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vanderilnde · 2 months

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a toxic ghoap wip i had in my drafts from months ago but will no longer be continuing. i just wanna dump it here lol

cw for misogyny, smut, (internalized) homophobia, hedonism, sacrilege, prostitution mention, ghost is an ass

pls heed all tags, this was a vent fic, and also bare in mind im never gonna finish this lmao

Johnny's world is asymmetrical.

His world. His beginning and his end. Humvees and Dauphin 2 helis and deployments around the globe. Undercover operations, saving women and children, the comforting carbon steel of a rifle in his hands.

It’s an unspoken stigma, but it’s there. Materialising as insults while his lads take the piss out of each other, and in the form of dishonourable discharges.

The stigma has always been there. It has no start and no finish, so Johnny can’t remember where it came from, but he knows it was there since primary, where boys would kick girls at the bends of their knees and yank on their pigtails, squatting to the floor to get a look-see up their chequered skirts and cackle, all while Johnny stood off to the side, overtly uncomfortable.

Mum’s complained. Teacher’s were involved. Dad’s simply said, “Boys will be boys,” and the situation was brushed under the carpet.

The stigma tailed Johnny into secondary school. His older cousin lent him a suit for formal, which prompted Johnny awkwardly standing on his doorstep with his date—a pretty lass named Rory—as his mam snapped a spate of photos.

Johnny’s disposition was a grave juxtaposition to Rory’s. She was all grins and giggles, cantered into Johnny’s arm, while he was inelastically poised with tight lips.

His mam wouldn’t stop pinching his supple cheeks, trying to shepherd a smile out of him. She gave up, throwing her hands in the air and wheedling them off the porch, tacking on an ornate, “Have fun, kiddos!” as they pooled into Johnny’s scrap metal car.

Johnny felt as if he was lacking something. As if his wings had been clipped by the world a little too soon. It’s always been like that. A piece of him plucked from his wracking ribs and stolen, ever since he was a little boy. So in a lapse of judgement, in order to prove himself, to shatter the bubbling stigma, Johnny sought out the most masculine thing to offset his failure: follow in the steps of his cousin, and enlist.

It was a rashly undertaken decision, but a decision he stuck with, because, for the first time in forever, Johnny’s old man clasped his shoulder in pride.

But stigma was an incessant little thing. Because even in military school, it followed him closely. As Johnny’s school brothers had Playboy rafts and pin-up girls folded into their pillow cases, he would blunder upon being asked, “Who’d ye shag?” by his mate.

In boot camp, he was a lowly private, whose hands would jade and cramp from cleaning rifles. They gave him blisters. And so his bunkmate—a nice lad from Glasgow with a crooked nose—would tend to his fingers during their lunch routine. Hidden somewhere in the corner, making jokes about their Drill Instructor. Callum, was his name. He’d swathe Johnny’s hands in gauze and garnish it with a lopsided smiley face. It always sucked, fell apart half way, but he did it anyway.

That’s when Johnny started blistering his hands on purpose.

Wedging his thumb in the dip of a garand and not pulling it out until it was swollen. Then he’d snivel, seeking Callum out in their barracks. There was a pull in Johnny’s stomach, half of an ebb that finished Callum’s flow. It would give him rashly undertaken ideas—such as fixing his hand in the lid of an armoury shell—for Callum to fix up. Johnny would find him among their other friends, beseeching with his cobalt eyes, holding out a hand.

In enlistment, his confusion ripened into a gravely miscalculated realisation. That it wasn't an affinity for men Johnny wanted to be—to attract ladies with his chest candy and the brandished title of military man—no, it reared its ugly head when Johnny finally became his own private. Grinning, at the time, clean-shaven and giddy as his mother snapped a spate of photos of him saluting in his new uniform, plaintively whining when she reached out to adjust his garrison cap because “It’s lopsided, pumpkin!” To which Johnny, under the searing gaze of his fellow privates, would clip, “‘Cos it’s meant to be like tha’, ma!”

Johnny didn’t know when it started. He just remembered realising how good Callum looked one day at the range—sweat sluicing down his pale neck, disappearing behind his lapels, ass filling out the space of his pants as he would squat to the ground and aim for the faraway target. Before he knew it, Johnny was seizing lights out. Using the time to sneak off to the bathrooms and cramp a fist around his leaking cock, beating his dick to the thought of him. Him, him, him.

Johnny’s sordid thoughts didn’t emulate what his granny had planned for him—to pass down her old wedding stack once he “Found the right lass,” to bring home to her; it wasn’t what the Orthodox spiels of sermons and hymns and praise on Sunday’s drilled into him; it wasn’t what his uncle was anticipating—“Got a girlfrien’ yet, Johnny-boy? Ah, why’re ye frowning! Soon enough, ye will.”

His fantasies rivalled those of his squadmates. Because on his first tour, a summer ten years ago in the chilly expanse of Northern Ireland was a woman that approached them. Denim skirt and a mulberry red halter top. Kitten heels, sunglasses. Shiny lipgloss. She tried to ply them by batting her eyes, offering her services. She was smart. Military men always paid. It’s the desperation that got to them most of the time, a tinge of worry, and a hint of entitlement. They took the bait. Rode her back to camp and took their turns with her.

When it was Johnny’s turn, he listlessly declined and hung his head. He said he had a lass waiting for him back home—Rory—that’s the first name that popped in his head. His secondary school girlfriend in which he sobbed on when he tried kissing her. Johnny said he had a bird, just like all his other lads, with pictures of their wives and girlfriends pinned to the massive cork board in the middle of their camp. But they had no problem indulging themselves.

They were shoving him around, calling him all sorts of names, bullying him into following them. And that’s when Johnny caved. A cacophony of hollers flared out around him as he ducked into the tent where the woman lay, thin bed sheets hiked up to her collarbones, her previous lipgloss smeared over her chin.

Johnny said, “Hi, how are you?” Because that’s what his mother taught him. She softly giggled.

Not at him, but with his overdue respect.

Johnny shucked off his uniform with trembling hands, mounting her with his dick flaccid and stomach flipping. He remembers ruminating, “Why don’t you like it? You should like it. Love it,” but his heart leapt to his throat and his navel twisted, heart seized as the head of his cock kept slipping around her messy opening, poking her thigh. His throat constricted, dry, then slackened. A muffled sob wracked through him. Barely concealed by the threshold of his thin lips. He pushed his tongue into the roof of his mouth and buried his face in the crook of her neck, collapsing into her bare chest, furiously wiping his tears into the inflatable mattress.

Then, the body beneath him quivered. Johnny hoisted himself up, a spiel of apologies curling off of his tongue, when he realised she was crying too. The same type as him—wrung out, jaded, tired. She blindly reached out for him and pulled him close. Not reaching for his dick nor biting sensual whispers into his ear. They held each other for a little while, coalescing as their cries muffled into each other’s skin. Then, she pushed him off. Slid off the mattress and snaked her into her clothes.

They both left the tent shaking. She was still sniffling. His lads cheered as she walked away and clapped him on the back.

That’s when Johnny realised there wasn't a place for him in his world. Johnny shrunk himself, half the light he used to be, pushing himself into a little box as his world around him clipped off his wings.

Now, Johnny’s world consists of something a little different.

Something sinewy and rough around the edges. Gruff, but tactical. Calm, akin to the placid sea, but could flip a switch and emulate its choppy waters if he wanted to, too. Big, striking, with eyes that could kill a sailor. A deep timbre mandated by Manchester. Wide-set shoulders but a willowy waist, hips that sway as he walks. A macabre mask and skeletal gloves—ones that have Johnny wrapped tightly around his fingers.

Johnny grew into himself between serving in the parachute regiment to selection for the SAS. He got rougher. Learned how to hide himself better. Perfectly fit himself within the Task Force, around men who would become his best friends and brothers. He’s otherwise your normal guy. Goes to the bar with the team when they’re able. Shooting darts with Gaz (“You’ve got a Marksman badge but can’t score more than two points? C’mon, mate…”); pool with Price; and drinks with Ghost.

Beer always sloshes over the lip of Ghost’s glass when they clink their drinks. It crashes up and over the Brit’s fingers, dripping down his hands, between his thick fingers. Johnny always resists the urge to lean in close and lick the wash of alcohol glistening Ghost’s knuckles.

But they’re just friends. Apparently. Because friends don’t fuck.

It started way down in Chicago’s heart, after another op. Gaz—ever the exploiter of his puppy eyes—managed to ply Price into stopping at a bar instead of heading straight back to base for paperwork. So they stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall, still rife with adrenaline, spreading out and all doing their own thing.

Johnny and Ghost were sat around a rickety table with wobbly legs. A spread of peanut shells around them and sticky rings of alcohol from their glasses glossing the surface. Ghost raised an arm to wipe his eyes, knocking over Johnny’s beer in the process. An expletive crossed the Brit’s tongue and he apologised, grasping a fistful of napkins and scrubbing it over Johnny’s soaked shirt.

It ebbed and flowed in long, rough strokes. Ghost’s hand gliding over Johnny’s legs, Ghost’s middle finger and thumb snapped around Johnny’s thigh, his grasp cutting into the sinews.

It wasn’t that different from suturing a teammate up after a mission. But with the unsaid admiration Johnny had for him, tempered by the hint of alcohol on the roof of his mouth and the hazel canopy of Ghost’s lashes, over his focused eyes, arousal quickly seized Johnny.

Ghost’s hand brushed over a tent on Johnny’s jeans. One that hadn’t been there before. He cut his next stroke from the root, pausing, and blinked up at his friend.

The Scotsman felt a wound up spring in his stomach. He turned away, smacking Ghost’s hand, and ran a hand through his black tuft of hair, slapping both sides of his shaved heads. He felt his lungs betray him—squeezing like dried fruit and refusing to expand—to yield to his sudden heavy breathing and quick succession of heartbeats.

Johnny shook his head. Sputtering. “Lad, y’know, sometimes we can’t control ‘em–”

The words died on his tongue when Ghost flattened hand against the bend of his knee. He was testing the waters.

Johnny looked back, gulping, and took the bait. He inched his knee closer, until it met with Ghost’s thick leg. It’s something he’s done so many times. When he was starved for friction but couldn’t make it overtly obvious—grazing Ghost’s hand passing him a flare; knocking his foot under the table during debrief (“Sorry, lad,”); applying extra gauze to a slice in his torso just to feel Ghost’s chest throb below his fingers a little more.

But this is different. Something Johnny’s chased for so long. A tangible ghost on his tongue for a flavour he’s longed for with just fantasies while he fucked his fist late into the night.

Ghost tightened his hold on Johnny’s thigh. “Sons of bitches, ain’t they?”

His voice was taut. As was the muscle between Johnny’s shoulders.

They exchanged a glance. Soundless, but not wordless. Then Ghost slunk his hand down and wrapped it around Johnny’s swelling cock.

The feeling of it—a sensation so foreign, so yearned for—penetrated Johnny’s core. It made him yelp and jerk his knee into the table, sending more beer spilling over the rim of his glass and onto his pants.

Ghost hummed, shook his head. “C’mon, Johnny, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” And he inclined his head towards the bathroom in the back.

Johnny blindly nodded, yielding to Ghost’s hold as he hoisted him from his seat. Ghost directed them through the sea of gyrating bodies and towards the toilets. They bursted inside, and the Brit pulled Johnny into the last stall. A seedy little thing, with graffiti and the ash of cigarette butts welded into its walls.

The succeeding acts were a blip in the streamline of Johnny’s memory. He remembers Ghost shucking his pants down, then settling himself behind him. He remembers Ghost’s gloveless hand reaching around and working over his drooling cock. He remembers a voice in his ear, “What the fuck are we doing,” and a bulbous cockhead poking his ass. He remembers the shrill rattle of the stall hinges as he withered against it, trembling under Ghost’s deft hands, the finger that swept over the slit of his cock and slipped down to fondle his balls.

Before white-hot pleasure seared his vision, Johnny remembers emptying his come into the crotch of his denims, shaking, as it dampened his pants and as Ghost commanded him to pull it back up.

They left the bar alongside each other, meeting everyone else on the pavement. Johnny’s lips were popped open and swollen. Peeling, from how his teeth had sunk into them. His eyes were glossy and his hair was tousled in the middle of his head. He had a wet patch on his jeans.

“Oh, you are pissed, mate,” Gaz exclaimed, “I– that’s pee?”

“Spilled some water,” Ghost lied to the other teammates, “had to sort him out.”

They made it back to base within hours, signing off to their quarters.

The next day, Johnny didn’t see him at all.

The day after that, too; Ghost didn’t even spare him a glance.

He tried reassuring himself. Ghost hadn’t talked about men before—not in this calibre—so Johnny told himself it’s because he was digesting what rashly happened in Chicago.

That was, until, he was paged one night. A command from Ghost to meet him in his quarters. The message was succinct: one sentence, leaving no lines to be read between. Johnny walked ambled to his room with his heart in his stomach and his blood rushing to his ears. Nudging the door open, Ghost was on the edge of his bed, legs parted, smarting denim-washed jeans and a black pullover. A simple, soft gauze balaclava.

His eyes slid upwards first. Then the rest of his head. Ghost pinned Johnny under his smouldering gaze, then beckoned him forward with the tilt of his head. No words were swapped. Ghost simply tugged Johnny forward, between his thick thighs, and bullied the Scotsman to his knees with a hand splayed over his half-shaved head.

Johnny’s eyes widened. He popped his lips open to speak—lips Ghost whispers his thumb over to seal shut, uprooting his words from its step. Ghost shook his head, undid his belt with a single hand, and shucked down his jeans. He palmed himself for a while, watching Johnny’s eyes sheen over, before pushing his boxer-briefs scarcely over his meaty thighs, pinching the head of his cock.

Ghost didn’t even bother pulling his balls out. Just his dick—long, thick, a comely vein running beneath it—better than anything Johnny’s ever wanted. Better than the images he’s fucked his fist to, memories of Ghost, freshly out of the shower after sparring, his thin towel outlining the barest hint of his dick.

Johnny reaches out, but Ghost swipes it back. He tuts and softly smacks his cock against Johnny’s ruddy cheek, watching as a string of his precum connects to Johnny’s face.

“How bad do ya wan’ it, Johnny?” Ghost had prompted, swiping his cockhead over the Scotsmans lips, then pulling it back whenever his jaw readily slacked.

“Real… real bad, Lt.” He breathed.

Ghost tapped his cheek again. “Open.”

And so Johnny did. Like it was second nature, like he’s been wanting for so long. Waiting for so fucking long.

Johnny’s lips popped open and closed around Ghost’s wet tip. He swirled his tongue around it, clumsy in his movements, teeth grazing Ghost’s skin.

He winced. “Easy…”

Johnny blinked in a rapid succession, nodding, sucking him in a little deeper, mindful of hollowing out his cheeks and relaxing his jaw. Ghost’s eye twitched, hands digging into his tuft, hanging his head back, softly bucking his hips up into Johnny’s mouth.

“Atta boy, Johnny, fuck– where the fuck’d you learn this, eh?”

Johnny replied with a gargled purl of precum and saliva coalescing in his mouth, gagging over the wide girth splitting his jaw open. Ghost laughed, his gloved hand settling on the scruff of Johnny’s neck, pulling him a little closer; sinking his cock a little deeper, rutting his pelvis into his squadmate's pliable mouth.

Ghost cums. Johnny laps it all up. And in an undertaken lapse of judgement, rises to his feet, puckering his frosted lips, ready to hike Ghost’s balaclava above his nose and share his taste with him. But Ghost set a hand to Johnny’s face, shaking his head. He tucked his softening cock back into his pants.

That was the first instance Johnny disregarded. One he ignored in favour of indulging himself in something he yearned after for years. He didn’t realise his grave digging began there—when he witlessly nodded in response.

And from there, it became a cycle. It was always on Ghost’s call. Never Johnny’s. When Ghost wanted his dick sucked; when Ghost wanted a wet and tight hole wrapped around his cock. Johnny knew better. He knew he was being shepherded into something bad, but he couldn’t help himself.

Trembling under Ghost, his whole world encompassed by the Brit’s towering stature, was all that mattered to him. Getting spread over a cock he’s wanted for so long, a long ways from the taboo fantasies that’s collected cobwebs in his thoughts for so long.

Johnny was less of a teammate, more of an outlet for Ghost to exhaust his frustrations into. Even then, it was a pill Ghost had trouble swallowing. As if he’ll acknowledge it, and a relationship will materialise. So he stays still—fucks Johnny like a dirty little secret then turns the other way.

Johnny tries talking to him. Tries telling him he struggled with the same thing. That he isn’t alone and that he belongs here. That there’s no shame in it.

Simon collapses Johnny’s pleads with a final, resolute bark. “I ain’t gay, mate. You’re a friend helping a friend.”

basically it ends with Simon shepherding Johnny into some hedonistic, one-sided relationship. Johnny just accepts it bc if Simon wont love him, he’ll do it by proxy, because hes all fucked out and desperate for him🖤🖤

#my writing style here is so old and gross and clunky #ghost/soap #ghostsoap #soap/ghost #soapghost #ghoap #simon riley x john mactavish #ghost x soap #ghoap writing

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ghcstao3 · 4 months

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OMG I NEED YOU TO WRITE THE NEIGHBOURS GHOSTSOAP FIC PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE PLEASE PL

(part 1)

Ghost wakes up to the sound of someone knocking on his front door—to which he feels the need to frown at, because he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

When he grumpily swings open the door to find John on the other side, his irritation subsides, just a little.

“Mornin’!” John greets, his grin far too bright for—Ghost lifts his wrist and squints down at his watch—nine in the morning. “Brought you something. Or, well. My Mam made them so I could bring you—“

Ghost raises a tired hand to wag his finger and point at the container in John’s hands, asking in lazy movements, “What is it?”

“Oh!” John blinks. He thrusts the container into Ghost’s unoccupied hand, and somehow his smile grows tenfold. “Tattie scones. Wasn’t sure what you might like, so. Went with something simple.”

Ghost squints at John a moment, before swallowing a yawn as he offers a mumbled thank you and pries open the lid. He holds it out to John, but he just shakes his head.

“I have my own. Just wanted to apologize for the noise.”

Ghost nods, stuffs a scone in his mouth, closes the lid. He then steps aside and gestures for John to enter the flat because he supposes it’s courtesy, and if he’s making tea for one he may as well offer for another.

John follows with a shrug.

“Tea?” Ghost asks. Then pauses, considering, before he scrunches his nose and signs instead, “Coffee?”

John barks a laugh, shaking his head again. “I won’t force you to make coffee if you hate it. Just water, if that’s okay?”

Ghost obliges, traversing his kitchen as John sits politely at the island. He feels eyes on his back all the while he fetches the water and puts on a kettle, but for once Ghost doesn’t feel unnerved by the sensation. In fact, dare he say he feels almost… comforted.

They sit in silence a while as the water boils and even a while after, nothing more than the shriek of the kettle to break it, and Ghost’s quiet compliments to John’s mother for the scones.

After a few tentative sips of tea and a refill for John, Ghost ventures to begin signing a question that had plagued him since meeting his neighbour.

He only mouthes the words as he signs, rediscovering that comfort in silent communication that he’d had to abandon in his retirement if only for not having anyone left to share it with.

“How did you…” Ghost pauses, wincing slightly as he questions, “…have you always been deaf?”

John’s smile has since dimmed considerably, though it’s no less friendly. He only uses sign for about half of what he says, and if Ghost could guess, it’s likely a clashing mix of habits.

“Not always,” John says. “I was in the military. Specialized in demolitions, got too close to an explosion, though my hearing was already shite by then. Had to retire early, but so is life, I guess.”

Ghost smiles weakly. “We’re not so different, then.”

John’s eyebrows knit together with curiosity, so Ghost takes the invitation to continue. Normally, he doesn’t think he’d ever be so open with a near complete stranger—but sharing that background, somehow it seems… easier.

He knows Price would be a right smug bastard about this if he knew.

“Also military. Retired from injury. Knee is fucked.”

John snorts. “I’m sure that’s one way of putting it.”

Ghost shrugs. They fall back into comfortable, companionable silence until John announces he should go, he does have work to attend to.

“What do you do?” Ghost can’t help but wonder.

“Boring office stuff from home,” John tells him. “Art commissions on the side, if I’m up to it. You?”

Ghost huffs. “Working on it,” he mutters. He doesn’t particularly care for John knowing about that.

The man seems to understand anyway, but says nothing of it. He just thanks Ghost again for the company, Ghost thanks him for the scones, and they bid each other a good rest of their day.

It’s weird—as Ghost hears John’s door shut across the hall, he finds he already misses his presence.

Maybe he should dig up some of his mum’s old recipes and return the favour. It’s definitely not an excuse, or anything like that, just… friendly neighbour activities.

Yeah. That’s all it is.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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storeecbrcod · 6 months

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In light of recent events (watch your back, Activision), I’d like to share a domestic Ghoap thought, or add to an existing one.

Soap and Ghost, living together. Whether it’s on leave, or after their time in the military, whatever. Usually, they take turns cooking; Soap is a good cook, whipping up delicious and hearty meals like his hands were guided by God himself (even if it looked closer to a failing juggling act despite the results, much to Ghost’s amusement). Ghost likes cooking, even if his food isn’t as good as Soap’s, because he likes doing things for Soap to help him. He likes taking some pressure off of his partner if he’s had a bad or tiring day (acts of service, amiright?).

Soap loves cooking. It occupies his mind, it’s something he’s got a natural knack for, and the end result is always worth the effort. While he’s never been one for instructions, he’s always shadowed his mam in the kitchen, which has compounded over the years despite not really having a space to cook since he was 18 unless he was on leave. All in all, it’s cathartic and helps him overcome his pestering perfectionism with small accidents that have no effect on the heavenly result, most of the time.

One day, Johnny tried baking. Unlike cooking, it’s not quite as smooth. Whether it’s baking paper that won’t rip right and won’t sit in the tray, or accidentally messing up the measurements, or having to go out to the store again because he forgot something, or trying his hardest to stir every little lump out of the batter, it just isn’t working right. He’s frustrated, struggling to understand why nothing was working as the recipe says it should, and he’s about ready to throw the batch of still lumpy batter at the wall.

Ghost, having been out on some errands, walks into the apartment to complete silence. There was always some sort of noise; music, tv, Soap’s own humming or playful singing or laughter. Now, though, it was eerily quiet, and Ghost couldn’t help but revert to creeping around silently, trying to find Soap.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees a scene. Flour spilled onto the counter and ground, a batter-covered spatula lying on the counter surrounded by opened containers of ingredients, and a metal bowl of batter sitting amongst it all, alone. As Ghost rounded the island, he found Soap sitting on the ground, legs out in front of him and his back against the corner of the cabinets.

If it wasn’t for the pure defeat on Soap’s face, Ghost would have laughed. Instead, he sighed, his concern melting to calm. He placed his wallet, keys, and handful of mail on an empty space of counter, then sat next to Soap on the floor in silence for a few minutes. He could practically feel the frustration rolling off of the other man, Soap’s jaw clenching and unclenching in silent irritation.

“What do you call a baker holding sugar in both his hands?”

Silence.

“Ambidextrous.”

A reluctant snicker later, Soap’s burying his face against Ghost’s shoulder, groaning.

“Ye’r fuckin’ insufferable, Lt.”

“And you’re a useless baker.”

“Aye.”

“C’mon, I’ll help.”

Ghost helps Soap finish up, fixing the batter as much as he could and setting it in the baking tray. They cleaned up as it baked, though somehow Ghost ended up with a face full of flour, and Soap ended up with his shit-eating grin being wiped off his face in surprise when a white handprint ended up on his ass with an accompanying chuckle.

When the offending brownies were finally done, they tried them.

“Steamin’ Jesus, these are incredible.”

“Not bad.”

“What d’ye mean? They’re beautiful, Simon!”

“Needed salt. And batter was over beaten, but yeah. Not bad.”

For Soap, it was yet another surprising thing he’s learnt about Simon in his time of knowing him. He was a damn good baker, a talent he’ll be looking to take advantage of in the future.

For Ghost, it was the first time in a long time where the memories of his childhood weren’t exclusively bad. Right now, with Johnny, he could almost feel his mother’s hands on his shoulders, a whispered “Good job, baby,” breathed against his ear like she used to in their own kitchen, with their own batch of brownies.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod mw soap #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #cod drabble #ghostsoap #soapghost #domestic ghostsoap never fails to make me happy #soap is a great cook and ghost is a great baker #soap is me fr though

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uzumaki-rebellion · 1 year

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“The Offering” Part 1 of 3 (A Namor of Talokan Fic)

My first Namor story! Masterlist HERE.

Summary:

A young Wakandan woman attends an annual Mama Wati celebration to honor the sea spirit and surf with friends. She encounters a strange man in the ocean who claims to be from a land as powerful as hers. A man who calls himself, Namor.

NSFW. Smut. 18+. (7,330 words) Namor x Black Female OC

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"You're ruling the way that I move And I breathe your air You only can rescue me This is my prayer"

Sade – "Cherish The Day"

It was the day of offerings for Mama Wati.

No time of the year ever made Lebadi happier than the first days of summer in Wakanda when the Border Tribe region celebrated the deities of the deep waters. Bast, Sekmet, and other higher powers were recognized inland, but on the sea, Mama Wati ruled everything. From the fishermen and fisherwomen to the military patrols on the ocean by the military, and everyday citizens, the big water was respected and revered. Mama Wati held sway there, and the annual offerings and celebration excited Lebadi beyond belief. Birnin S'Yan faced the sea and thousands of Wakandans made the trek across the mountains to the shorelands to dance, pay homage, and leave offerings to the mother of the sea.

Lebadi loved the trip because she loved to surf with her friends.

Every year T'limiwati—Revering the Mother of Waters—started the journey of packing up her father's Stealthmaster van with surfboards, firewood, and food. Lebadi drove around to pick up her four friends before they stopped at a temple to pay for blessed offerings to put into the sea. Mama Wati liked sugary treats, blue flowers, and small puff pastries shaped like seashells.

The drive would only take two hours, so her friends, N'ku, Pule, Ausi, and Benya would sing songs with her, eat snacks, and hope to find decent parking.

"We should've taken the monorail," Benya complained, as Lebadi tried her best to find a parking situation large enough for her father's van, but not too far away for them to trudge along with all of their gear.

"Not with all this stuff," N'Ku huffed.

"How about I drop you all off to find a suitable camping spot, and I'll catch up later," Lebadi offered.

Her friends agreed, and she pulled up near a sea wall where they offloaded their things. She happily drove away, knowing she wouldn't have to lug anything, not even her own stuff once she parked. Mama Wati must've known they had a great offering for her because Lebadi was able to snag a parking spot that was only a twenty-minute walk back to the beach.

The pilgrimage that year ran deep. The splendid weather, warm water, and balmy temperature brought out a dense wave of Wakandans for the celebration. Lebadi ran her fingers through her shoulder-length goddess braids she decorated with shells and blue flowers. It was the perfect style for swimming and surfing in seawater. Her skin was already turning a darker red-brown hue from the sun as she tapped her kimoyo beads against her father's car, sending up a protective shield that kept sand, sun, and seawater from damaging the paint.

Tugging on her short shorts that her plump ass cheeks tried to swallow, she checked her bikini top to make sure her plum-sized breasts weren't popping out like they were in the car. The top was a size too small on purpose, but it gave her the desired effect she wanted on N'Ku. He checked her out in the car despite his insistence that they stay friends after a not-so-successful try at a relationship. She thought that being out of college would make her love life easier, but the men around her were pitiful.

The walk to the beach thrilled her by seeing all the elaborate altars and gifts being brought to the beach for Mama Wati. She wished her grandmother was still alive. Their family used to show off by building a giant altar, but once Umi became an ancestor, her family didn't go to the ocean anymore. A pity. Umi taught Lebadi how to surf and she was going to keep up the tradition of surfing for Mama Wati until she was an old woman, too.

"Kgopo molemo!" Lebadi cried out when she caught up to her friend's campsite.

Wicked Good indeed.

They found the perfect location up against a sea bluff that protected them against any wind and was also far enough away from dense crowds hunkered down on the sand. There was a lot of dried and rotten seaweed separating them from folks that attracted flies and a subtle stench that was bearable to them, but unpleasant to others. She didn't care. They had room and privacy for their tents and boards. Gazing across the shore, families erected altars and there was a large old-fashioned blue and white boat decorated with blue flowers and filled with gifts for the sea, waiting to launch beyond the waves.

Wiggling out of her shorts, Lebadi made a show of jiggling her backside. N'Ku ignored her, his eyes fixated on the waves. They were big enough. Over six feet high. She held a hand above her eyes, shading them from the sun to see how far out the swells were, and how fast they were rushing in. Her board rested on her beach blanket, already waxed and ready to go. Checking her kimoyo, they had about ninety minutes to surf before the official ceremony began. They all stretched and put on rashguards, except for N'Ku and Ausi. He had on a full black wetsuit, and Ausi wore a short dark blue wetsuit that hugged her heavy curves.

"Last one in!" Lebadi shouted, kicking up sand.

The others chased after her with their boards and they spent a cracking good time snagging waves left and right until her kimoyo lit up. It was time for the offering ceremony. Lebadi twirled her finger in the air to let the others know it was time to stop. She paddled toward the shore fast when a wave lifted her. She popped up on her board like a rocket shot, balanced her arms, and took a quick glide along the lip of the wave, doing a three-sixty spin before dropping down. Her fingers skimmed the wall of bluish-green water that almost curled over into a nice liquid tunnel, but she overcompensated her balance and fell headfirst, knocking into Pule, whose husky voice shouted her name before he plummeted into the water too.

Soaking wet and full of laughter, the five friends scurried to their campsite to change into ocean-blue cotton tunics. Carrying the small offering basket they purchased at the temple, they delivered it to the large ceremonial boat. Several elders watched over the boat and accepted the gifts people brought. Seven djembe and talking drum leaders beat out a loud drum call and an old woman draped in an eggshell white dress with aquamarine flowers in her hair sang an ancient song to Mama Wati that Lebadi knew by heart. Two men and a woman paddled the offerings away and all the spectators onshore watched it sail far out to sea. The elder continued to sing and in the distance, they humbly observed all the offerings dropped in the water by the small boat crew.

When ululations ripped out from the throats of the onlookers, the drummers kicked up their pounding and Lebadi danced around her friends. They took time to admire the altar displays by families who decorated their own praise for Mama Wati. There were so many dotting the seawall.

They shared a fancy lunch together, and Lebadi relaxed into the fun for the rest of the day. By early evening, families left the beach for the inner-city entertainment. Soon, it was time to spark up a campfire and roast seasoned chicken kebabs and yams after a good surf day.

Lebadi reached into her open tent-flap door for the small paper napkin filled with sugar and special spices for Mama Wati that her grandmother used to make. She pulled off her tunic, revealing her bikini again.

"Be right back," she said.

"Hey, Lebadi. You're not surfing again, are you?" N'Ku asked as she lifted her board from the bluff wall.

"Just putting something out in the water for my Umi. Won't be long," she said.

N'Ku nodded and watched her carry her board back to the ocean. She felt self-conscious about her booty because she knew he was checking it out. Glancing back, she waved at him. He shook his dark locs threaded with shells, and she admired the lean muscular physique he showed off with his delicious sable skin. Bright white teeth gleamed at her. Her heart skipped a little. Maybe something could jump off later.

The far side of the beach was cleared of people, and the dull sound of music and carnival festivities echoed far behind her. Sunlight glinted off of the water with a final showy display of magenta and a sliver of blue for the sunset. She dropped her board on the water and skimmed over small waves, her strong arms paddling toward the orange sun. Straddling her board, she checked her leash, loosening it before she pulled out Umi's offering. She sprinkled the mixture gently into the water. The sugar dissolved, but the spices floated before being washed further out to sea.

"Mama Wati, I know this is your day, but my Umi, she was special to me. She taught me about you… she taught me how to love the ocean and ride the waves. Forgive me for honoring her with you. I don't know when I will be out to the sea again. Bast be blessed in your holy waters. Yibambe."

Lebadi dipped her fingers in the cooling water, cleansing her hands of sugar and spices. Reaching into her hair, she unfastened a flower and dropped it for a small wave to catch. It floated around her surfboard and a peace came over her. She sprawled out flat on her board and let her eyes gaze at the languid water, feeling lazy and free. Drifting off to a mini-sleep from a long day, her board rocked and lifted, gently pacifying her mind.

Minutes later, she opened her eyes and nearly fell off of her board. Two piercing dark brown eyes stared back at her from the water. They were attached to a handsome young man's tawny brown face. His ears were pointed and his dark wavy hair sat plastered around his forehead. A jade septum piercing captured her attention, and then her eyes drifted down to look at the most kissable lips that were parted slightly. His gaze had her transfixed. She held her breath, and he reached for her hand.

Lebadi sat up quickly, and a fresh wave rocked her, throwing her off the board. She splashed around, looking for the man, and glimpsed his feet diving below the surface. Were those tiny wings on his ankles?

She gagged on seawater because her mouth sat agape, and the shock of being spied on subsided. The man wasn't Wakandan. He didn't look like a citizen of their border country neighbors of Canaan or Azania. The man clearly wasn't African of any kind. He didn't look like the colonizers she learned about either, their pale flesh naked and strange like food without seasoning.

Something moved under her.

Lebadi scrambled onto her board and tried to catch the next wave back to shore, berating herself for not hitting her kimoyo quickly enough to film the man on a holo pic. She tapped it before she popped up on her board. A small wave rose and Lebadi rushed to snag it, but her leash stretched behind her and it dragged her off her board. She smacked hard into the water. A dorsal fin popped up, and terror hardened like cement in her stomach.

A great white shark.

Normally, they were confined to Southern Africa, but the shark circling her missed the memo. She struck the water to scare it away, and amazed herself by not screaming. Panic would overtake her if she did. She lunged for her board again and pulled herself out of the water, lying flat and still. The fin came around again and she could only guess at how big it was under the dark water.

"Mama Wati, help me," she whispered to the sea.

A thrashing in the water scared her shitless. She wanted to paddle away, but her arms would look like a tasty snack. Teeth chattering, Lebadi took a chance, sank her arms in, and stroked. A wave lifted her, and she jumped up quickly, focusing on getting to shore. She did no tricks or special moves, just rode the wave straight. Her board fins struck something, but she kept her balance, twisting her body to maintain control until she arrived on the wet sand that snaked between her toes.

"Holy Bast!" she shouted.

Running with her board back to her campsite, she kicked up a fuss. Her friends were tipsy from sharing a bottle of liquor.

"A great white attacked me!"

Her friends stared at her from around the fire. Benya held out the liquor to her.

"Well, shit!" N'Ku said.

Lebadi took a swig of plum liquor, and her friends followed her back to the water. They used lights from their kimoyos to illuminate the waves, but there was nothing out there.

"There was a strange man out there, too. I wonder if he was injured," Lebadi said.

"I don't see anything. Maybe it swam away," N'Ku said.

"I hope so. I'd hate to come all this way and can't surf because Jaws is swimming around," Ausi teased.

They searched the water with her for ten minutes until they grew bored.

"Maybe it was a dolphin, yeah?" N'Ku said.

"No. I know a dolphin fin when I see it. That was a shark out there," Lebadi said.

"And a little merman," Benya snickered.

Lebadi threw up her hands, and they returned to the fire.

More drinking commenced, with Lebadi partaking heavily, and after midnight, they were inside their tents asleep. Everyone turned in except for Lebadi. She let the fire burn down to the hot, glowing red coals before she took a walk along the shore away from their tents. Moonlight turned the peaks of the water into glowing white slashes of silvery light. Checking her kimoyo beads, they didn't do a great job of capturing anything because she didn't change the setting to get a wide 3D view of her surroundings.

Wait… there!

She froze the image. It floated in front of her, and she took her index finger and thumb to enlarge a section and cleared it up.

His eyes!

The static image seemed so strange. Water surrounded his face, with his hair swirling around. His body sat hunched forward like he was riding something…

She covered her mouth with her hand. The great white shark was underneath him. He straddled it like she did her own surfboard. There were no more images better than that one. Perplexed, Lebadi glanced at the water. Moonlight bathed her in tranquil blush-white light, and the soft sound of foamy water tickled her ears. He couldn't be human. Not with those ears. She could swear that she saw non-human feet, too.

She gasped.

He was there.

In the water.

Lebadi stepped forward until her toes were coated with foam and surging water, but she remembered the shark and kept the water at knee level.

"Hey!" she shouted, waving at him.

She didn't expect him to come to her, but he did, striding out of the sea in small tight trunks dripping wet. His hair was slicked back from his face, and it allowed her to observe him in the moonlight and the glow from her kimoyo beads. He was just under six feet, maybe three inches taller than her in comparison. His eyes made him seem larger than life, and their darkness penetrated every inch of her. His shorts hid nothing of the dick print bulge. He studied her too, taking peeks at her body and the lack of clothing she had on with her tiny bikini set. An elaborate choker necklace draped around his neck and she could make out gold cowrie shells, small beads, and strings of—

"Is that vibranium?" she said.

The shock of her tone startled him, and he looked at his jewelry.

Wakanda was the only nation that had vibranium.

"You're bleeding," she said, pointing to his side.

He turned around, and she saw the deep gash in his back.

"How did that happen?" she asked.

He pointed at her and his lips quirked up. Was he smirking?

"Me? How?" she asked.

He moved his hands to tell a story, and she made out that her surfboard had crossed over him and her board fins underneath cut him up.

"Can you understand me, or am I just thinking you can?" she said.

"Tene Tin na’atik … I understand," he said.

His voice scared her. It was forceful and slightly seductive. There was an accent, but she gawked at his ability to know her language. She eased back from him slowly.

"We are isolated from other places. How can you know Wakandan? Where did you get that vibranium? Did you steal that from us?"

Lebadi's voice grew haughty and protective of her country's secret resource.

"My people have our own."

"Rhino shit! It's native to our country. You stole—"

His hand went around her throat, preventing her from talking or yelling for help.

"My people don't have to steal," he said through gritted teeth.

"Take your hand off of me."

His head tilted and she swallowed as best she could.

"Watch what you say to me," he said.

The growl in his throat made her stomach jump. He released his hold on her and she rubbed her neck.

"The shark didn't attack you," she said.

"It knows better than to bite me. I raised it."

"Like a pet? Serious?"

He looked over her shoulder, and she glanced behind herself. N'Ku was up and about, kicking sand on the coals. Lebadi turned back to the man, and he was gone.

"Wait! Don't go!" she called out.

She ran toward the water. There was no splash. She would've heard that. Looking around, there was only the high bluff he couldn't climb up. He didn't run down the opposite side of the beach either.

"What are you doing way over there?" N'Ku cried out.

She ambled over to him on the cool sand.

"Walking around. Couldn't sleep."

"Stay close, yeah?" he said.

He rubbed her hair, flicked one of her decorative hair shells, and crawled back into his tent. She walked back to where she last saw the stranger.

"Where did you go? Am I drunk?"

The plum liquor had been strong. Maybe she had too much. She turned toward the bluff and—

"Fuck!" she shouted.

The man stood there, a sly smile on his face.

"How did you… do you have a camouflage shield or something…?"

"Bix a k’ a’aba’? What is your name?" he asked.

"Tell me yours first."

He stepped closer to Lebadi until his nose was an inch from her face.

"Eeen kaah-bah eh … K'uk'ulkan by my people. My enemies know me as Namor."

"So what am I to you?" Lebadi asked.

"I don't know yet. Who are you?"

"Lebadi."

He circled her, and the skin on her arms pricked with goosebumps. Not because it was cold, but because she found his behavior unnerving. He sniffed her hair, then stood in front of her again.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

He held a hand up to stop her from talking.

"I am looking for someone. A man was out in the water earlier. He dropped offerings into the sea with other people. I need to find him."

"I don't know anyone from earlier. I'm here with my friends to celebrate Mama Wati."

"Your God?"

"The mother of the waters," she said.

"Ixchel."

Lebadi shrugged, not understanding the new language he spoke.

"You are not afraid of me," he said.

"You rode a great white shark. If you wanted me dead, I would've been dead out there."

The intensity of his gaze became too much.

"I can't help you," she said.

She turned away.

"Would you like to ride him?"

Lebadi laughed in her mind at the nasty thought that ran through her brain about him when he said that. He had a solid body that would tempt any woman to climb on it. Fuck that shark.

"Me ride a shark?" she said.

Lebadi sucked her teeth.

"I'd rather know why you're here. What do you want from that man you're looking for? Are you a spy for the Americans?" she said.

King T'Chaka had begun a series of visits to the United States and the Wakandans worried about the west encroaching on their secrets. Lebadi pulled her hands in toward her chest. This was a national security situation. Liquor had her slipping up big time. She tapped her kimoyo to summon the authorities. Namor pulled on her beads and they fell apart, dropping onto the sand with soft plops. She dropped to her knees and gathered them back up onto her wrist. He held one away from her.

Lebadi ran back toward her camp, her hair shells jangling across her neck as she fled, and Namor's right arm encircled her waist. His left arm pointed above his head and they both lifted off the ground, racing upward fast, flying past the high bluff until they reached the top. Air breezed past her body and she closed her eyes from her fear of falling out of his grip. He dropped her on the soft tufts of grass at the edge. Too frightened to move, she stared at Namor's body floating in the air near the ledge. The small wings on his ankles fluttered like a hummingbird's wings. He glared down at her, daring Lebadi to move. She stayed on her rump.

"I must find this man soon. His name is Owiti Kiprono—"

"That is not a Wakandan name. I think you came to the wrong country," she said.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips became a tight line.

"I'm not lying. That name sounds Kenyan. You made a mistake coming here," she said.

She scooted backward slowly, and he crouched down to meet her eyes again.

"I cannot stay here long," he said.

"I don't know what to tell you."

He closed his eyes and sighed. Plopping down next to her, he plucked at the grass and threw it over the side of the bluff. That action alone made him seem so young. He looked her age, perhaps early to mid-twenties. There was peach-fuzz soft facial hair, and despite the maturity in his dark eyes, Namor acted as if he had a curfew, like he had to do something before his parents found out. How would an elder punish a flying fishman?

"You live out there?" she asked, her chin lifted toward the sea.

"I must leave," he said, raising up.

Lebadi grabbed his arm and held him. His skin felt cool and smooth, the muscle in his arm hard. He looked down at her hand gripping his flesh and jerked it away.

"Sorry," she said.

They sat together in silence, the crash of waves growing more frequent as a high tide rolled in. Far out in the sea, giant swells teased her eyes.

"You want to be on that?" he asked, nodding toward the large swells.

"Too far. I have a flying glider board that can take me out there, but it broke. We aren't allowed to go beyond five miles with our tech in the open."

"Because you hide yourselves?"

"Yes. If people outside knew about what we have…"

"My people are the same. It is forbidden… forbidden to be so far away… here."

"What do you call your home?" she asked.

"Talokan."

"Talokan… K'uk'ulkan… Ixchel …" she said, sounding out his language.

She looked at his ears and then gazed down at the wings on his feet.

"Do all your people—?"

"No. I am different."

She left the word mutant alone, not wanting to offend him. He flexed his fingers, stood up, and his body rose above her, those wings whirring fast.

"Wait, you can't leave me up here!"

Lebadi jumped up, and he flew past the ledge with a sly smile on his face.

"It'll take me forever to walk all the way down and back to my camp!" she whined.

"I need time to disappear before you tell the others."

"You haven't really done anything for me to tell them about."

He moved his hands in a wide arc while flying, and she put a hand on her hip.

"Okay, yeah… the flying thing is gossip-worthy. But you didn't hurt me, and nothing major happened… wait!"

He floated back six feet, and she stomped her feet.

"Come on!" she said.

"I like when you pout," he teased.

A smile lit up his face, and the moonlight gave his skin an eerie glow. She didn't want to grovel, but she also didn't want to make a long ass trek either.

"I'm scared," she said in a hushed tone.

"You faced a shark and didn't scream."

"I was in shock."

Namor held his hands palms up.

"Take my hands," he said.

Lebadi shook her head, but her feet had a mind of their own walking toward the ledge. Her hands ignored her brain signals too and reached for him. Clasping his hands, she curled her fingers in his and let out a nervous breath. Stepping out into the air with her right foot, she made the mistake of looking down.

"Namor!" she yelped.

Namor held her up and flew backward fast before tossing her in the air, her arms and legs flailing about before he caught her by the waist. He guided her down, not toward her camp, but across the dark waters dappled with moonlight and holding secrets of the deep.

"Easy, breathe easy, Lebadi," he cooed in her ear.

They dipped low and her stomach seemed to fall behind her as he whipped them across a giant wave that she saw minutes ago from so far away. He slid his hand from her waist up along her arms until she dangled below him, her legs swinging against wind and ocean spray. She whooped it up as he lowered her so that her feet skimmed across the top of a giant wave, cooling her feet and making her laugh hysterically. He swung her in another direction gently and her heels surfed the crest of another wave like she was water skiing. Dropping her into the ocean from twenty feet high, she splashed around frantically, terrified that his shark buddy would leap out and swallow her. Namor landed above the water, standing on top of it with his hands on his hips, looking down at her. He sank down into the water as her panic escalated and she threw her arms over his shoulders when the shark's fin appeared behind him.

"Take me out! Please, take me out!"

"He won't hurt you. See?"

The shark nestled close to Namor, and the man stroked the slippery cold skin.

Lebadi pressed her face into his neck and shivered in fear.

"Nothing will happen to you."

He stroked her hair and lifted her chin up.

"I promise," he said.

She wiped her eyes of water and nodded her head to him. Glancing to her side, Lebadi regarded the shark with trepidation, but she took a chance and stretched out her trembling arm toward the sea creature. Like dolphin skin, it was slippery, like wet rubber, and pliant when she pushed on it. She stroked the dorsal fin and nearly passed out when its head splashed toward her and she saw one of the cold black eyes staring back at her. Shoving her face back into his neck, Lebadi was done with the marine life show and tell.

Namor patted the shark near its gills, and the beastly animal went under the water and away from them. He lifted Lebadi in his arms, cradling her against him like a baby as he floated above the surface, flying them back to shore. She held onto his neck, watching the sand and bluff grow closer until they were back on land.

Face to face, they stared at one another.

"Good luck with your search," she said.

He touched her cheek, and the heat of her wet skin swallowed his damp coolness up. Those dark flashing eyes caused her insides to tumble and quake, making her feel a thick anticipation. Their attraction to one another was unquestionable. He slid the pad of his thumb across her top lip, following along its full shape before he leaned in and kissed her. The soft hairs of his light goatee tickled, and she smiled, opening her lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth where he explored every part. She gave back in return, sucking on his lower lip, fusing them together with slow succulent kissing. Her arousal triggered something in him as he pressed into her body. Firm muscles molded against her breasts, and the thin material of her bikini top revealed taut nipples. His right hand moved across her chest until it fondled a left breast, plucking at her nipple with gentle pinches. He slid the bikini bra cup aside, lowering his head to suckle. His tongue was incredibly warm dancing around her areola and her knees buckled when he lifted to kiss her again, his tongue snaking in and out of her mouth to taste every molecule, making her mouth water.

Her pussy already felt engorged, and every time he thrust his tongue between her lips, it throbbed with wanton need. His carnal desire for her curled her toes as his tongue and lips created a wet trail of gentle kisses along her neck. He moaned in her ear and her stomach became a swarm of butterflies trapped inside of her.

Their necks twisted from side to side, trying to find the best way to kiss more passionately, and she loved the failure of it. It seemed to irritate him, and he pulled back to stare at her with brooding arousal. She glanced down at his trunks and the thick erection protruding out toward her made her frantic to kiss him more. His dick pressed into her and Namor wanted Lebadi to feel it. He rubbed against her and she ground her vulva on it. When she looked down at his trunks again, he had his hand down there, tugging on the length. The tip peeked out and a heavy mushroom cap dripped pre-cum.

Lebadi moved his hand to her mound, and he took the invitation to heart by sliding his fingers down her scant bikini bottom. He stroked her clit first, his index and middle finger working tight gentle circles before touching her slippery wet folds. She was a frothy ocean down there and Namor pulled out his fingers to lick up all of her essence, making eye contact as he did it to show her how good she tasted to him. He smacked his lips and went back for more, tracing odd shapes along her folds and clit, teasing her with so much pleasure that she squealed out loud. He clamped a hand over her mouth and looked toward her campsite. No one was awake or searching for her. Moving his hand, he crashed his lips over her mouth, kissing the living breath out of her. Namor fondled her clit with expertise, and she thanked Mama Wati for the gift of her offering to the sea.

"Oh, my Bast!" she cried out.

Namor dropped to his knees and slid her bikini bottom to the side and feasted on her swollen clit, kissing and sucking to his heart's delight. His hands reached up to cup her ass cheeks to keep her in place. Lebadi stood and watched the ocean waves crash to shore as an orgasm surged. She grabbed for his hair and held his head against the clipped hairs of her vulva, panting and saying his name under her breath, willing herself not to scream. When his plush lips held her clit, and his tongue slurped all over it with warm saliva, Lebadi threw her head back and jammed her fingers in her throat to stifle the scream that she let out. She fell apart all over his mouth, the deep throbbing of her release reaching all the way to the back of her pussy. His seductive, penetrating eyes watched her cum all over his lips and tongue, extending her release, the orgasm rolling across her flesh in heated waves that made her scalp tingle and her eyes roll back.

His lips moved away from her pussy with a wet smacking sound, and they glistened with her sticky juices. He grinned and slid his tongue across his slips to swallow up every drop of her. Lebadi staggered back from him and Namor jumped up quickly to keep her from falling flat on her ass. Her entire body trembled with aftershocks, and the throbbing between her thighs wouldn't stop. She craved him.

Slamming her lips over his, she sucked her own taste from his mouth while he lowered his trunks and fisted himself. He coated his dick with all the pre-cum that dripped down from a deep slit and lifted Lebadi up by her hips, positioning her over the head of his erection. Sanity and thoughts of protection left her brain as she slid down his thick, brown dick. She wanted to be fucked good and proper by a man who laid her pussy out.

Namor's thrusts into her hot, gushy pussy had her mewling into his neck. He held her up easily, like she was a feather floating on the wind. His balls slapped against her ass cheeks, and she thanked all the Gods on land and sea for letting him stretch her pussy out on the beach. He grunted, the pleasure enveloping him too. He spoke to her in his own language, and she could only guess that he was telling her how good she felt on his heavy erection. His plundering of her pussy only made her more vocal, her yelps and wailing in his ear encouraging him to thrust with more conviction.

"Oh, Bast… Namor!" she shouted.

Weightlessness.

She clung to his shoulders as she gazed down at the sand he was not standing on anymore. Namor flew up along the bluff, still fucking her as he flew, and pressed her back against the hard wall of rock halfway from the top.

"You are too loud," he grunted, twisting his sinewy hips and pumping her full of Talokan dick.

Her pussy made squelching noises, and he slowed his strokes to tease her before flying them up again. He landed back on the soft tufts of grass at the top, but kept her on his dick. His breath was hot against her skin, and Lebadi's pussy clenched, making him shout her name from the pleasure of the tight grip. Laying her down on the grass, he pushed her thighs back and wiggled out of his trunks, giving her time to untie her bikini from top to bottom. She cast caution to the wind. Dick that good wouldn't come around that often.

He smiled at her as if he had read her thoughts. His beauty in smiling had her all soft and gooey on the inside, like she wanted to run home and tell her Mama that she finally met the one man to change her entire life forever. Lowering his face to hers again, Namor kissed her cheek and then her forehead. He turned his head as if he heard something.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Nothing."

He peppered tiny kisses across her clavicle and dragged his lips to her belly button, where he tongued it playfully, tickling her and making her giggle. Lebadi rubbed his head, letting her fingers caress his hair, and he looked at her again. She touched his nose piercing and the fire in his eyes reflected moonlight and a yearning for something beyond his grasp. Moving lower on her body, he kissed her thighs and the fold of skin near her vulva.

"I like the taste of saltwater on your skin," he said, licking her more.

He positioned himself between her legs and lined up his dick with her opening. Penetrating her gently, the bulbous tip parted her folds and her legs shot up straight to the moon.

"Ooohhhhh," she groaned.

He held her thighs with reverence, pumping in and out with delicate strokes. There was no fast fucking this time. He wanted to etch their lovemaking on the stars above them. It was so slow that it brought tears to her eyes. She whimpered his name, and he closed his eyes, his lower lip housed between his teeth, seawater dripping from his hair. He hunched over Lebadi and rocked into her body a little faster, the quicker pace forcing moans to fall from his lips.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he repositioned them so that she was on top, riding him with feverish intent. He palmed her breasts and stroked her nipples, watching her pussy slide up and down his length with vigor. She was so close to cumming again. Namor played with her clit, rubbing it softly and edging her closer to paradise.

"Fuck!" she yelled.

Flipping her over, Namor planted himself deep, stroking her at an angle that had her squeezing her eyes shut, thrashing under him. The beads from his choker dangled and scraped across her skin. He tossed her legs over his shoulders and tongued her down between giving her praises in his language. The man talked her pussy into letting go again and her walls clenched all around him, his strength and weight the only thing keeping her from shooting over the cliff.

"Namor… fuck me good… fuck me… oh, right there… stay right there… please… that's my spot!"

His name became a holy mantra on her lips. She felt his dick swell inside of her and he cried out her name, his cum warm and thick inside of her. He collapsed on her, and she stroked his back, feeling sweat pooling on his lower back. His mouth found hers again and his kisses were sweet all over her face and neck, bringing forth calming energy to her body and mind.

"That was incredible," she whispered into his ear.

His smile lit up his face again, and those sexy eyes drank in her naked charms under him. The smile faded when his eyes looked out toward the sea. His body grew stiff above her.

"What is it?"

He crawled off of her and pulled on his trunks. She rolled over and looked out to sea. The large leviathan body of a humpback whale floated in the distance; its long wide body visible from so far away in the moonlight. Fear shined in Namor's eyes.

"K’a’ak’ate," he said, stroking her cheek.

Lebadi scrambled to put on her bikini and Namor was already flying away from her, heading toward the sea and the whale waiting for him.

"Come back! You have to take me down!" she yelled.

He spun around to face her.

"I won't say anything. No one will see you," she pleaded, tying her top.

"Ma’taali’teeni’," he said, sounding regretful.

Namor shot away so fast that Lebadi took several seconds to blink. He vanished.

"Dammit! You bastard!" she said.

Storming away in the opposite direction, she made the long trek down the tricky bluff, cursing the man out, while also enjoying the tingles that ran up and down her body from their lovemaking. She took a long restroom break behind some bushes to urinate. By the time she made it to the bottom and found the trail that led back to the beach, her cheeks were warm and tight from smiling so much. No matter what she said, no one would believe her. She glanced at her kimoyo beads.

"Ah, shit!"

Namor still had one of her beads. The main one she needed to turn the kimoyo on. Oh, well.

Lebadi searched the water for signs of the whale or glimpses of her otherworldly lover. There were only waves and foamy water lapping on the shore. She trudged over the sand back to her tent. Unzipping it, she crawled inside and fell fast asleep.

The week in Birnin S'Yan went by so fast to Lebadi that she thought they had been there only three days instead of seven. She surfed so much that her skin flaked with sunburn and pruned feet. She felt gorgeous with her darkened, sun-kissed skin. But it was time to get home, remove shells, and unbraid her hair for a thorough washing and conditioning. She would rest her normal curls inside a satin bonnet.

Lebadi spent her last day on the beach surfing and scanning the water for signs of a great white shark, whales, or a set of pointy ears rising from the sea. She found nothing.

Her board skimmed across the warm waters, and she practiced neat footwork on it to impress her friends. A miscalculation sent her sailing over her board into a whitewash of liquid heaven. She laughed and shook her braids when she broke the surface. Another high wave towered over her and she duck-dived underneath, clutching her board with her hands as she held her breath. For a split second under the wave, she thought she saw Namor floating before her, and she broke the surface, startled and gasping for air. Releasing her board and letting her leash tether her close to it, Lebadi dove under again, searching for her lover. The sunlight that struck the water gave her enough light to see an expanse of the blue-green ocean and nothing else.

The next morning, she set about packing up her belongings before breaking down her tent. Her friends wanted to stop at a restaurant in town to eat a meal before the drive back to Birnin Zana. Rolling her sleeping bag, she found her missing kimoyo bead and a gold cowrie shell from Namor's necklace. There was no way for him to place it there while her friends were up, so he must've brought it to her in the middle of the night when she was fast asleep. Slipping the loose bead onto its rightful place on her wrist, Lebadi held up the cowrie shell. The craftsmanship rivaled her own people's artisan skills. Palming it, she stepped out of her tent to gaze at the horizon.

"All good?" N'Ku asked, staring at her as he buried their old coals.

"Yeah."

"We'll be ready soon. I can drive to give you a break," Benya offered, tying up her wet hair.

"Cool," Lebadi said, holding the cowrie shell close to her heart.

She later passed Benya a kimoyo bead to start up the van. Sitting on the sand with her legs pulled into her chest, Lebadi bid a silent farewell to the beach.

"Next year, I'm coming back, and you better show up again," she huffed, reminiscing over his touch all over her skin.

Just thinking about him aroused her, and she stood up, tugging on her shorts, trying to keep her bikini from sticking to her folds.

"What's that?" Ausi asked, looking at the gold cowrie shell she fingered in her hand.

"I found it in the water," Lebadi lied.

She pocketed the shell in her cut-offs and lifted her board and tent, following her crew to the seawall so they could wait for Benya to pull around. Lebadi glanced over her shoulder, and a shiver went through her.

"Mama Wati, when I give you a bigger offering next year, please send that man back to me," she whispered.

The sound of the waves crashing down loudly on the shore made her believe Mama Wati heard her request. No matter what, Lebadi was going to come back.

And she would ride the shark, Namor, and anything else he shared with her.

Part 2 HERE.

Author’s Note: If you liked the story, please share by reblogging, commenting and all that good stuff. Follow me for new updates and more content. I would love to see the Black Panther fandom come alive again. I haven’t seen the “Wakanda Forever” movie yet, so this story takes place twenty years before that. Just so you know, I make my own canon, lol!

Also, I switched up the spelling of the actual Mami Wata to Mama Wati to give myself space to reshape my ancestor’s actual African/African Diaspora spiritual water being into a fictional Wakandan one.

The Masterlist for more of my content is HERE. Be on the look out for part 3 soon!

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@thickemadame

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dutiful-wildcraft · 11 days

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TW: disordered eating, food insecurity

Soap grew up as a chubby boy, his whole family was really, stalky with healthy layers of fat over there bones, a combination of lifestyle and just plain ole genetics. It was a point of pride from his mam, who fed them potatoes and rice and pastas, easy and cheap carbs to keep her babies bellies full despite their struggling income.

Johnny, who'd never felt bad about it until school, where his peers teased him for his soft rolls and clothes that fit him just shy of too tight. Johnny who scarfed down all the food on his tray at lunch and never wasted a bite.

It broke his heart more to see it aimed at his sisters. His beautiful sisters, with their sweet round faces and kind smiles. The same sisters who shared his bulky shoulders and soft tummy, who gave the warmest cuddles and best advice.

Soap who started to bulk up and become leaner to beat anyone's ass who dare insult them again.

Soap who still has stretch marks on his thighs and belly well into his career, stripes he still wears with pride.

Gaz who has a food aversion from a childhood filled with obsessions over carbs and calories and sugars. His gran and mum, who were viciously concerned about their own figures when he was just a boy.

Gaz who lived in an “ingredient household.” Gaz who had to sneak food in the night for fear of punishment. Gaz who's snacks were nasty protein bars or meal replacement shakes. Gaz who was trained to look at every food label and compare nutrition facts, who cut his food into tiny pieces, or ate only in a certain order. (Chugging water makes you feel full he'd learned) Gaz who started checking his body and weight multiple times a day.

Gaz who still struggles despite trying to repair his relationship with food well into adulthood. On base, chugging an energy drink and eating a granola bar for breakfast isn't blinked at. Not eating at all doesn't look suspicious when out in dangerous operations.

Soap learns to refuse Gaz when he innocently tries to offer up the rest of his dinner in the mess. Ghost who peels off all the nutrition labels on the food when he grocery shops for the team. Price who makes sure they both stay fed when together on ops.

Ghost who had been scrawny his whole life. Little Simon who's ribs were visible, who's skin bruised like a peach. Who ate what little they could scrounge up but still saved some for his mum and Tommy.

Simon who is averse to food textures, who struggled to choke down whatever meager meal that was put in front of him.

Simon who's stress and anxiety chronically made his stomach hurt, made putting on weight nearly impossible, made eating what was put in front of him miserable when he knew his father would beat him if he refused to eat the broccoli that made his stomach churn.

Simon who got a job at the butcher shop as soon as he could. Who packed home the trash cuts so he and his family could have something of substance.

Simon who was turned away from the military the first time because he couldn't meet weight requirements.

Simon who gorged himself on meat and rice until he wanted to vomit, just to force some weight on.

Simon who learned to chew fast and swallow quickly with the disgusting textures of military gruel.

Simon who now eats the same meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday on base without fail. Simon who still cant bring himself to waste a single thing put in front of him, regardless of if it pains him to do so.

#Price is just doing his fucking best trying to get these men to eat right #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #task force 141 #disordered eating #soap mactavish #ghost cod #soap cod #gaz cod

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inbabylontheywept · 10 months

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That isn't a ship, it's a cannon with FTL

Aggral Thrawn’s gut was a grotesque thing to behold: Soft and distended, covered with a coarse layering of fur, a fat purple worm of a scar crossing over it’s almost spherical circumference. So vicious was the scar that even gazing upon it brought unwanted imagery of the fat ape-like creature screaming in pain, both arms working as a dam to keep the tidal wave of bloody guts from spilling out of its three-fingered fists

Yet, for all its grotesque horror, he trusted it. That same gut that had almost gotten him killed so many years before had worked hard to save him again and again after. It was what had brought him from mere gangpress, to quartermaster, all the way to the captain of his own pirate vessel.

And right now, it was telling him to call off the attack. The readings he was getting from the craft ahead made no sense. The crew space was too small, the energy readings were off the charts, and there was something almost military about it. Yet, as he looked over the hull, he couldn’t spot a single weapon. Nothing about it made sense.

The crew had enough in the larders to pass on a ship this sturdy. Even as ships on either side of him pulled forward, eager to be the first to raid the craft, he aborted the ram sequence to watch from a distance.

The crew was disappointed. It’d been too long since they’d had a good, solid fight, but they knew better than to second guess Aggral’s gut. It had earned its place as the ship’s oracle by rite of blood, and was to be respected accordingly.

---

There were only four crew aboard the USSN PMAC: Dalton Dial, in charge of weapon systems, Elizabeth Harris, in charge of navigation, and the Pratchett siblings, who worked together to keep the fifth generation fusion reactor that powered the whole abomination within some semblance of working order.

The Pratchett siblings’ love of the reactor (which they had affectionately named “Sun-Son”) was rivaled only by their hatred of the rest of the craft. Elizabeth and Dalton had more mixed feelings on the matter. Elizabeth considered the ship “Perhaps a little ridiculous on paper, but a work of military genius,” while Dalton lauded the idea as “Literally the coming of the Messiah, the only thing I prayed for my whole adulthood, and the answer to that prayer manifest, just for me, to bring me back to the flock.”

Their mixed feelings could be explained away just by describing the craft concept:

The PMAC was not a ship. It was the largest possible gun that could still be attached to an Alcubierre drive, with just enough manpower to steer, aim, and maintain the thing for long term patrols.

The prototype MAC that the life-support, thrusters, and reactor had been constructed around hadn’t even been built with space in mind. It was originally designed as a ground-to-orbit defense weapon. If it wasn’t for the capacitor bank the ship would’ve needed almost a minute between each shot to get enough power, even with the fifth generation reactor. Luckily, it could start out each battle with enough charge to fire off a salvo of four before needing to begin recharging for its next launch.

It had just such a salvo prepared for the pirate ambush that their military grade scanners had picked up minutes earlier.

Dalton was not taking the delay very well.

“With all due respect mam, I’ve had a lock on all three for almost a minute now. I could just fire and claim that I sneezed. The Pratchetts would back me up on this. Right guys?”

Emily Pratchett snorted.

“Why is it that when the weaponsmaster says ‘with all due respect’ he always means ‘fuck you for giving my stupidly giant gun blue balls?”

Thom Pratchett shrugged.

“Maybe he’d say it less if you weren’t so eager to translate it to the navigator for him.”

Elizabeth was slightly amused by the conversation. It was hard to keep things particularly formal while on a crew this small. Still, she was waiting for something. She’d gotten permission from the brass to take a new approach to fighting with the ship.

They’d proven it could win battles. Now, it was time to establish shock and awe. And as it currently stood, dead men told no tales.

Thus, they needed more living ones. And as she watched two pirate ships pull forward, with one hanging back, she knew just who’d live to pass on this particular legend. ---

Aggral watched the ships advance on his HUD, the blips crossing the thousands of kilometers between them and the strange ship in seconds. For a moment he felt regret. Was he making a mistake? Was this going to be what led to some upstart in the crew thinking they could do things better than him?

Then, the world went mad.

The power readings on the strange ship spiked. Hard. He’d thought that the baseline levels were outrageous, but they must’ve had some sort of absurd capacitor bank to expel that much energy that fast. The twin prongs that made up most of the length of the ship gave off some sort of EMP that fried the electronics of the Viscera, his sister ship, cutting off their radio traffic. His crew scrambled to find some way to regain contact when Gods of the Dead, forgive me my sins, and and forget me my debts, the actual weapon went off. The EMP hadn’t even been the attack, it had just been a side effect.

He hadn’t seen a weapon because he’d been looking for one on the hull, some kind of guardian laser, or a missile pod. He hadn’t even conceived that the whole goddamn vehicle could be the weapon. But what kind of weapon would charge up like that? A laser would just fire over a sustained period. What would need a burst like-

He stopped midthought as it hit him: A railgun.

He stopped again as it hit them: The kinetic charge would have to have been moving at almost 0.8c for it to just ignore the evasive maneuvers like that. The ferroslug itself wasn’t detected by any of their defense measures aboard, but the thermal readings of the Viscera made every infared sensor aboard scream in horror. Contact with whatever slug had hit it must’ve reduced the whole thing to plasma. It was almost inconceivable.

He was already screaming out the full retreat call when the ship fired twice in rapid succession at the Rictus, which was still recovering from what had just happened to its partner. The first shot was dead through the center. The second hit some target a few dozen meters off to the side.

A direct hit on an escape pod. Apparently, the captain had tried to save himself. Even in the mortal terror that he felt at that moment, Aggral could take a grim satisfaction at that second shot. To leave all the men that followed you to their deaths was a cowardice that he could not bear to consider. He would rather die.

And now, he was going to. Jump was fifteen seconds away, and the console was telling him that the ship was pinged. They knew where he was, they had him in their crosshairs, and they were going to pull the trigger.

He traced a finger over the purple scar absentmindedly. This was it. He’d been living on borrowed time since that first wound, and now he was to meet his ancestors.

He was ready.

---

Dalton was wincing, even as he maintained his ping on the ship. He knew that Elizabeth was just doing her job, but even by his admittedly bloodthirsty standards, there was something fucked up about keeping a ship in ping like this. It was like forcing someone to look you in the eyes before you slit their throat. Way too personal for his tastes.

Elizabeth was keeping an eye on the craft, making sure that no escape pods were jettisoning. Part of her was hoping that some would, but whatever other faults these pirates had, they were loyal to each other at least. As the ultraviolet scanners gave the telltale flair of redshift, she told Dalton to turn off the ping.

To say he was relieved was an understatement. In the middle of a firefight, he couldn’t question Elizabeth’s orders, but for the first time in a long time, he’d been afraid to pull the trigger. Now he didn’t have to.

He almost slid out of his chair as he asked the question that had been on his mind since the engagement began.

“Mam, what the hell was that?”

Elizabeth smiled warmly at her very surprised crew even as her words came out, cold as ice.

“A message.”

---

Thanks for reading this far! I'm moving my previous works from reddit to here. If you follow me, more will come. If you're impatient, you can skip to the source and read things at https://www.reddit.com/user/InBabylonTheyWept/

#humanity fuck yeah #hfy #humans are space orcs #scifi #humans are space oddities #this was the first story I wrote for the HFY subreddit #I am terrible at writing names so I just steal them #space pirates #bfg #Big Fucking Gun #science fiction

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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“In walks König, and it seems even the birds have gone silent, the sun goes into a cloud, and he stands there at her door, barely fits to straighten to his full height under that frame, his ice blue eyes creasing in the depths of the hood – of course he's smiling. And then he tilts his head, terror and lust pool in her stomach again as he says......

...And she despises herself for the first thought she's having, the unchecked little whisper...

He came for me.

"Found you."

———-

i am literally spiralling rn this had my damn heart beat speeding up!!!!!😭😭😭😭 howwwww do you manage to outdo yourself every time, it’s like you add another twisted piece of a puzzle into building this man😭😭😭

good luck getting rid of him now, he’s gonna put a tracker on your phone, car, laptop etc making sure you don’t stray from your regular routes (he compromises after you two make up and says he’s fine with you working/studying and having a few close friends, friends he has of course done an extensive background check on without your knowledge. The private military allows one such perks)

he’d put hidden cameras all over the house, just for making sure that you’re safe when he’s out during missions no ulterior motives whatsoever he’s totally not creeping on you when you’re sleeping or showering no mam

he’ll give you the illusion of freedom, but in reality you’re only moving freely within the confines he has created for you. Everything to keep you pliant, and willing.

PLEASE my drink came out of my nose

König could just watch you for hours ❤️ (with a zoned out, blank expression). It's cute when you go into a fetal position when you're sleeping, as if you can sense you're being watched… And when he's at the base he would plug that stuff in and watch it from a bigger screen in some surveillance room. It's just to make sure you do what you said you would are safe, to check that everything's ok.

He would so watch those tapes, preferably a live stream, every chance he gets. And if he can't get it real-time he'll just watch the recording when he gets back, fast forwards through some of it but checks meticulously certain parts & that you keep to your routines. You know, go to work and come home at times you're supposed to.

Checks the tracker for your routes, that everything matches, but mostly just loves it that he put those cams inside your house. Sometimes plays the parts where you're having breakfast, sitting and sipping your drink all cute... watches you sleep, too.

And omg the shower cam??

Someone walks in the surv. room when he's having some me time and watching you shower, and is like "König…? What r u doing?" Because there's an odd scent of musk hovering in the air, and König looks at the screen completely obsessed, answers without ever moving his eyes from it:

"Mm, watching the perimeter."

And the rando soldier leaves with a feeling that someone just sent ice down their back... They think to themselves, "Why the hell is he so mesmerized by some CCTV material? There's nothing going on out there, just wind blowing and like… this is a heavily guarded secret military base we're not in some safe house wtf?"

…doesn't know König was slowly fisting himself under the table while watching his Engel rub some shower gel on those tits 💖👀

#answered #yandere könig #toxic könig #obsessive könig #cw: stalking #good god #it's getting bad again

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ghouljams · 10 months

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I have become absolutely OBSESSED with your Cowboy!141 fics! And I just have to ask... pretty pleaseeee could you write about how goose met Soap? I gotta know if Soap was equally as surprised to find out the cap had a daughter! anywaayyyys, I love your fics! And I hope you know your amazing!!! <3333

Goose and Soap met years ago! They met after Soap’s punching an officer fiasco, Price offered him a place to stay while the whole thing blew over. This is where I tell y’all that Price and Duck got married quick and young, typical military move, and Price tended to keep his family life to himself while he was working. So Soap didn’t realize he was going to be dealing with a high schooler when he agreed to spend a few weeks laying low, but they were thick as thieves almost immediately(much to Duck's chagrin).

Two things happen when Soap steps through customs. First: he realizes how fucking hot the American south is in the middle of July. Second: he is immediately accosted by two women he’s never met before. Or one woman and one teenager who looks rather embarrassed by her mum’s antics.

“Sergeant MacTavish, right?” The woman asks, and he nods to be polite. He was told he’d be getting picked up from the airport but this was downright familial.

“You can call me Soap, ma’am.”

“Why’d they call you Soap?” The teen makes a face.

“Goose, that’s enough.” Her mum tells her, in the same voice Soap used to get from his mum when he was being rude to strangers.

“Why’d they call you Goose?” He asks, scrunching his face up the same way, and watching the teen smile.

Soap is almost cool. He’s what you think having an older brother must be like. Plus you’re learning a lot of neat swears. He crouches next to you, twisting gas covered strings together to link the fireworks your mom bought.

“Yer aff yer heid,” You tell him, “Mam’s gonna kill you if you blow up the barn again.”

“Ah dinnae blow up the barn,” Soap hauls you to your feet and tugs you away from the mess, “Ah burned it.” He thinks a moment then moves you back another few paces. “Don’t move.”

“Aye that’s an idea I ‘adn’t thought of.” You tell him, taking an extra step back from the mound of danger.

“Why’d I let you help with this?” Soap asks, going to light the first fuse.

“Because I caught you nipping scotch from Momma’s reserve.”

“Bloody American drinking age.” He grumbles, clicking his lighter on and narrowly avoiding setting the whole kit ablaze.

Your mom calls the fire department about half way through your show and you both get a talking to from the fire chief. Soap only looks sorry he was stopped.

“Soap.”

“Go’way Goose,” He grumbles, turning away from you and tugging his blankets up over his head.

“Come on,” You whine, “you said we’d go shooting today, and it’s almost noon.” Soap grumbles further, a hand reaching out from under the blankets to smack around and check his phone.

“You keep yellin’ at me an’ am gonnae be cross,” He groans, tossing his phone and sitting up. He stares at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched.

“Howzitgoan,” You ask.

“Am fuckin’ trollied.”

“Don’t drink so late, now get your kecks on.” Soap smacks you with his pillow until you leave the room laughing.

“That your boyfriend?” Soap asks as you hop in the cab of the family truck. You make a face and click your seat belt on.

“Gross no, he’s just some ROTC dick’ead.”

“Enlistedmen more your type eh?” He jokes throwing the truck into gear and peeling away from the movie theater. You roll your eyes.

“With how often my Da’s off getting shot at? I’d rather shoot myself than be a military wife.”

#cowboy!Soap #oc: Goose #Goose 🤝Soap: adhd siblings #Soap years later giving Goose absolute hell for chasing after Ghost #“He's a cowboy now that's different”#as if Ghost isn't on his knees the first time she calls him lieutenant #johnny soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #They really just cause havoc the whole summer #it is one of the best summers of either of their lives #Price swears Soap to secrecy in exchange for letting him go back next year #Duck starts doing doctors without borders as soon as Goose goes to college

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thecheesesposts · 3 days

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Part 3

A thousand feet was just the beginning.

You couldn't hear anything the generals were saying over the roar of the helicopter blades. Not that you cared. As long as you and your girlfriend kept doing "the work" the military would keep supplying everything you needed, and she needed a lot these days. Looking out the open door of the chopper you were struck by how normal she almost looked. The high altitude wind blew her hair and she swept it behind one ear with a coy smile as she eyed you incoming. With the massive leaves of the jungle tree at her back she looked like she could almost be normal sized, but that was just a trick of perspective. You knew each of those palm leaves stretched out a hundred feet from a trunk wider than a skyscraper. That tree had given the active agents which made the drugs to fuel her exponetial growth. When the two of you arrived you'd marveled at the size of it, even to her it had seemed big. Not anymore. Nothing seemed big to her anymore. The "low bushes" around her were all old growth jungle trees that easily topped ten or fifteen stories. Her sundress was made of thousands of yards of fabric with designs whose size were meant to be on billboard displays. On her the images looked like little design details, even though each was larger than the helicpter you were in now. All her clothes were simple, since they had to be remade almost daily, but she made them all look stunning. Her curves could have made a burlap sack look like a dress meant for the red carpet. That had been true when she was only five and a half feet tall. It was still true, just on a much, much grander scale.

It had been weeks since she was anything approaching "normal" height. Even now you knew she was sitting, hardly half as tall as she could be. If she stood the whole canopy of this immense ancient forest would hardly reach her shins.

You loved to see it. The sheer immensity of her perfect form. If she stood the helicopter would have trouble reaching her face to relay today's message. Your pants tightened at that thought. The idea that even this machine would soon be unable to reach a height she was at casually standing was incredibly arousing.

The soft smile on her building sized lips was also arousing. Despite her size she was still the same woman you had loved for years. Her growth had changed her in some ways. She was more confident, and rightfully felt more powerful, but at the core she was the same funny and charming person you used to sit next to on a couch and play Minecraft with. God that seemed like eons ago, but really it had only been a little over a month. The drugs the military gave her had really accelerated her growth. So much so that city living was impossible. Hence your new home in this jungle outpost.

"WELL BOYS, WHATS THE NEWS? DO WE HAVE A GOAL FOR THE DAY?" She spoke at a normal volume but ever since she'd surpassed a thousand feet her voice became a rumble that you could feel in your bones. Somehow it still retianed it's soft feminity, like turning the volume all the way up on a classical song and putting your ear to the speaker. Louder but still the same notes.

In response the helicopters loud speaker said "Yes mam. We've recived some disturbing intel from the home office. Satellite photos show that a Russian woman has been gaining hundreds of feet daily. She's still smaller than you but not for long."

She shook her city block sized face and stuck out her lip in a pout "WELL WE CANT HAVE THAT CAN WE? HUNDREDS OF FEET A DAY YOU SAY? HOWS THAT POSSIBLE? OUR BEST DAY WAS A HUNDRED FEET." she winked at you as she said it. That had been your best day. Your mind traveled back, hearing moans that shook the trees as you rode a nipple the size of a sedan like a cowboy riding a bull. The jiggling and swaying of her tits as her hips rose and fell making your whole world wobble like an ocean. Looking one way seeing the hundreds of feet of landscape that was her stomach and thighs, her hand working between them, looking the other and seeing her lust driven face bigger than a building watching you with rapt sexual interest.

The helicopters loud speaker pulled you from your memory. "We think we know. They've discovered a way to distillate the drug we synthesized. The process is rather simple and rudimentary. We had known of the possibility but didn't think it was necessary until now."

You liked were this was going... and, as she bit her lip and a massive hand traced her flushing chest, you knew she did too.

"BUT YOU THINK IT MAY BE NECESSARY NOW HUH? DO WE NEED TO ACCELERATE MY PROGRESS?"

"Yes mam, if you and..." the man on the speaker glanced back at me in the hot seat. A look of glee painted on my face "your partner would be ameable. We actually think we can one up those soviet bastards. This new dose should let you double, maybe even triple in height, regardless of your current stature. This could win us the growth standoff. Make you so big no nation would see the point in trying to beat us anymore."

"OH..." she got a dreamy expression and your mind reeled at the thought of her three thousand feet tall by sundown. You remembered when she'd said the generals hoped for miles and felt that time was now approaching. Then something else struck you. The man had just said she could triple in size regardless of her current size. If she would be three thousand feet by end of today, did that mean tomorrow she'd be six? 12 the next? You thought you might be drooling, you imagined her clevage alone thousands of feet deep. Looking up at her as she dangled her breasts over a city scape, even skyscrapers nothing in the shadow of just her nipples. Then you imagined her growing three times that size... "fuck yes..." you whispered

"FUCK YES! I LOVE IT, HIT ME WITH IT. LETS SHOW THE WORLD WHAT WE CAN DO. I CANT WAIT TO HEAR HOW THE WORLD REACTS WHEN THEY SEE ME TEN TIMES AS BIG AS THIS!" She said with exciment. "... FOR THE COUNTRY OF COURSE, SIRS." she made an awkward salute, a wry smile on her face. Neither of you gave two shits about the country, but growing, you both loved that.

"That's the goal mam. Well the stage one goal at least... don't you worry about that now. We're burning daylight chatting. What's say we get started. Where would you like the package dropped off?" The general said as he pointed a thumb back at me.

"HMMM WELL I THINK WE ALL KNOW WHERE HED LIKE TO LAND, AND THE RUNWAYS JUST KEEP GROWING DONT THEY?" She said as she squeezed her gargantuan boob's together. You flushed with excitement. Ready to spend an entire day doing what you could to help please this goddess.

"As you say mam" said the general. "Take us close and let the mad lad jump." He turned in his seat to look at you "you ready son?"

"General, this is truly my calling. I'm ready."

We both looked out the front of the chopper. It closed in on her and now that we were closer the whole horizon was her bust and neck. Hundreds of feet of smooth brown skin in all directions. A playground to lose yourself in while she pleasured herself. And by the end of today there would be three times as much. You unbuckled your seat belt stood from your chair and leapt. You were ten or twenty feet up but it was like landing on warm pillows. The heat and scent of her overwhelmed you and as the chopper flew away you looked up to see her face like the sky. Curls of her black hair framing that perfection with its knee weakening sexy look.

"SHOULD WE GET STARTED BABY?" her voice boomed.

You nodded vigorously. It was going to be another amazing day.

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raving-raven-writing · 1 month

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Recom Headcanons

So, some of this is from my mind, but some of these headcanons I'm sure are based off others' headcanons I've seen. Also, some of these headcanons may actually be written in terms of some of my fics that I have written for Avatar. Particularly if you have read my story Lost and Found or any of my Recom Smut series. @hellpmeimobsessed You asked me to tag you, so here you go! Warning: Some of these headcanons may contain mention of past abuse/past child abuse/past sexual abuse, and may also contain content in terms of what the character enjoys in the bedroom Brown: -Was SAed when he was younger -Loves karaoke, even though he might be a bit tone deaf -Enjoys cuddling naked with his partner -Did modelling for a brief period of time before he decided to join the marines Fike: -....I got nothing for him, sorry. No hate to him, just don't have any at the moment.

Ja: -Was raised by his grandparents -Seeing the EMTs work on his grandma sparked his interest in wanting to become a medic -A sensitive soul, rather quiet and reserved -Enjoys movies, most genres except for horror; is a bit of a baby when it comes to the scary movies -Has minimal sexual experience compared to some of the others; but has always wanted to titty f**k his partner -Him, Prager, and Lopez are close

Lopez: -Is a masochist and will openly admit to it -Comes from a large family, a middle child of five. Very close with all of them. -Has problems with authority figures, always having to hold his tongue so he doesn't get himself into trouble -Very protective to those he loves or is loyal to -A rather horny drunk...this may or may not be how he and Ja got it on Mansk: -Has a light sensitivity, hence the sunglasses all the time. But also uses the sunglasses as a layer of protection of being perceived by others -Sits somewhere on the autism spectrum but was never diagnosed, comes across as just being "socially awkward" -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Was sexually abused by his uncle as a child well up until his late teen years -Definitely a mama's boy - The younger of two kids. Has an older sister named Nora -Turned to cooking as a way to cope with his trauma--found he had a gift for it and just kept at it. But also enjoys making others feel good by being able to give them a good meal

Prager: -Is a pothead -Grew up with alcoholic/drug addict parents, but was eventually fostered by an old teacher who took him under their wing -Likes most types of card games and board games -Stress cleans -Enjoys rollerblading and skateboarding -Easy going/go with the flow type of person--both in day to day things and in bed Quaritch: -Grew up on a farm -Raised by an abusive/alcoholic father and a mother that fell ill when he was in his teens -The oldest of three children---lost connection with his siblings when he left to join the military -His relationship with Paz started as her simply flirting with him based on a dare, but eventually turned into a fling as Miles was impressed by her boldness -Smokes when stressed but turns to alcohol as a bad coping mechanism if given the opportunity -Enjoys camping and hiking and being able to be out in nature so he can reflect upon life and to be able to get more in touch with his emotions -Likes to take charge in bed, but Paz is able to persuade him into being a sub in some situations Wainfleet -Has a bit of a crush on the Colonel. He thinks it isn't obvious, but some of the others see it -Is a switch in the bedroom. But prefers to be the sub when he is with his girlfriend, Mina. -Makes jokes constantly despite the fact that he struggles with his mental health--saw being the funny man as a way to make others like him -A middle child of three; has an older brother who is also in the military, but joined the Army branch, and a younger sister, who died when he was about thirteen -Grew up on a farm, although not many people know this -Grew up being rather sensitive and a "cry baby" as his brother dubbed him. Was a big mama's boy and her death damn near broke him -Smokes when stressed

Walker: -Likes to scrapbook in her spare time -Her and Z-Dog have flings with one another, but neither of them would label themselves as an "item" -Likes to sit down with a good book on a stormy day and curl up by the fire with some comforting snacks Warren: -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Has a crush on Mansk (initially unrequited?) -Is gay, but no one knows this (at first) -Is very much a wallflower, people forget he is there sometimes -In sexual relations, is very straightforward and a take charge type of guy--but makes sure that he is never rough with his partner

Z-Dog: -Grew up in a house full of men. Her mother left when she was young, so she just had her dad and her three brothers -Was very much a tomboy before realizing that she liked girls more then she liked men -Her father was a mechanic so she knows her way around a car -Enjoys physical sports like boxing and kickboxing -Chews gum as a way to manage her anxiety as well as to curb any emotional eating Zhang: -Is one of the three "strong and silent types" (with Warren and Mansk being the other two) -Rarely smiles -Enjoys shibari (Japanese rope bondage) and 69ing -Looks mean since he has a "resting bitch face" but can be quite gentle and doting with his partner -Joined the marines as a way to rebel against his parents since they wanted him to become a doctor or lawyer or engineer.

That's all I got for now. Might eventually develop some headcanons for Fike and might add on to what I have here. Hope you enjoyed reading!

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year

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Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 42

It's 1967! Doctor Who has started on the telly, look.

But! We are jumping in with our... second? third? episode of the Flux, so Whittaker, Yaz and Dan are trying to deal with a universe that just got munched while dog people save Earth and Division are being shadowy paymasters. Last time we saw this, we saw the Doctor be delivered by weeping angels and then met her breathtakingly well-acted adopted Mam, and it turned out she runs Division and also was the one who actually triggered the Flux ready to move to another universe, while Yaz and Dan ran around in the 1910s with a fabulous professor called Eustacius Jericho.

This episode, we meet Jericho seemingly for the first time with an angel-possessed psychic called Claire, in a 1967 village. What an odd choice. Almost as though we are watching this in a very stupid order.

I FUCKING LOVE THIS EPISODE THOUGH

It's an angel episode!!! And a good one!!! The last one we saw was the Angels Take Manhattan, which is contemptible shite that makes zero sense. But this one! It's fucking fantastic. It's proper creepy horror from start to finish - in spite of being in the middle of a six-part story, there's little arc plot beyond a very small handful of scenes. Otherwise, after an unexplained start where a weeping angel is somehow in the TARDIS and hijacking it, we are treated to the tale of a village called St Hilary in Cowbridge Medderton in Devon the night its inhabitants all mysteriously vanish without trace, leaving it to be taken over by the military as a locked camp in the future. One woman in the village knows it's coming, and is desperately trying to warn people, but no one is listening; but, it emerges that this also happened to the village in 1901.

Why? Because angels send the inhabitants back to 1901.

And then back in 1901, do the same thing there, too; and anyone who is sent back more than once dies.

WHICH IS INTERESTING GIVEN THAT THEY SUPPOSEDLY COULD SET UP A "BATTERY FARM" IN MANHATTAN AND SEND PEOPLE BACK REPEATEDLY NO I WILL NEVER BE OVER THE LORE BREAKING OF THAT EPISODE-

Anyway, this one's great. Tonnes of tense, creepy horror, and trying to run away while yelling "DON'T BLINK", although they could all do with working on their teamwork in this field, to be honest. Like, if there are two of you, maybe one of you do the angel observing and not blinking and the other do the looking where you're both fucking going and guiding? Maybe? Maybe that's a good idea? Maybe trade off who's doing which job? Maybe don't all try staring and walking backwards at the same time, thus stumbling into each other/more angels? Really atmospheric, though, proper tense. Also, new lore introduced! Whatever holds the image of an angel can itself become an angel, with a lot of energy on their part. This makes The Angels Take Manhattan even more deeply stupid, since the Statue of Liberty is possibly the most photographed statue in the world, but okay.

Anyway. Claire the psychic is from the present day, but is possessed by a fugitive angel that's on the run from Division. The others are trying to capture it. She gets sent to 1967 by one, but the one possessing her is hiding inside her. Yaz and Dan get whipped back to 1901 while looking for a lost 10 year old called Peggy, who it emerges has been angelled, and also becomes the old woman who knew this was coming in 1967. The whole village, it seems, has been "quantum extracted" - pulled out of space/time to extract the fugitive. While fleeing, Jericho gets angelled and lands with Yaz and Dan, which explains why he was running around the 1910s with them before.

But, the angels take the Doctor instead of the rogue one. We know that bit! We saw that last time.

Meanwhile, some minor arc - Vinder the beautiful man is still searching for Bel. Bel, though, finds her way to a planet that supposedly offers 'salvation', a woman who arrives to take survivors away to a safe haven from the Flux. Turns out it's the beautiful geode lady though. She takes the survivors into Passenger, which is an endless prison. Bel saves an ungrateful man from this, and then swans off into the universe to stop it, so well done her.

LET'S TALK ABOUT JERICHO THOUGH I love him. I love him very much. Kevin McNally plays a fucking blinder with him. Oddly, watching the show in this order really made us feel the horror and impact of the First World War, but not so much WW2 - I think the forays into it were mostly either played for laughs (punching Hitler) or jingoistic tedium about sucking off Churchill, with no real sense of the impact at all. But Jericho has a great little monologue at one point, after the Doctor admires how his scientist mind wants to understand things, and so doesn't stop to be scared. "I was one of the first British soldiers into Belsen after the War," he says. "If you think a few stone statues will destroy my equilibrium, you are mistaken." He also has a spectacular moment where multiple angels suddenly break into the room, and he squares the fuck up to them with all the gravitas and power and titanium-spined energy of David before Goliath and commands them "You stop right there. You are observed, and that is my power over you."

God fucking damn it. Incredible. What a character, what an actor, what lines. Ugh. Perfect.

Anyway, plot threads! Let's see. I mean we have LOTS of planets that have disappeared. Maybe that's the Flux? That seems logical; when Bel reaches the ungrateful man, he tells her that the planet they're on is the last, most intact one in the sector ("A third of a sun, quarter of a moon, half a planet"). Um, the TARDIS is sort of broken/not working again, but then we start the episode with an angel piloting it somehow, so... is that why? And, why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

Fortunately, we don't need to add any plot threads about Division, because that's already been resolved. This watch order is stupid.

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (perhaps River returned as Missy. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest. The Thijarian planet was destroyed by some sort of impact). NEW INFO: is this the Flux?

Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)

The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)

River is possibly blown up (unless she’s Missy. Nope: she is definitely not blown up)

The TARDIS has blown up (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again. NEW INFO: NOPE, back to not working.)

The universe appears to have ended (the universe is back again)

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole

(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)

There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants)

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)

Why is Amy’s pregnancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?)

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

What happened with the Other Cyber War?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri (NEW INFO: not anymore, somehow)

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf?

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Who is the Master?

Why has Amy forgotten Rory? How did she forget a Dalek invasion?

Is Rory plastic or not?

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras?

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fobwatch?

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?

How did the Doctor forget Clara?

Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather?

How did Nardole die?

When does Bill get Cyberman-ed and die?

When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?

Whittaker is falling to her death rn

Was that ring relevant?

Does anyone know the Doctor’s name?

When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?

When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?

What’s happening with the bees?

What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?

What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?

What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”

If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?

How did the rest of the Time Lords die?

How and why did Amy melt?

What’s the question that will make silence fall?

Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?

How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?

How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?

What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard?

Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?

What happened with the space whale?

When does Rory defend Amy for 2000 years?

How does the Doctor survive River

How does he erase himself from history

Did Captain Jack lose his memories to the same people as the Doctor? What did he lose?

When did the Doctor send the Daleks into a void to save the universe?

What’s with the weird crack in the wall and is it affecting memories?

Why do Amy and Rory think the Doctor is dead?

Is Matt Smith’s Doctor a tree racist?

Why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

#doctor whom #and yet we are continuing

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