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geeky-politics-46 · 2 years

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Hey! As much as I love dom!Stephen, I was wondering if we could switch things up and if you could write a smut where reader switches their roles one day bc she sees someone flirt with him and gets jealous and he sees she has a possessive side too and then she marks him up to show others he is taken? Thanks !!!

Not Very Good At Subtle

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Doctor Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: When another woman flirts with Stephen you give him a reason to remember exactly who he's going home with & you don't care who overhears it.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - Dom/sub dynamics, jealousy, dirty talk, pet names, oral sex (m receiving), little bit if rough play, semi-public sex, language, it's just pure filth

I may have been imagining this ever since we started seeing pics of him in that suit. I have zero shame. Written so reader can be either a regular person or sorcerer/Avenger.

Nat could tell by the way you jabbed the swizzle stick at the ice in your drink that you were ticked off. She followed your glare and saw the source of your displeasure. A female reporter in a cocktail about one size too small who was trying to cozy up to a certain sorcerer. It didn't help that he looked absolutely fucking delicious in that suit.

You were far less than entertained at the over the top way she had taken to showing her interest in Doctor Stephen Strange. He was an incredibly charming man who had the handsome good looks of a classic movie star. It was just the icing on the cake that he was a genius as well as an MD. He also loved to show off. Literally turning water into wine as one of his favorite party tricks. All those features easily attracted many lovely women or men whenever he wanted, and sometimes when he didn't.

All things that had attracted you to him. Which is exactly why you were perturbed. She was flirting with your man, and while he wasn't necessarily reciprocating it he wasn't dismissing her either. He was making sure to split his attention between the other two or three people in the cluster around him. Occasionally awkwardly acknowledging her when she would place a hand on his upper arm or toss her hair with a phoney laugh before trying to shove her cleavage toward him.

You had arrived together but quickly found different places to stand. Everyone knew you were friends but you didn't want to be seen as "his date". You were both trying to keep your relationship quiet for the time being.

Hell the only reason Nat knew why you were so mad was because she had found a little love note he had left for you one day when she was rooting through your purse for a pen. Before she could call you on it loud enough the whole city would know you managed to wrangle her into a room and tell her everything.

That yes, you and Stephen were seeing each other. That you were a couple. You just weren't ready to be out in the open yet. So other than her, and you suspicioned Wanda, Wong was the only other one who knew for sure. They both had been sworn to secrecy.

Once you had arrived at the event you quickly found the girls and made a beeline for them. Wanda tried to split her time with Vision. Nat and Maria both liked to hang together and people watch. Stephen was more or less forced to mill around, schmoozing with all of the bigwigs. Trying to keep the Avengers in good social standing meant playing dancing monkey.

"You grip that glass any tighter and you're gonna break it."

Nat couldn't help but tease you a little. She thought it was adorable the way you and Strange would both dance around each other whenever you were in the same room. You were both terrible at trying to be secretive. How everyone didn't already know about you two was beyond her.

"You know if you want to get his attention you could just go get Bucky or Thor to dance with you."

A faux innocent grin played on Wanda's face. Trying to goad you into confessing. Or at the very least creating an interesting show for everyone else to watch.

It was now Maria's turn to poke at you. "I think it's more she just wants him away from her."

"Oh my god does everyone know?"

They all chuckled and looked at you. Shooting you a look that said just how bad your poker face had really been. Wanda was the one who decided to answer.

"No. Clearly she doesn't. I think most of the guys are still oblivious to. Other than Vis."

You heard the reporter's laugh again and slammed your glass down on the bartop, inadvertently garnering more attention toward yourself.

"Okay that's it", you said pointedly just as she took another step to try and press herself closer to Stephen. You launched yourself in their direction and walked briskly toward the small group. Slowing as you approached to look more inconspicuous. Once you were behind Stephen you reached around to touch the arm closest to the reporter and wedged your body between them.

"Excuse me, Dr. Strange, we seem to have a little matter that could use your attention in the other room. If I could borrow you for just a moment."

You could see the panic behind his eyes. You called him "Dr. Strange". You never did that. He could also see the reporter staring daggers at you and already trying to reach around you to grab onto his arm to get him to stay.

He fumbled out a hurried "of course", and started following you toward the single bathroom just off the main room. Just barely avoiding the grasp of the now offended other woman.

You both tried to keep a casual pace, but took large steps to get to the door as quickly as possible. You had no backup plan if someone else beat you to the currently unoccupied private space. Maybe there was a closet nearby, but you didn't have the patience left to look for it.

You pushed him into the bathroom ahead of you and swiftly moved to lock the door behind you. He was already starting to try to calm you down before he even turned to face you. He was very aware why you were upset and wanted to assuage any worry you had. He was crazy about you.

You clapped your hand over his mouth to shush him and pushed him back to the wall with the other. His eyes showed his shock. He was used to being the dominant one and your show of predation caught him completely off guard.

"Shut up Stephen. I'm going to talk, and you are going to answer when told. Do you understand me?"

A playful glint in your eye told him he should only be a little afraid. You were still in earshot of everyone else surely you wouldn't do anything too crazy. He nodded his head.

"Good boy"

You pulled your hand away and kissed him hard. Letting your hands ruffle his hair and your body press firmly to his. When you felt his hands grab your ass you reached back and swatted them away signalling you could touch him, but not vice versa. You let the kiss slow before breaking away.

Smiling at the flush now on Stephen's cheeks and your lipstick now smeared on his mouth. You let your hands slide down his collar to play with the knot in his tie. Letting him catch his breath before you continued on with your game.

Once you could tell his vision was focused and he was paying attention once again you loosened his tie and undid his top button as you let your words fall slow and sultry. Heavy with the possibility of consequence for his action. You were a lioness who had cornered your unsuspecting prey. This was a side of you Stephen had never seen before. Though thrown off balance still, your prey was all too willing to let you devour him.

"Did you think I would really stand by and watch her throw herself at you Stephen? Did you think I didn't notice whenever she would run her hand up your arm? Wanting you to touch her. You wouldn't though, would you baby? There's only one woman you want to touch, isn't there?"

He dropped his head back against the wall and your lips found his throat as you reached down to grab his crotch in one hand. Sucking and biting little marks against the sensitive spots on his neck in between your words. You were marking your territory.

You knew the answer to your question, and he knew that you knew the answer.

You could feel his heart starting to race as you let your hand start to stroke and massage his cock. Feeling him grow and harden, hot and heavy under your touch.

"There's only one woman you want to touch you isn't there Stephen? You like it when I touch you don't you baby? Like when I stroke your cock just like this."

Stephen moaned and started to grind his hips against your hand. His hands gripped at your hips hesitantly but he didn't try to pull you closer. He didn't know what your endgame was and he didn't want to do anything to accidentally make you stop.

'You like when I suck your cock too, don't you?"

At that he whimpered a little. He was already putty in your hands and the thought of your mouth on his cock only melted him more. His eyes were squeezed shut and he nodded frantically as he tried to stay quiet.

The hand that was still resting on his chest quickly moved up and pulled his hair hard in your fist making him look you in the eyes. A firm look now on your face.

"Answer me Stephen."

"Fuck yes sweetheart. Love when you suck my cock. Your mouth feels so good baby. Best I've ever felt. Always want you to suck my cock."

You hiked up the bottom of your dress and knelt down in front of him. Your eyes never left his and the Cheshire cat grin never left your face. Even if you were the one in the physically submissive position you were still very much the one in charge.

"Well, if you want it Stephen, let me hear you beg for it."

You dropped your head forward placing a long lascivious lick over the bulge in his expensive suit pants. Teasing him through the fabric. Knowing he would be able to feel the warmth of your tongue just enough to drive him crazy.

Stephen was clearly torn between desperately wanting you to continue and being very aware that everyone in the other room probably saw you disappear in there together. You had already been in there for a decent amount of time. People would get suspicious soon. Plus he knew he wouldn't be able to be quiet if you started sucking him off.

You started to place kisses over his now painfully hard cock. Gazing up at him like you were the one pleading to get him in your mouth. Seeing you look so wanton but so in control was what broke him.

"Fuck it, fuck it if they hear. Want you to suck my cock so bad sweetheart. Need to feel your warm wet mouth, and god the things you do with that tongue. Please suck my cock baby. Please. Need my cock in your mouth."

You licked your lips in anticipation as you undid his dress pants pushing them down to his knees. Taking a moment to admire the tent in his briefs where his cock strained under the fabric. You also couldn't help but take a little lick of the damp spot that had now formed where the head of his cock had already started leaking. Humming in delight at the hint of the taste of him, and making him give out a needy little moan.

You cocked your head up at him with a cheeky smirk as you grabbed the waistband of his underwear and started to pull them down.

"Don't worry Doctor. You know I can make you feel so good."

You made sure to position yourself so that when his long cock sprung free from its constraints it came very close to smacking you in the face.

Smiling as you gripped his base and kissed his swollen tip before starting to place little kitten licks over it. You stuck out your tongue and made a big show of licking up and down his shaft. Your other hand slid up to start playing with his balls. He was starting to throb in your hands.

High pitched whimpers and groans coming from the powerful man above you. Little pleas of "please y/n, please." Urging you to suck him in.

"Since you beg so nicely baby."

You still started slow. Sucking in just his head but moaning as you did. Making a very shallow bobbing motion you slowly started taking him in deeper. Each time you came up you made sure to pull off with a little bit of a pop. You wanted this to be nice and sloppy. A blowjob Stephen would never forget.

You slid him down your throat inch by inch, holding him there once you hit the base of his cock and swallowed around him the best you could. Using one arm you tried to hold his hips mostly still, looking up at him as the corners of your eyes started to water. Your mascara and eyeliner starting to smudge and run under your eyes.

You let him try to rut against the back of your throat for a moment until you ran out of air. Gasping as you pulled all the way off of him. A string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock before dripping down your chin when you lowered back and started bobbing on his entire length.

He clawed at the wall. Desperately trying to keep from grabbing at your hair. He was going to be good and follow your rules because fuck he needed to cum so bad. Between his moans and the cursing mixed with begging, interlaced with the erotic sound of you slurping at his cock there was no way someone couldn't hear exactly what was going on in that bathroom. Stephen was so far gone he couldn't care less.

He practically sobbed when you pulled your mouth away from his throbbing cock. Spitting on it before you started stroking him in your hand. You ducked down to lick and kiss his balls, you could feel them starting to tighten to his body as you worked on him. He was close.

"I love sucking your cock Stephen, tastes so fucking good. You've got no idea how wet you've got me."

You moaned as you stroked him and made a show of grinding your hips against nothing. Stopping when you took his head in your mouth and swirled your tongue around the ridge. Licking up all the pre-cum he was dribbling as he teetered on the edge of orgasm. You licked and kissed every inch of his manhood until you were ready to finish him.

"I know you're ready to cum Stephen. You want to cum in my mouth baby? Beg to cum down my throat. Then we can go home and I'm gonna ride your face. Does that sound good, baby? Tell me what you want."

Without waiting for him to answer you started bobbing up and down faster, using your mouth and your hands in sync on him. One hand stroking his base when your mouth pulled up to his head, your other hand tugged gently at his balls like you were milking them. Making sure to give him as much stimulation as you possibly could. Honestly, you were a little surprised when he managed semi-coherent full sentences.

"God - FUCK! - yes baby, please let me… please make me cum in your mouth. Uhhh! Need to… need to. Need you, need your pussy. Fuck fuck fuck!"

He came with a loud groan and practically doubled over your body as you swallowed everything he gave you. Smiling to yourself as you let him slide from your mouth. Being sure to lick him clean as he came down from his high.

You gingerly and carefully pulled up his underwear and pants, tucking him back in before fastening them. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open as he rested against the wall. His normally perfect hair sticking every which way and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

You redid his shirt button and straightened his tie, making the handy work you had done on his neck was still somewhat visible. You stepped over to the sink to wet a hand towel before moving back to him. Brushing his hair back into place before using the wet cool cloth to mop his brow.

His eyes were now open and he smiled as he looked down at you as you cared for him. He knew he had hit the jackpot with you. He tilted your chin up with one hand to gently kiss your lips before taking the hand towel and using it to wipe the smeared makeup from under your eyes.

He pulled you against him and nuzzled into your hair. Humming in contentment and rocking you side to side gently. Stopping and pressing multiple kisses to your forehead.

"You know you had absolutely no reason to worry right? As far as I'm concerned you were the only woman in that room tonight and any other night. I do think our little secret might be out though. We weren't exactly quiet."

You giggled at his last statement.

"Well you weren't quiet."

You could practically hear him roll his eyes at your retort.

"Either way though, I don't care. Take me home Stephen. I just want to be with you. You go out first and get my coat. I'll meet you at the door."

He swallowed and started walking toward the door, readying himself for the most public walk of shame of his life. You watched him through the mirror as you fixed your hair.

He barely cracked the door and tried to slip out unnoticed despite the fact that your amorous activities still clearly showed on his skin and in his demeanor. You smiled at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands and waited an appropriate amount of time to exit.

Where Stephen tried to fly under the radar you made no attempt to hide. Walking straight through the center of the room with your head raised high. You felt untouchable. As you walked the crowd parted for you like the Red Sea. An aura of sex now surrounding you.

Deciding to make a little detour you set your handbag on the bar next to the reporter who now stood in stunned silence. You grabbed the martini in front of her and downed the last sip before picking up the napkin underneath it and dabbed at the corners of your mouth. You placed both back down in front of her as You pulled a compact and lipstick bullet from your bag. Making a show of reapplying your lipstick.

You popped both back in your bag and turned to leave. Making sure to look her dead in the eye with a cocky smirk on your face as you turned. The sway in your hips now even greater as you walked through the crowd toward the door where Stephen was already waiting with your coat.

The clumps of Avengers you passed all displayed different reactions. Tony and Clint grinning from ear to ear, with Pepper and Rhodey trying to hide grins. Steve and Bruce blushing, unable to make eye contact with you. Thor, Sam, & Bucky tipped their glasses and acknowledged you with a "ma'am" or a wink. Wanda giggling next to a quizzical faced Vision.

Nat turned to nudge your shoulder as you went to walk past her and wiggled her eyebrows.

"Subtle", she said in a hushed tone. Though it caused Maria to snort loudly next to her.

You grinned back at her without hesitation, eyes never leaving you disheveled & now marked up Doctor.

"Guess I'm not very good at subtle."

A devilish grin appeared on her face before she winked at you.

"That's my girl."

Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories for everything or for a specific charector. It's currently a lot of Strange & Bucky ❤

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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @imaginesfreetotake @ppatricia34me @rougepetale @svs-something @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin

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girlmostlikely · 1 year

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You were supposed to be watching the door. You were supposed to be watching the door, Ashley Katchadorian. Do you know what these are, Ashley Katchadorian? These are a little girl's arms. A little girl with dreams, with legs, with a head. She's a pencil. She's a swizzle stick. You can use her as a pool noodle. And now I'm holding up her arms. Arms. I'm holding them because you weren't watching the door. A girl lost her arms, Ashley Katchadorian. A girl lost her fucking arms. Do you not know what has transpired while you were in Pearl Harbor, seeing the fucking Japanese Museum? We had our own Pearl Harbor here today. Oh my god. How could you do this to us? You literally bombed us. Like the Japanese you are. And me, I'm Ben Affleck—and I'm Ben Affleck and I'm holding two fucking girls' arms. And you're Cuba Gooding junior, disappointing everybody. Live with that.

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kawaii-sugarii · 11 months

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Sugar Rush - Next Gen

Incoming: my Next Gen kiddos!

Note: This is going to be a long one, because there's a total of 9 kids to talk about, and only now I'm developing their personalities.

Anyway, I hope that it's all worth it, so...

Here we go!

↓

Starting off with the trio of Von Schweetz kids. Vanellope and Gloyd's chaos loving children.

• Gabrielle Von Schweetz is the eldest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's cheeky and mischiuevous, though at the same time sweet and caring towards her friends, especially her siblings, and quite a capable leader. Always up for tricks and pranks, her preference being to do this with style. She's also very sassy, and likes to say snarky comments on occasions.

• Ven Orangeboar Von Schweetz is the middle child, and only son of the Von Schweetz family. A cunning yet laid-back boy who absolutely can't say "no" to an offer of pulling a prank. He inherits his mother's glitch, which helps him anytime he's up for mishief, since as some say, his glitch gives him a speed boost and jump boost. He also has a habit of sticking his tongue out a lot.

• Valerie Von Schweetz is the youngest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's in a way the opposite of her siblings, being more quiet and reserved, often seen fidgeting with her long ponytail, but she does sometimes join in on her siblings' chaos. She also inherits her mother's glitch, but unlike Ven, hers is weaker, and only occurs when she expresses extreme emotions.

Next comes a duet of Malarkey kids. Children of the sporty duet, Minty and Swizzle.

• Kentroy Malarkey is the eldest son of the Malarkey family. He's a smart and stubborn kid, and at the same time cool-headed and daring. He likes performing acrobatics and reading a good book, and also enjoys sarcastic humor. He usually knows how to keep a cool head, but there are times when he can get a bit hot-headed. Interestingly, he was the result of unplanned pregnancy, though was fortunately loved from when he was born.

• Zinnia Malarkey is the youngest daughter of the Malarkey family. Often referred to as "Zinn", she's as energetic and bubbly as a little girl can get, in addition to being a sporty daredevil with a lot of adrenaline. Always upbeat and bouncy, she strikes to bring out the good in everyone, even if some of the people she meets are the worst of the worst. She's more trusting than her brother, which makes her rather naive despite her intelligence.

Now for the girl with a 'tude, making it clear that she's Taffyta and Rancis' child.

• Abby Fluggerbutter is the only daughter of the Fluggerbutter family. She's quite a friendly and tomboyish girl, and although she's trying to be different from her parents and doesn't want to become like them, she still retains their loud and cocky attitude. She likes to style her hair and try on new accessories, but in terms of outfits, no matter what the others tell her, she'll always pick comfy hoodies, especially if they're oversized.

Up next, the ever mysterious girl, as well as Adorabeezle's ever mysterious child.

• Eclaire Winterpop is, as far as people know, the only daughter of the Winterpop family. She's a quiet girl, much like her mother, but unlike her, she's less athletic and more lady-like, enoying spending a quiet time with nature, and sometimes play with animals, too. She is shrouded in mysteries, some of which she's aware of. She sometimes wonders about who her father is, though her mother doesn't talk much about him.

Almost there! Now comes the demi-boy, and Sticky and Nougetsia's adopted child.

• Alucard Fruitpunch is the only son of the Wipplesnit family. He's bubbly and relaxed, and incredibly easy-going. He's also an air-head with a creative and imaginative mind, liking to come up with new ideas whenever they can and want. Despite their easy-going nature, Alucard can get nervous rather easily, bumbling over his own words whenever he feels uneasy.

And last but not least, the first OC x Canon kid revealed. Torvald and Cinnaren's tomboy child.

• Toffifee Batterbutter is the only daughter of the Batterbutter family. On one hand, she's a sweet and energetic girl with a smile bright as the sun. On the other hand, she's a brash and boisterous girl with a voice loud as a hawk. She's rather impulsie, and is quick to take action in any situation, sometimes answering with her fists. Very adventurous and playful, always aims for the top, and more often than not refuses to quit.

Aaaaand that's all of them!

(Phew, that took a while.)

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malevolent-muse · 21 days

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Unconventional - Chicago PD Fan Fiction

Nichole is a high-end prostitute who enjoys her job. Hank Voight is a tough old-school police sergeant who typically is very restrained... but not this time. {Based off of 5x11 "Confidential" where Voight meets with a madame and she asks him how he is liking Nichole.}

“May I have the definition?” the small figure on the stage asked.

To which the judge replied, “The fear or superstition of the number 666.”

Taking a deep breath, the little girl lackadaisically stated, “Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia, H-E-X-A-K-O—“

Looking away from the television behind the bar, Nichole stirred the swizzle-stick around in her drink before picking it up and taking a sip. It was surprising how well these kids could spell words she didn’t even understand. She’d heard the word for fear of the number 13, triskaidekaphobia, but never the one the girl was spelling.

Adjusting her position and glancing over at the clock, she sighed. She’d been waiting for over a half an hour now for her date to arrive but she’d yet to see the boat of a vehicle he drove pull up in front of the establishment.

“Can I get you another drink?” the bartender asked. His nose was so big, that it could only be described as a schnozzle. The black and white tag on his chest read, “Ragnar,” which was clearly an assumed name. Maybe he fancied himself to be some modern-day Viking or was just trying to be funny, either way, Nichole found it to be irksome.

“No,” she replied, as ran her finger along the moist surface of the glass, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Very well,” the man responded, “let me know if there is anything else I can get for you.” Ragnar then headed to the other end of the counter and began to wipe it down with a rag and a bottle of disinfectant.

Glancing back up at the television, only to see that the next young contestant spelling the word, “Platyhelminthes,” Nichole shook her head in wonderment, both at the children’s abilities but also the esoteric nature of the competition. ESPN3 was not a channel she would typically choose to watch but it was better than making small talk with the other patrons, many of whom were placing bets on the outcome.

There was a small kerfuffle at the entrance of the bar as a man entered but then stepped back out as to allow two other customers to leave. Of course, he held the door open for them on their way out.

Finally entering the bar, Hank Voight looked over the crowd until he met Nichole’s gazed and made his way over to her.

The sergeant of the Chicago Police Department’s Intelligence Unit was not her usual client. Most of her clients were men with wives or men with more unconventional tastes (including one that was so entrenched in Tolkien mythology that he would speak to her in Elvish and pretend they were in Lothórien together).

Voight, however, did not fall into either of these categories. Granted, he’d been married, but he was a widower now. As for his tastes, well, the two of them had never actually made it to the bedroom. Instead, the sergeant just wanted to talk. Their ‘dates’ ended up being like therapy sessions more than anything else. She could tell he was the type of man who craved the comforts of a relationship but had been burned too many times. He preferred to keep a professional distance.

“Nichole,” he greeted her warmly, his voice gravely as ever, “sorry I’m late. I got held up at work.”

“I can imagine,” she replied with a smirk. It felt almost clandestine, having a cop for a client. But it gave her a nervous thrill that she couldn’t explain. There was something different about the sergeant this evening, somehow the look it his eyes was different, almost hungry.

Hank held out his hand to her and said, “Shall we get going?” His timing was serendipitous as it was just before Ragnar was able to come over and ask Voight if he wanted something to drink.

“Oh?” Nichole questioned. “Are we going somewhere?”

“I thought maybe we’d switch it up,” Hank said nonchalantly. “That is if you don’t have any objections?”

“No,” she replied as she took his hand and got up from the stool she’d been sitting on, “I’ve no objections. Though I hope you don’t intend on keeping me out in this weather long.” The tight red dress she was wearing wasn’t much, if any, protection from the cold Chicago winter weather.

“My car is just outside,” Hank replied as helped her on with her coat, careful to not trap her dark tight curls beneath the collar of the garment.

The two of them stepped out into the cold night, the dark cerulean sky clear against the glowing yellow orbs of the street lights. The short stone obelisks divided the sidewalk from the road and she stepped around them to reach Hank as he held open the passenger door of his black Cadillac Escalade.

“Brrr,” she said once he had joined her in the vehicle, “it’s so cold. What I wouldn’t give to be on a beach in the Caribbean somewhere.”

“You and me both,” the sergeant responded as he pulled out from behind the Toyota parked in front of them.

It wasn’t long until Voight pulled up in front of a very expensive looking hotel, which surprised Nichole. She was accustomed to men flashing their superfluous wealth in front of her, but Hank had never been one of those men. It was unexpected but she saw nothing pernicious in his behavior so she merely smiled agreeably as the bellhop helped her from the car and Voight gave his keys to the rotund valet.

Entering the building quickly to escape the cold, Hank left her side momentary to go and check in at the front desk. Nichole slowly wandered around the lobby admiring the furnishings, glancing at the artwork, listening to the light piano music that was piped through the speakers, and running her fingers along the leaves of the decorative trees.

Turning her head, she noticed the sergeant seemed to have gotten himself in a bit of a confrontation with the man behind the desk, who was quietly fulminating about something or another, his face as red as a terracotta flowerpot. It was disconcerting that within minutes of walking into the building, that it looked like they were already being asked to leave. But luckily Hank handled the situation before returning to her having obtained the key card from the supercilious and constipated looking concierge.

“Was there a problem?” Nichole asked.

“No,” Hank replied shaking his head, “some people just enjoy being disagreeable.”

“Well, we won’t let that spoil our night, shall we?”

The sergeant didn’t respond but a quick smile fluttered across his lips as he ushered her to the elevator.

The muzak of the elevator mixed harshly with the music of the lobby, and Nichole was glad as the doors slid shut against the cacophony of sound.

“You are full of surprises tonight,” she stated as they rode upward to their room.

“Am I?” Hank replied, being cheeky.

“I’m accustomed to you just wanting to talk but getting a hotel room has other implications.”

“And do you find those implications, not to your liking?”

Nichole actually laughed, “Hank, if I didn’t like doing what you are implying, then I wouldn’t be in this line of work, now would I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Though I must say,” she commented, “there are less expensive places you could’ve taken me. There really is no need to try and impress me.”

“It’s less about the cost and more about the cleanliness,” Hank stated straightforwardly. “I’m not particularly fond of rolling around in sheets that have been tainted by other people’s sweat, sebum, semen, or other bodily fluids.”

“Rolling around? My, what type of shenanigans do you have in store for me Hank?”

The man practically blushed as he looked down at his feet but was saved from responding by the doors opening up on their floor.

“1307,” he said quietly, “down the hall and to the left.”

Teasingly, she pulled the keycard from his hand and walked to the door of the room, purposefully swaying her hips sensuously. Truth be told, she loved her job and, though Voight paid the same rate for her time as any other client, her sessions with him had always left her unsatisfied. She wanted him and the thought of him wanting her as well had her excited.

Sliding the key into the card reader, Nichole entered the room quickly as she shed her coat and hung it up on a nearby chair. Voight was right behind her and she felt his hand lightly touch her waist. Turning toward’s him, she moved in close.

He wasn’t an overly tall man but even with the heels she was wearing, she was still shorter than him. Voight moved in to kiss her but stopped just short.

“Can I?” he asked unsurely. “Is this alright?”

“When you’re paying,” she said softly, “you don’t have to ask.”

“That’s not the sort of man I am.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Nichole stated as she drew his face towards her and locked her lips with his.

The stubble around his mouth was ever so slightly abrasive against her lips as she moved her tongue against his.

*RING*

Sounds of a cell phone interrupted their little make-out session and Voight stepped back as he fished around in his pocket for the device.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“It’s up to you Hank. The time is yours to use as you’d like.”

“I’ll just be a moment,” he said as he stepped into the restroom to take the call in private.

With a sigh, Nichole waited for Hank to return. Glancing around at the room and the ubiquitous furnishing one finds in all hotel rooms: a bed, nightstand (complete with a Gideon’s Bible, an overstuffed chair, small refrigerator, a desk, lamps, and hotel pamphlet with various information like parking, wifi, and room service). Flipping through the booklet, she looked over the menu selection, a whole smorgasbord, which ranged from tacos, waffles, and harvester oatmeal cookies. Unlike the options from the kitchen, the selection in the mini-bar was limited, besides the small bottles of vodka and whiskey, there were chocolate bars and raisin trail-mix.

The noise of the bathroom door opening announced the return of the sergeant.

“Everything okay,” she asked as she smiled at him seductively.

“Fine,” he said.

“Then let’s get down to business,” Nichole said as she grasped the open edges of his open leather jacket and pulled him with her as she sat down on the end of the bed. Trailing her hands down the zippered edges, she let go of him and brought her hands down to support her weight as she leaned back, staring up at the man standing in front of her.

“Nichole,” he said warily, “maybe it might be better if we just talked.”

“You didn’t bring me here to talk.”

“But—“

“Whatever is holding you back,” she said persuasively, “don’t let it. We’ve talked enough. Time for action.”

“I want to be sure that I’m not… I don’t know how to say it exactly but this situation could be construed as nefarious in nature. I know it’s illegal but…”

“Oh,” Nichole exclaimed, “will you stop filibustering already? The illegal part just makes it more tantalizing. Besides, I want this. And I think you do too.”

In fact, she knew he wanted it. The bulge in his trouser was evident of the fact. Lifting her hands from the bed, she undid his belt with practiced efficiency. The other fastening of his pants were undone with equal proficiency and placing her fingers through the fold in the fabric at the front of his boxers, Nichole gripped his engorged member.

“Wait,” Voight said suddenly, reaching down and grabbing her hand, “we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m a cop.”

“Fine,” she said, “don’t pay me. Just give me that cock.” And with that final statement, she had his penis out of his pants and in her mouth.

The sergeant moaned but she hadn’t even gotten started yet. Taking the length of him in her mouth, she licked up and down the shaft. Then, taking a hold of him, pushed her head down so that the tip of his dick hit the back of her throat. She repeated this action multiple times as he ran his fingers through the locks of her hair.

Since he seemed to be enjoying himself, Nichole pulled out one of her favorite tricks as she curved her tongue so that the tip tickled the underside of the head of his organ. He gasped and shivered all at once.

Pulling away and leaning back, the whore looked up at the cop and asked, “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” Voight stammered.

“Then come and get it,” Nichole said as she backed up further on the bed and pulled down the top of her dress so that her left shoulder was bare.

Hank may have been in his fifties, but besides the salt and pepper hair, the stout man’s body didn’t show the signs of age or neglect as he stripped off his clothing except for his white undershirt and patterned boxers.

Joining her on the bed, Voight reached over and traced his fingers down the bronzed skin of her arm. Nichole locked eyes with him for just a second before rolling over and pulling her hair from behind her neck to over her shoulder, revealing the top of the zipper of her dress.

Holding the zipper between his fingers, Hank gently lowered the thin piece of metal. The back of the dress opened, Nichole easily slipped out of the garment and turned to the man behind her and took his face in her hands. She pressed her lips against his, as Voight lowered his hands to her breasts.

His hands were tender at first but quickly that progressed to him sliding his hands beneath the fabric of her bra and firmly massaging the supple mounds and tugging at her dark nipples. Unclasping the back of the lace strap, Hank lowered his head as the fabric fell away and covered the areas with his face as he licked and sucked on each bud in turn.

The whore’s panties were the next thing to go as he pulled them down almost reverently.

“What’s this,” he asked, noticing the small figure tattooed on her hip.

“Oh,” replied Nichole, “that’s Calliope, the muse of poetry.”

“Poetry, huh? What kind of poetry?”

“All sorts of poetry, limericks, sonnets,” she said with a wink. “Or, you know, the type of poetry two people make in bed.”

“That’s my favorite kind,” he responded as he cupped her plump ass in his hands. Then bringing her closer to him in a bear hug, he flopped down on the bed with her onto of him.

“Hank,” Nichole giggled as she pulled off his shirt and underpants, “these need to come off if we are to continue.”

Retrieving a condom from one of the discarded articles of clothing strewn about, she unwrapped it and rolled it down the length of his cock. Nichole was a professional after all, she wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks.

The sergeant reached out and grabbed her hips and assisted to position her so that she was straddling him. Their eyes met?

“Are you ready?” Hank asked huskily.

“Are you?” she replied with a smirk and lowered herself down onto his waiting and eager member. The head of his penis breached her outer lips and spread her cunt open as she impaled herself on him. Flexing her pelvic muscles, she was rewarded with the sight of him gasping as he involuntary threw his head back in pleasure.

“Mmmm,” she hummed as she ground down, “that feels just right.”

His fleshy cock within her felt perfectly snug, the more than adequate length and thick girth filling her in an ever so satisfying manner as if his his dick were a sword in its sheath.

Adjusting her position, Nichole began to move in a serpentine fashion as she oscillated her hips back and forth, raising and lowering herself to her knees.

“Fuck,” Hank gasped as she reached out one hand and put it on her breasts, the other hand on her clit, gently tapping the bundle of nerves.

Unused to her clients engaging in this sort of altruistic behavior, she reveled in the sensations he stirred within her.

“Mmmm,” he growled. “You must like that.”

“Yes,” she said breathily.

“You like my hard cock in your juicy cunt?”

“Yes.”

“You like fucking in a way that makes your legs weak?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I love seeing you like this. Naked and greedy for dick. The way your pussy is wrapped around me is a fucking dream. You’re going to milk my cock for every ounce of cum you can get. I’m going to drain my balls in your cunt like the nasty fucking whore you are.”

It was flabbergasting, who knew that the cool and collected cop had such a dirty mouth? It sent shivers of pleasure up and down her spine. She was losing her concentration and was taken by surprised when he grabbed her and flipped her onto her back and got on top of her, pushing her legs back.

Reaching down she grabbed his cock and repositioned it at her entrance.

“You are such a slut,” he growled. “You want this, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes! Fuck me!”

He was more than happy to comply and he slid his dick back inside of her.

“FUCK!” Nichole screamed. The man’s cock inside of her was stretching her in the most delightful ways as he rammed into her repeatedly.

She knew he wasn’t going to last much longer as he lowered her legs and positioned himself his arms on either side of her. The position they were in was putting her into sensory overload as his lower abdomen rubbed against her clit. Fuck.She wasn’t going to last much longer either.

It was like a spell that was about to be cast, practically witchcraft. The anticipation had her on edge and she defenestrated every care she had as her climax was imminent.

With one last thrust, she could feel Hank’s cock throb within her as he shot his load. And the thought of all that cum was what sent her over the edge as her peripheral vision blurred. Closing her eyes, the darkness was starrified by blips of light.

Settling on the mattress next to her, Hank breathed heavily as he came back down from his high as they both descended into pure serenity.

A few moments past before Nichole rolled off of the bed and headed over to the restroom.

“Where are you going?” Voight asked.

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ll be right back. Besides, I think you might be in the mood for a second round.

“You must be clairvoyant,” replied Hank with a slight smile.

A/N: For @cindydoll2 Like this work? Join the Tag List

#chicago pd #hank voight #smut #fan fiction #fanfic #18+ content

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builder051 · 4 months

Text

Happy Christmas (war is over)

Chasing Ghosts

————————

WARNINGS: firstly, this is one of those stories that has practically no action, but there’s a ton of content in somebody’s head. It also has pretty much every trigger in the book, but 99% of them are tiny mentions. Actual tws for talk of graphic violence (war setting), mental health talk inc depression and short mention of eating disorders. Also emeto. Dirty jokes. Basically you know what comes with the territory.

—————————-

Steve’s done it again. He’s gone and made Christmas eve a merry affair. He can pretend it’s for all of their benefit, but the indulgence is purely his own.

Tasha’s in as decent a mood as she can, nursing only one cracked toenail from her final Nutcracker fill-in.

James, who never understood the pre-holiday excitement, now uses his political science textbook as a lap table. A childhood without Santa and a career granting as little leave as possible left him at an impasse. Floating around and forgetting the day of the week would cause him more stress than relaxation, so an intersession class it was. It felt like an unacknowledged compromise. His body would be home for break, but there’d be a plausible reason hime to hole up and keep his head down.

The speakers on the television emit a jumbled mix of Mannheim Steamroller and Irving Berlin. James has his aids turned low, but he’s still grateful Mariah Carey been excised from the playlist.

“That’s not a real Christmas song,” Steve had explained when he quickly thumbs-downed her song on the playlist. There had been a warm kind of silent agreement after that.

Wham!’s “Last Christmas” brought up more of a debate. “It’s, like, canon?” Steve had offered timidly.

“Only because it was written before you were born,” Tasha said with a laugh. She could’ve mentioned that none of them had come into the world yet by 1983, but with her choice phrasing, the statement seemed simultaneously very wise and very naive.

“It’s about sex,” James had added irritably, as if it was a fact he was reading aloud from his book. He wanted to open it up again. He’d stopped in the middle of a chapter, much to his disgruntlement.

“Everything’s about sex…” Tasha had sighed. “I mean. The Nutcracker’s a fucking pedophile…”

“We are not having a discussion about dirty fairy tales,” James stated with finality.

It took a moment for everyone to breathe, then the tension began to melt again, perhaps with help from the dancing flame atop Steve’s balsam scented candle.

Once it’s clear they all had both motivation and ability to keep peace, Steve goes into the kitchen to warm eggnog and pour out caramel popcorn. As he distributes the goodies back in the living room, he shoots James a look. “It’s, like, I added the rum to the whole thing…”

James hates it when Tasha takes her drinks and drugs home with her. He has a cold, uncharitable thought stashed at the back of his mind; if Tash dropped dead somewhere, anywhere, so long as it was out of the house, he wouldn’t be liable. Within the confines of the, apartment though… “Eh,” James shrugs. “Spirit of the season,” he grumbles. Then, to Tasha, “No crushed up pills or shit overnight, you hear?”

“Sure…” Tasha un-crams herself from the corner of the sofa and limps back toward the kitchen.

“I can get—“ Steve calls, half-rising from his seat.

“I got it…” Tasha digs in the fridge for a moment, then returns gripping a bag of unwashed celery stalks.

“Hey,” James starts to admonish.

“You said no dirty fairy tales, no sex songs, and no snorting Xanax.” Tasha holds the celery as if it were a club she’d use to hit him. “You haven’t outlawed anything else.” She wads her body cross legged against the arm of the sofa, pulls a stalk of celery from the bag, then uses it as an unnecessary swizzle stick for her eggnog.

James rolls his eyes. His desire to express irritation wraps around and consumes what could’ve been silence for Steve’s sake. L He can’t help himself, though. “Shit, Tasha. Why? Just, fucking why?”

Tasha looks down at the thick miniature tree garnishing her beverage. She holds it between finger and thumb, then moves her tongue seductively through the divet where the most eggnog and cinnamon have gathered. She points the dripping celery stalk at James. “You ever been sucked that good?”

“My god.” James shakes his head, which he hadn’t realized was throbbing. The movement set it off, maybe. Or his growing fury. “Sorry about her, Steve. If you don’t want to watch, we can just go to bed.”

“Oh,” Steve hesitates. “It’s ok.”

“See?” Tasha looks smugly at James. “I’m just offsetting calories,” she says, as if her intention wasn’t already clear.

“And I assume you’re just out of innuendos, too?” James means it to be a warning. He’s had a few sips of his own eggnog, though, and he hopes his vocal cords haven’t relaxed enough to edge his authoritative aggression down to something more like childish bickering.

“Never.” Tasha dips her celery again, licks off the eggnog, then holds it to her lip like a cigar.

“That’s… great.” James stands and starts chugging the rest of his eggnog. He raises his book and points it in the direction of the bedroom down the hall. He’ll be reading in bed if needs him.

“Sure, yeah.” Steve nods to James, still playing it cool. His desire not to take sides is beginning to freeze him, though. The robotic head tilt. The canned laughter.

James has his last gulp of eggnog in his mouth, and he’s trying to decide whether to put his mug in the sink or whether to take it with him to make the flight to the bedroom quicker. It ends up not mattering, though. Steve says something, and James’s mug cracks in two as it hits the floor.

“Maybe I should’ve made you a bloody mary.”

It’s a joke. It’s nothing to do with James. It’s about the stupid celery sticks. It’s one of Steve’s weaker attempts to clear the air.

James slaps his hand over his mouth to keep more than just eggnog from spilling back up. His vision goes shiny around the edges. He can’t see a thing…

James barely makes out olive green fatigues. The pixilated beige that actually served as camouflage was perpetually in the laundry. Off time was marked with untucked white t shirts and dark trousers with the cuffs rolled up and waistbands rolled down.

James he hears the laughter. Smells the booze. Tastes the extra sugar and food dye that taint what would’ve been perfectly good sugar cookies. The falseness of the holiday spirit mingles with the flavor of grocery-store frosting and sets an ache in his teeth.

“Hey, you shot me!”

James jumped and whipped his head around. Active shooter? Immediate evacuation?

It was a kid, completely plastered and stumbling. He was probably early in his tour and still unfamiliar with the hazy line between gallows humor and the taboo. James should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt. Should have swallowed his anger and ruined only his own holiday.

The spitball soaked in lake red #40 had stuck in the center of the kid’s chest, sending brightly colored dribbles all down his front. The expansion of the stain was far too pale and pinkish to mistake for actual blood, but the kid played it like a fool.

“Oh you fucker! I’m dying! You killed me!”

James, khaki-clad and with seven minutes remaining on his shift, grabbed the kid by the shoulders of his shirt and pinned him against a tent pole.

James doesn’t remember his exact words. They were probably along the lines of “you ever taken a real bullet before?” Then he’d wielded a fist and clocked him in the throat.

The kid fell to the side, gasping, but James’s grip held him upright. Somebody came up from behind and tried yanking James off the kid, but he backhanded whoever it was without turning his head.

“Friendly fire! It was just a stupid—Just a—“

The voice came out slurred and muffled. The back of James’s hand was sticky with blood and stinging around the knuckles. He’d definitely caught teeth.

Then the kid laughed. He peeked over James’s shoulder and offered his attacker-cum-defender a peace pact and a couple more Budweiser. “Beer’s all I got, but with your lip all fucked up, call it a bloody mary—“

James could’ve murdered them both. Really, truly killed them. His weapon was holstered on his hip. His right hand was already heading that direction. He didn’t need to hear this shit. These dumbasses didn’t need to be among the ranks of America’s finest, not with these stupid, drunken jokes. A bloody lip was nothing. Nothing to watching a fellow soldier explode and suddenly having a face full of lacerated brain matter. James had learned hard and early that alcohol is less a mask and more a mirror.

A buddy from James’s platoon mistook the assault as 2 on 1 with James as the target. A rough reminder to punch his timecard before he punched another soldier broke James’s bubble of violent thought. He wiped his bloody hand across the spitball stain on the kid’s chest, then walked away to do his proper duty.

No one reported him, it being Christmas eve and all. Assault, fighting, taking action in rage, cheating the Army out of seven minutes’ good labor… James could be reprimanded for any and all of them. Probably should be. Residual anger bubbled in James’s gut, creating an excess of bile seeping up from the back of his tongue.

He can’t remember how much time had passed, but eventually James heard someone shuffling around outside his tent. Then there was retching.

James’s mouth filled with saliva. He couldn’t swallow. He could barely move. Using every reserve of energy he had, James grasped the tent’s entrance flap and vomited heavily into the sand. He barely caught a breath before retching violently again.

Multiple minutes passed before James could get a grip on himself. He wanted to cry; he was glad to be expelling something other than tears.

Eventually the other unfortunate soul trudged around the corner and headed to the next bunkhouse over from Jame’s. It was the stupid kid, still wearing the shirt soiled with koolaid and blood and now sick. James swept tent’s the canvas cover back over himself. He wouldn’t be able to stand eye contact. One or the other would be eating a bullet this time. Only this time, James’s weapon was stored securely beside his cot.

James is largely unaware of Steve easing him onto his knees. He catches a glimpse of Tasha’s feet, then her hands as she pulls shards of china from the carpet.

“It’s ok,” Steve’s voice intones. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

“I’m fine,” James splutters. It’s an automatic response; both Steve and Tasha know to take no stock in it. James breathes in the balsam scented air. He separates the tastes of cream and bile and rum. He shakily wipes at his nose and mouth. James’s hand comes away sticky and red-streaked. It’s nothing major; a scrape or pressure sore releasing more bodily fluid to add to the mess. He swallows experimentally, and harsh, stinging reflux makes him gag all over again.

“Alright.” Steve pats James’s shoulder. “Want to try the bathroom?”

James presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He shakes his head, but the meaning of the question hasn’t yet penetrated. He has half a mind to stick his fingers down his throat. James squints into the mess of sick he’s made on the living room floor, and there, plainly, is the thin bloody rivulet that’s departed his body.

His spirit must be dead. Or maybe his body. James has to have passed into some dimensional void where injury starts to mean nothing. Flashes of hopelessness displace James’s blurry vision again. Playing fast and loose with his benzos fresh out of the VA. Tasha missing her graduation party to receive CPR whilst en route to get her stomach pumped. Headphones blaring death metal into his ears as he passed the car in the driveway, then stood gaping as the foster dad jumped out of the driver’s side and zipping his pants while a girl from his school tore in the other direction, her skirt tucked into her underwear.

It’s too much. It’s going to crush him. James can’t feel his body. He can’t feel his face. He wonders if he’s been dosed with Haldol. Is his brain going to shut off too? Should it? Would that give him blessed relief at last?

It’s only when Steve shifts James’s head more securely onto his shoulder that he realizes tears are pouring from his eyes. He never does this. It’s just making more mess.

“It’s probably a migraine,” Tasha supplies. There’s a shrug written in her tone.

“James?” Steve probes. “How are you feeling?”

Worse than dead doesn’t seem like an appropriate response. James settles with, “I don’t know.”

It’s true enough. James’s life has been wrought with obstacles, with pain, with too much knowledge, too much experience, too much feeling. He’s fucked. Completely. He was battle worn before he’d left for his first deployment.

And now he’s left with, what exactly? An overly doting boyfriend. An obnoxious little sister. A candle that has no right to smell so good. Kate Smith’s voice warbling about silver bells. The fuck do bells have to do with Christmas, anyway?

Nothing. They have no more importance than political science, demented ballets, or songs about sex.

As James lets Steve help him to his feet, he tries to let go. The more sick, the more tears, the better. James sniffles, and something hot and metallic flows from his sinus cavity down his throat. He coughs, and his tight muscles relax by half a degree.

A migraine. A nosebleed. A flashback. The cause is no longer important. It’s how he’s going to go on afterward.

#sickfic #marvel #mcu #fanfic #emeto #captain america #fanfiction #chasing ghosts #steve rogers #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #christmas #flashback #headache #violence #operation iraqi freedom #alcohol #ed tw

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