we're far from done.”
Your fingers wrapped around his cock, and his eyelids fluttered. “If I don't come before you're
ready again, it's going to be a rough night for you.”
You grunt, stretching on your toes, fingertips barely grazing the edge of the cupboard door.
"Come on..." you mutter, hopping a little now, pathetic, you know, but desperate times.
The damn stool is gone. Your trusty little lifeline. The one you bought specifically because you knew damn well living with Keegan meant everything was on a top shelf. And now?
Gone. Vanished. As if it walked off.
“Looking for something?” comes a voice behind you, low, smug, and deep with amusement.
You flinch. Spin.
Keegan’s standing there in a low-slung towel, fresh from the shower, steam still clinging to his skin. His hair is damp, dripping onto his bare shoulders, and he looks like he hasn’t missed a beat since he left three weeks ago.
Your mouth opens. Closes.
"Yeah," you huff. "My stool. You seen it?"
He crosses his arms, water dripping down his forearms. "What, can’t reach your secret snack stash?"
You scowl. "Not funny. I’m starving. And you put the good chips up there on purpose."
His eyes dip down your body, one brow ticking up like he’s picturing all kinds of good trouble.
“I did put ‘em up there,” he admits, grinning now. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”
You glare. “You’re the only one in this house who can reach them without a running start.”
He steps forward. You try to backpedal, but the counter’s at your spine and Keegan’s right there, towel hanging low, bare chest brushing yours.
Without warning, he grabs your hips, lifts you effortlessly, and sets you on his shoulders like you weigh nothing. Your breath leaves you in a surprised squeak, hands flying to steady yourself against the overhead cabinet.
"Keegan!" you squeal, legs scrambling for balance. "What-"
He’s grinning like a bastard. "There. Now you can reach."
You shift, trying to grab the cupboard door, but your thighs so tighten around his neck, and the noise that rumbles up from his chest sends heat straight to your core.
"You did that on purpose," you accuse, squirming. Big mistake.
Keegan hums, running his hands slowly up your calves. "I was trying to be helpful. But-”
His fingers tighten on your knees. "You keep moving like that, and I might need you to say please."
Your heart's thudding now. The angle is dangerous. His nose is right there, brushing the inside of your thigh, and his breath is hot, damp, curling under the hem of your shorts.
"Keegan..."
"Yeah?"
"Get me down."
"Say it sweeter."
"You're such an ass."
He laughs, full-bellied, like he missed this while he was away.
He slides you down his chest, dragging your body against his torso until your feet hit the floor and your back hits the counter.
Except that he doesn’t let go.
One hand splays wide across your lower back while the other trails down your side, toying with the waistband of your shorts.
"Still want your snacks?" he murmurs, nose brushing your cheek.
You look up, breathless. "I think you’re the one with the craving."
His grin is sharp now, all teeth and heat.
“Damn right I am.”
Keegan doesn’t wait for a proper answer. One hand curls tight around your waist and lifts, this time onto the counter behind you. You let out a surprised noise as your thighs spread naturally to accommodate the press of his hips between yours. The towel is still slung low on him, but it’s barely holding on now. One hard grind against you and it’ll be on the floor.
He palms your thigh, big and warm and everywhere, fingers spanning almost the whole width. You feel small between him and the cabinets, boxed in, your legs dangling like a doll’s from the countertop.
He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “God, look at you. Feet don’t even touch the damn floor.”
You shiver.
His hand slides up your side, easily covering your ribs, your waist. His palm dwarfs you. “You know how many times I think about this when I’m deployed?” he murmurs, teeth grazing your neck. “How easy it’d be to fuck you like this? Press you open right here, nothing under you but my hands and this counter.”
Your breath catches. Your hands claw at his shoulders, desperate and weak in comparison.
He likes it. “You want me to show you how easy it is, baby?”
You nod.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, please-” your voice cracks when he shifts, towel gone, and you feel the heat of him against your core through your shorts. God.
He chuckles, low and hot, against your skin. “You always ask so sweetly when you want something.”
One hand works at your waistband, no patience, just raw need, tugging your shorts and underwear down in one swift motion. They barely make it past your knees before he’s spreading your thighs and lowering himself to his knees in front of the counter. On his knees you’re higher than him, but the sight of him between your legs makes your stomach clench.
He grabs your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft inner muscle, keeping you spread wide. His head tilts, tongue flicking out to taste before he dives in, slowly at first, tasting your arousal like he’s been craving it since the moment he left.
“Keegan- fuck-” Your voice breaks again, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, on the counter, anywhere.
He groans into you, the sound filthy, and your whole body jolts. “You’re so small I can fucking pick you up and eat you wherever I want,” he grits, pulling back just enough to speak. “I could put you on my shoulder again. Walk you into the bedroom still dripping all down my chest.”
Your eyes roll back.
But he’s not done. His hand comes up, two thick fingers pressing at your entrance, and he watches with dark, fascinated eyes as you squirm.
“Bet I could make you come just from this,” he says, pushing in slowly. “Stretch you open with these big fuckin’ fingers while your legs dangle, too little to brace.”
You moan, high and needy, as his fingers curl just right.
“Yeah. That’s it,” he growls. “Gonna make you come right here on my hand before I even get inside you.”
You clench around him, and he laughs, low and pleased.
“Fuckin’ love how tiny you are. Just makes it easier to ruin you."
Your toes curl just as his fingers do inside you, rocking slowly, his fingers feeling for the spot inside you that makes you turn to mush. Rough callouses drag slowly against your warm walls, encroaching upon you. His warm breath fans across your sex, and his lips clasp around the apex of your pleasure.
Moans slip from your lips, and your hips buck softly as his mouth and fingers work in tandem against your neediness. He groaned softly, breathing along your skin, his cloudy grey eyes locking onto you.
Your stomach flexed, tight and then rapid, nails scraping uselessly at the counter and then in his hair, tangling through overgrown, thick black locs of hair.
“Keegan-” you whine again, useless and dirty and perfect.
“Come for me, love. You know you want to.” He coaxes, his rough and rumbling voice drowning every rational thought left in your mind. A third finger strokes along your entrance, and it makes you shiver. The thought of being stretched further, limits broken, only Keegan could make it seem like such a pleasant idea.
“Ah-” You buck your hips and stare down into his intense eyes. You suck in a harsh breath and pursue that feeling, your walls clenching around his curling fingers.
“That's it. That's it,” he purrs.
You cry, toes curling and heels scraping against the counter for purchase. Your thighs quake, and you come undone like a cord, your orgasm rocking over you. You bite down on your lip, restraining the whimpers and other pathetic sounds that threaten to rise to the surface.
He pulls away with a smug little grin, triumphant. “Told you."
He licked his fingers and stood. “Now for the main course.”
Size Kink + Blowjob + Office Power Play + Penetrative Sex
The office is dim, that military dim where the overhead light flickers and the fan whirs like a dying beast. König paces like a caged animal, still in half gear, hands twitching with adrenaline from the field exercise you weren’t supposed to tag along on.
But you did. And you’re still smug about it.
He towers in the middle of the room, all 6'10 of tense muscle, hands flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His hood is on, slightly crooked, chest heaving beneath the tactical vest he hasn’t bothered to take off. You stand near the edge of the desk, watching him, heat simmering in your gut.
You know what you did, and you still don't regret it. Seeing his face when you walked out onto the training field, knowing he had told you to stay back, was satisfying. How long you'd be able to keep that smug expression on your face was up for debate.
"You shouldn’t have been out there," he mutters, accent thicker when he’s angry. Or turned on. Or both. “It was dangerous.”
“I can't even think what you would gain from this.” He reprimanded, his hood shifting as his voice rose. He had been worried about you. But more importantly, you were his subordinate, and to have you show such blatant disregard for the rules required fitting punishment.
“What am I going to do with you?” He mumbled.
You don’t reply.
You just drop to your knees in front of him with deliberate calm, like you’re settling in for something casual, like sucking off your mountain of a soldier boyfriend in the middle of a command outpost is just a regular Tuesday.
König freezes. “Schatz...”
You look up through your lashes, small and sweet and far too knowing.
“It’s okay,” you breathe. “I know how to say thank you.”
His breath hitches. It’s barely a sound, but you catch it. And then you reach for his belt.
You fumble with the buckle, cursing softly under your breath, and König’s massive hands immediately move to help. But you slap one of them away. Hard. His whole body jolts.
“Nein. Let me.” Your voice is soft, warning, and König groans. He lets you work.
The belt comes undone. The fatigues follow. And when you finally get him out of his briefs, it’s all you can do not to gasp.
He’s massive. Heavy, flushed, already hard, curved just slightly toward his stomach. And thick.
“This will not save you from proper punishment-”
You wrap your hand around the base, squeezing him, or what you can manage.
König swears in German, low and desperate, hand braced on the wall beside him as you stroke him slowly.
You press a kiss to the head.
“Look at you,” you whisper, thumb brushing over the slit. “So big. Can’t believe you fit inside me.”
He shudders. "You shouldn't... fuck- say things like that."
"Why?" you tease, tongue flicking out to taste him. "You like knowing how small I am?"
His breath stutters. You can feel his thighs tremble, just slightly.
"You like it when I have to stretch just to suck your cock?" His hips jerk. And then you take him in.
Your mouth stretches, lips sealing around the head first, then lower, slowly, hand stroking what you can’t reach, and he groans, the sound punched from his chest like you knocked the wind out of him.
You bob your head gradually, messy and hot spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you try, really try, to take more. His hips twitch. His hand drops to your head, gentle, like he’s terrified he might hurt you, but too far gone to stay still.
"You’re gonna kill me," he rasps, low and broken. “So fucking tiny. You don’t even fit.”
You hum around him, a smug, gurgled little sound, and his knees buckle.
He's towering and trembling. Trying not to fuck into your mouth too hard. Trying not to fall apart and failing.
You pop off him with a slick gasp, panting, saliva and pre-cum coating your lips.
“You can come in my mouth,” you say sweetly. “Or I can ride you in that chair.”
He whines. And in one breathless motion, he hauls you up into his arms like you weigh nothing and stumbles back into the chair behind the desk.
You end up straddling him, perched high on his thick thighs, your mouth still wet, your core grinding down on his cock with only your thin underwear between you.
His hands clutch your hips, bruising tight. He smelled of gunpowder and dirt, a combined fragrance of war and weaponry. His skillful hands now keep you in place, reminding you that this shouldn't be a reward. But what's a soldier to do but take full advantage? You would.
“You’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice shaking, “and I’m not going to last.”
You lick your lips. “That’s okay.”
You grind down harder. “I want to see what it looks like when someone your size breaks.”
You're already soaked through your underwear, grinding down against him, and König is fighting for control; hands clamped to your waist, head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged under the edge of his mask.
You drag your fingers along his chest, slow and teasing. “You wanna help me, big guy? Or just watch me fuck myself on your cock?”
He growls, hips bucking up instinctively and the tip of him presses against your soaked center, stretching your underwear indecently.
Your entrance clenches, you know you won't last any more than he does. The pressure had you twitching, the anticipation of the burning warmth of his cock inside you made it all worth it in the end.
“I could ruin this,” he mutters. “Could rip them in half and-”
“Then do it.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, there’s a vicious rip, and he shreds your underwear at the seams, discarding it on the floor. His fingers slide between your legs, finding your entrance already slick and open, and he lets out a low, filthy sound.
“Scheiße. You’re ready.”
You brace yourself on his shoulders, balancing on your knees as he grips himself and guides the head of his cock to your entrance.
You both freeze.
He’s too big. Even now, every time, it’s too much at first, your body resisting, fluttering, trying to stretch enough to accommodate the obscene thickness of him.
“C'mon,” you breathe. “I want it. Want you.”
And slowly, slowly, he pushes in.
You're gasping, digging your nails into his shoulders, eyes rolling back as your body fights to take him. Every inch stretches you impossibly wide, and he’s whispering a stream of half-German, half-prayer under his breath like he’s the one being ruined.
“Gott… you’re so small… I’m going to break you-”
“Do it,” you pant, nails scraping down his chest. “Fucking break me.”
He thrusts all the way in and you scream, pleasure and pain and dizzy satisfaction curling in your gut. The stretch burns, but it’s a burn you crave, one that makes your thighs shake and your breath catch.
Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, one hand struggles to cover your mouth at this angle, and your stomach rises and falls rapidly against the push of his cock.
His hands cup your ass, lifting you just enough to bring you back down again, your body bouncing in his lap like you weigh nothing. Like you were made to be here.
He watches, helpless and wrecked, as you ride him, hips rolling, sex grinding against the base of his cock, your hands pressed flat to his chest for balance.
"You're- so tight-"
"You’re so big," you bite back, bouncing harder. "Too big- fuck-"
His head drops to your shoulder, a full-body shudder rippling through him as you squeeze around him on every thrust. He's panting into your neck now, swearing in German, hands trembling with restraint as he tries not to finish too fast.
But you don’t want him to hold back. You grip his hood and pull it just enough to press your mouth against the edge of his jaw, nipping him hard.
That does it.
He slams into you, losing the rhythm completely and chasing his orgasm with raw, feral thrusts. You can only cry out as he fills you so deep it feels like he’s in your throat.
“Bitte, bitte,” he’s begging now, grinding you down onto him with no shame, “please let me come inside- need it- need to fill you up- ”
“Do it,” you whisper. “Fucking stuff me full.”
Not that it would take him much, but he's already set on giving all you ask. He growls, a brutal, wrecked sound, his cock pulsing inside you as he presses you down, grinding through every wave of pleasure. You clench tight, milking every drop, and he’s moaning your name like it’s the only word he remembers.
You go limp in his lap, trembling, muscles sore and soaked and so full. You're small enough to curl up into his stomach, his body shielding you from any storm, or further punishment. His arms wrap around you instinctively, holding you there, flush against his chest like he doesn’t want to let you go.
He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in laboured movements. His heart is thudding so hard against your cheek it’s all you can hear.
“…Fuck,” you murmur.
His hand rubs slow circles up your spine. “Ja.”
You shift slightly, and he whines, weak and oversensitive, cock still twitching inside you.
“Still hard,” you smirk, voice wrecked. “Is that your size or your stamina?”
He chuckles hoarsely, pulling your head against his shoulder. “…Both.”
You relax there for a moment, breathing in unison and waiting for the buzzing in your bodies to fade away.
He breaks the silence after a moment, voice still thin. “Don't think… I won't properly punish you after this. Disobeying my orders was stupid.”
“Well, maybe the Colonel should stop encouraging me to break the rules so often.” You teased.
“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.
“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.
“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”
