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AHHH I LOVE THIS
ghost with a spiderperson!gf oh oh OH the upside down spiderman kiss but BOTH their masks are pulled up
brb giving all of 141 spider!partners or GHOAP SPIDERMAN AU
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i dont usually read stuff like this but i might start reading more of it because OH MY GOD???
Yandere Headcanon: Worship
Yandere Forgotten God (tentacle monster) x GN Reader
TW: Tentacles, teratophillia, gore, dubcon, and yandere themes
He was an ancient chaos god, one that was once revered amongst humans a millennium ago. But over time he had been forgotten when his fishing village had become a city. Now he was nothing more than a tall tale. A god with no name. He no longer had a humanoid form but was now a blob of black tentacles. It was shameful how far he had fallen from grace from his own pride. He should have made sure he was never forgotten.
The god shouldnât have been so cocky to believe that monk couldnât seal him away but alas, this was the punishment he deserved for his insatiable greed.
So when you arrive to his shrine and accidentally break the millennium old ward, heâs shocked. Have his own prayers finally been answered? Has someone come to free him from this lonely existence?
âIâve heard there was once a god of chaos here so I have come to pray to you⌠please hear my plea.â You then bowed down in respect to the shrine and cried a bit. âI do not wish to be married off to some senile, corrupt man. Please god, if you hear me, save me.â You cried before him. You wanted to be saved before married you off to some old nobleman. You shared your woes of how this man made your city nearly inhabitable with his high taxes and of his salacious behavior. How could he not be swayed? He felt obligated to help you.
And so the god did what he did best, he wreaked havoc. He used his supernatural abilities to cause a landslide onto that noblemanâs home, killing him instantly. Now you no longer had to worry about being a stupid old manâs property. You could continue on with your life worshipping him! Your god!
You visited his shrine daily and left him small offerings. Ones that he would have rejected in the past but was positively thrilled to have now. The god began to love you. How could he not be drawn to your genuine gratitude? He couldnât remember the last time someone had been this thrilled with him⌠it mustâve been over a thousand years ago now? He didnât knowâŚ
What he loved most about you was your smile. It warmed his heart and he adored it. You were his world and he wanted to be more humanoid for youâŚ
When your visits became less frequent, he used that time away from you to try to shape his body once more. He wanted to be with you. To hold you. To touch you, but he couldnât do that as a shapeless blob of tentacles⌠but he could if he was more humanoid.
And so here he was with a mostly humanoid body with functioning male reproductive organs⌠save for the tentacles that remained attached to his back. His face was picturesque but his extra limbs werenât⌠it didnât matter. He would do so much for you, more than any human man. You didnât entirely have a choice.
The god diligently worked on his shrine to make it more inhabitable for you as well. He needed it to be perfect so the two of you could be here for all eternity together. Him and his savior! His beloved devotee!
When you returned to his shrine after a week of not seeing him with bruises on your face, he was livid. Who had harmed you? Why would they hurt you? Hurt his destined spouse? How dare they⌠how dare they.
You shared your woes and prayed for salvation once more, this time from your family. They believed you to now be bad luck due to the noblemanâs sudden death and began to verbally and physically abuse you. You looked so miserable⌠just like him. His poor, precious worshipper didnât deserve such treatment. No. They deserved to be worshipped.
The god now had enough power to leave his shrine due to your generous offerings. Your worship gave him the power to become a great chaos god once more.
And the god once more inflicted his wrath upon your enemies. This time he tore them apart limb from limb, starting from their mouths to their hands and eventually to their feet. He wished to start out by ripping out the tongues that spat venomous words at you. To break every bone in their hands and feet for the pain they inflicted on you. For every sin committed against you, he would inflict it back tenfold.
This is the first time you were able to see his true form as well⌠you were so silent the entire time of his massacre of your family. Was he so gorgeous that you were speechless? How cute his darling was!
You began to sob when he held your face between his blood coated palms. The smell of iron was too much for you that you began to retch but he was oblivious that he was the reason of your disgust and fear. Those damn humans must be too much for you to be around⌠perhaps he should whisk his spouse away?
So he did just that. His arms and tentacles tightly wrapped around you as he whisked you off to your new home together. The revamped shrine. He hoped youâd love it since he worked so hard on making it habitable for the two of you!
You struggle in his grip but he doesnât relent. You must be shy⌠how cute!
You try to push the tentacles from you, but they merely wrap around your form to gently massage you. He needed to calm you before you hurt yourself⌠it was okay!
âBe not afraid, my dear.â His voice made you jump in surprise but he chuckled. âIâm not going to hurt you⌠youâre my beloved after all. My savior.â
âYouâre the god of this shrineâŚâ you whispered softly, which made the god eagerly nod. âYouâre Xeros.â
Yes! That was his name! The one he had forgotten over the years. You were so sweet to remember his nameâŚ
You donât even have time to protest before his tentacles wrap around your body in an enticing manner. The extra appendages slip into the waist band of your pants and tease your tight hole. You whine at the sudden touch but more tentacles wrap around your arms and legs to keep you in place
âYour offerings were wonderful but I need a better offering since I eliminated your problemâŚâ Xeros smiled down at you with his hauntingly beautiful face. âI demand you as my offering. You will be my eternal spouse.â
âBut Iâm just a human- ack!â You gagged on the tentacle that was suddenly shoved into your mouth. Your eyes welled up with tears as the god beamed at you.
âIt doesnât matter to me what species you are. Iâm a god. I will always get what I want.â Your back arched when one of his slimy tentacles finally breeched the tight ring of muscles and wriggled inside of you. You moaned loudly at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that overcame you.
âSee? Why would you resist such pleasure?â Xeros leaned to whisper, his hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, âIâm far better than any mortal lover. Donât you think so?â
Your mind is too cloudy to form a coherent reply, your eyes rolled back in you head as his black tendrils ravish you. The tentacle in your mouth soon replaced with his tongue.
This was the way you should always be. You deserved every orifice of your body to be stuffed to the brim with him. To cry and whine in pleasure that ascends human comprehension. To be his spouse and to lay his eggs.
You deserved to be worshipped as his deity
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nsfw 18+â Ë・âŕ¨ŕ§Ë minors dni
pairing : simon âghostâ riley x virgin!fem!reader
warnings : soft smut, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), use of 'good girl', praise, gentle simon, oral (f receiving), first time oral, no sex
"this all f' me?" he asked with the raise of his eyebrows, taking in the view of your glistening pussy as he held your legs open with little effort. you glanced down at the man staring at the most intimate part of your body, feeling slightly self-conscious and exposed beneath his eyes. he looked up to you for a response, as you slowly nodded your head, mind clouded by your nervousness and desperate need for his touch.
"oh baby," he murmured, gently pushing his thumb into your wetness and watching for your reaction. you whined in response, subtly bucking your hips up for more, only craving him deeper by the second. "we can't have that, sweetheart," he muttered, lightly toying with your clit, "i'll make it feel better, yeah?"
you nodded fervently in reply, desperate for that dull ache to be soothed by him. "good girl," he said, wasting no time before placing a feather-light kiss to your aching clit. he softly licked at your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting quiet mewls and whines from your throat as you writhed in pleasure beneath his hold.
"so sweet," he mused, gently thumbing over your wet entrance, making you jolt with sensitivity, and whine with the unfulfilling touch. "youâve got yourself so worked up," he said, collecting your slick with his fingers and circling it around your clit. you exhaled a moan of relief, as your ache finally got the attention it needed, feeling it instantly alleviate as his fingers gently worked upon you.
with two fingers, he collected your arousal, using it to slide into your entrance for the first time, making your breath hitch in your throat. you watched his movements closely, saw how gently he manoeuvred his fingers against your walls, until he hit that spot inside of you. reflexively, your head fell back with a whine coming from your throat at the pure pleasure he caused.
you brought your hands up to cover your face, feeling so vulnerable under the blissful sensation, as his fingers slowly worked in and out of your soaked-through pussy. he brought his mouth to you, lapping at your wetness, adding greatly to the pleasure that hit you in waves. "sweetheart," he mumbled, lips still around your clit, "don't be embarrassed." he pulled your hands from your face to see your tear-filled eyes looking down at him. "takin' it so well for me."
he curled his fingers upwards to press into that sweet spot within you, making your eyes roll closed, eliciting a loud whine from your mouth. "that's a good girl," he murmured, tongue swirling around your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers softly pumped in and out of you. you unknowingly clenched around his fingers at his remark, hearing him huff out a chuckle as a new wave of arousal turned your mind inside out.
"you like that baby?" he asked, looking up to your teary eyes, "you like being called a good girl?" you whimpered and nodded in reply, grasping onto the sheets beneath you solely due to the sound of his gravely voice.
"s..simon," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his tongue and fingers as you felt the pleasure tightening in your lower belly, "it feels weird."
"that's okay, baby," he reassured, "let it happen." he ploughed his fingers back and forth, simultaneously circling his tongue over your clit with his nose pressed into your soft skin above and lapping at your arousal as if starving with hunger.
your back arched with the overwhelming sensation coursing through your body, making your hips writhe with desperation for relief. he held you down to the bed beneath you, pressing a flat palm to your lower stomach to stop your movement; his warmth pushed you closer to the edge of release: his tongue, his mouth, his fingers, his hand. every feather-light touch enlightened that spark within you that needed alleviation.
"sim.. simon, i'm.. it feels really strange," you mumbled, eyes closing tightly as short gasps came from your mouth.
"that's it. come on, sweetheart," he urged, increasing the pace of his fingers, swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit inside his mouth. your hands searched for something to hold onto, as pleasure hit you in waves of fire. his hand on your lower abdomen found yours, lacing his fingers with yours as you squeezed tightly and the building sensation tipped over the edge, outflowing like a thrashing wave of euphoria. your mewls and whines filled the room as you bucked your hips in overstimulation, the ache finally subsiding at the hands of him.
"there you go, baby," he uttered, "good girl." you breathed heavily as your chest heaved, coming down from your first high.
an : apologies for the 2 month absence..
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i long for sapphic cod content please i just want to read about pretty women without some fucking guy always being there (valeria and farah my beloveds)
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sundog
prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]
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The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.Â
Then, youâre out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.
Evidently not. The keys donât work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though itâs failed to live up to its purpose so far.Â
Youâve got it under control for a day. If by âunder controlâ, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, itâs consumerism.Â
That doesnât last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench wonât cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isnât sympathy, evidently.Â
Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker youâve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you canât be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.Â
What home, you donât say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.Â
If thereâs one thing you can count on, itâs capitalism.Â
You didnât think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didnât realize before was that, at any moment in time, youâve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.
Sorry, theyâd say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We donât have a couch to spare.Â
I can sleep on the floor, youâd texted back. Theyâd gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.
You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. Itâs not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and thatâs what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.Â
But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you canât help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. Youâve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.
It feels beyond helpless. Youâre in a state like youâve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.Â
What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet momentâs reflection; now, you see them as kin.Â
Easy, isnât it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.Â
When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone couldâve predicted this.Â
You almost donât respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when heâs barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.Â
Then he says it again, closer this time, and youâre forced to look up, if only to see whoâs approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidationâmaybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.Â
Heâs one of the bigger men youâve ever come across. You look across the street to see if thereâs a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.Â
You donât bolt at the sight of him, but itâs a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet thereâs nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldnât that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week youâve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.Â
âPlan on catchinâ your death out here?â he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.Â
Youâre not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you wouldâve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You donât have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.Â
âIâve got mace!â you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.Â
âThatâll do ya fuck all out here,â he says, a touch condescendingly. âYou lost or somethinâ?â
âIâm not lost,â you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.
âThen get home instead of roaminâ the streets. Youâre askinâ to get snatched up, bird.â
The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.Â
âI canât,â you whisper.
âBloody hell,â he sighs. âWhy the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?â
âI got evicted. I donât have a home,â you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.Â
You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.Â
Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.Â
âYou been out here long?â he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. Heâs not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likesâhe just does.Â
You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. ââŚJust today. The gym kicked me out.â
You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. Itâs shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.Â
âHavenât ya got any family, girl? Friends? Whatâre they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?â
You could be sick on the pavement. ââŚThatâs none of your business.â
His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. âYou always this nasty to people tryinâ to help?â
And youâre not. Thatâs the part that grates the most. Youâre all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. Itâs inconceivable that this couldâve happened to youâinconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.Â
Theyâve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you havenât even toppled over yet. Thatâs how quick it all happened.Â
âWhat help are you?â The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament youâve found yourself in. âAre you gonna put me up in a hotel?â
âThink Iâm made of money, bird?â he asks rhetorically.Â
âYouâve probably got more than I have.âÂ
Now youâre weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and youâre in between jobs at the moment. It mightâve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didnât require a mailing address. Thatâll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; thatâs the only thing youâve learned to expect.Â
The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesnât follow any of the scripts youâve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.Â
Itâs inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razorâs edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.Â
âYou need a place to stay,â he states bluntly.Â
âItâs fine. IâllâIâll find something.âÂ
âYou could come home with me.â He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldnât be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.
The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. âNo, thatâsâŚthatâs alright. I donât want toâŚput you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.â
âSheltersâll all be full this time of night,â he says. âNever been on the streets?â
You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.Â
âI can go to a church,â you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.Â
He snorts. âHavenât been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. Itâs late.â
You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. Youâve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, youâd figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.Â
A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within armâs reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.Â
âI canât go home with a stranger.â
You know youâre not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.Â
The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. Heâs every inch the brute you imagined in your headâblunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in factâbisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like heâs used to keeping it neat and tight but itâs been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five oâclock shadow.
You frown. âIs that supposed to make me trust you?â
âWell, now weâre not strangers, are we?â
âThat doesnâtâthat doesnât change anything! I still donât know you.â
He shrugs. Takes a step back. âSuit yourself then. No skin off my ass.â
Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadnât noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.Â
ââŚWhere else am I supposed to go?â you whisper.
He tilts his head. âCould sleep on a bench in the park.â
You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. âThatâs not funny.â
âWasnât meant to be. Youâre shit out of other options at this time of night.â
âSo, what? Now itâs-itâs my fault or something?â Â
His eyes donât exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.Â
âIâm not gonna ask twice,â he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. âYou coming or not?â
Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.Â
Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.Â
What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.Â
He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and thereâs no fighting the urge to drag her home.Â
She doesnât look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.Â
Thatâs not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didnât take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.Â
He can be good every now and then.Â
âSit down, will ya?â he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.Â
His flat isnât much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasnât gotten around to fixing the place up. Itâs better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.Â
Simonâs no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical dischargeâhis knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on themâhe wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gazâs couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.Â
Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.Â
âD-do you want me to help?â she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.Â
She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.Â
He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.Â
âSit down,â he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.Â
Sheâs really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.Â
Anyone else could have found her first, but they didnât. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. Sheâs in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, itâs him she sees.Â
Poor bird with her clipped wings. Sheâs not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesnât have to rend anyone limb from limb.
Itâs been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.
Besides, he doesnât like asking for favours anyway.
âNameâs Simon, by the way,â he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. âRiley.â
âOh,â is all she says. He waits a beat.
âGonna give me your name, bird?â
She does, voice squeaky like itâs said under duress. That pisses him off more.Â
He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.
They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. Itâs the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell sheâs gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.
He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.Â
âWhat?â he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.Â
âIâumâI just wanted to say thank you,â she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.Â
Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes sheâd cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. Itâs better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesnât think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. Heâd have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.Â
He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.Â
âDonât mention it,â he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. ââWas nothing.â
âNo, it was really nice of you,â she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. âWhat if IâŚâyou took a stranger into your house.â
That gets the blood pumping. âGonna gut me while I sleep, pet?â
Itâs half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper donât bite into his dick.Â
She frowns. Endearing. âI wouldnât do that.â
âNot really good at looking after yourself, are you?â
âI amâitâs justâŚâ tears build up on her waterline again, âit was one thing after another. I couldnât get it all together.â
Pity isnât an emotion heâs accustomed to feeling. Simonâs not even sure if thatâs what heâs feeling now. Itâs more like the bastard child of pity.Â
He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.
He lets her run away though because he canât tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.Â
Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isnât nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; thereâs already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.
Sleep wonât come easy tonight.Â
Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. Thereâs only so much abuse he can put himself through.Â
The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.Â
In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesnât recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.Â
Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.Â
The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mindâcrawling over the birdâs prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.Â
Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He wonâtâcanâtâ
His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.Â
He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.Â
âGet up,â Simon grunts. âAnd make yourself something to eat. Iâve gotta head out.â
He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.Â
She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort itâs taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep. Â
Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. Itâs partly his fault, but he doesnât apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until itâs time for him to head to work.Â
âDon't think about leavingâany of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.â
He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.
Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.Â
Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. Youâre thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.Â
The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that youâre outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksandâin some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.Â
And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Werenât you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you knowâyou are not the same.Â
Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now itâs just a ghost.
He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. Thereâs not much else to do. Itâs almost a relief, to be honest. Youâve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldnât step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.Â
Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. Youâre lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.Â
He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesnât bring it up. Youâd find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.Â
Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you donât know what to say to that.
Thank you doesnât seem to suffice. I love it doesnât cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of whatâs stashed inside, but you canât pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.Â
âThank you for taking him home,â you say, already on the verge of tears.
He stares down at you, unblinking. Youâre learning to read into his silences though.Â
âDonât expect me to take care of it,â he says instead of accepting your thanks. âIf you canât handle it, itâs going back outside.âÂ
You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.Â
At first, youâre not sure what to make of it. It canât be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but youâre learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.Â
Itâs likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that youâre no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simonâs flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.Â
Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.Â
You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than itâs worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesnât pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.Â
âIs this normal for you?â you ask, hands folded in your lap.
His gaze doesnât move from the television screen. âIs what normal?â
âTaking in strays.â
He snorts, then takes a second to answer. âNo.â
You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. Itâs a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.Â
You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. Heâs become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.
If he didnât want you to fixate on him, he wouldnât have left you home alone with nothing else to do.Â
âBird!â Simon roars from the other room. âThe catâs pissed on the floor again.â
You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.Â
It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simonâs address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. Youâve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as youâve spent more and more time on your phone.Â
This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasnât left you with a throbbing migraine.Â
He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if itâs alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesnât seem to encapsulate.Â
Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldnât let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simonâs bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesnât feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?Â
You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this personâsomeone you trustedâcouldâve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in wouldâve been some big, terrible thing.Â
The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.Â
Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castleâs ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.Â
And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. Itâs an improvement.Â
âIâm sorry,â you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.Â
âItâs fine.â
âI just want toâI wanted to make it up to youâŚfor taking me in.â
���You donât owe me shit,â he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.Â
âYes, I do. You let me stay here when I didnât have anywhere else to go.â
âIf you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.â
Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.Â
Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while youâre making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way heâs pressed up against you.Â
You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that youâre only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.Â
âItâs my fuckinâ flat,â he says instead of pointing out that your pussyâs wet because she knows thereâs a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.Â
âI live here too, you know,â you huff. âI canât wash the floors every time you come home.â
âThought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.â
His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they donât because his actions donât line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.Â
Itâs more than that though. Heâs wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.Â
You really do think that thereâs something so special about him that youâll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didnât know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.Â
You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.Â
The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesnât tell her that he doesnât need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he wouldâve taken it already. But he doesnât shove her out of his lap either. Itâs not his problem if she thinks itâs necessary or not.
Maybe itâs not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like sheâs in pain.Â
Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasnât in recent days. Simonâs always been a light sleeperâheâs sure he wouldâve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.Â
Still, Simon doesnât lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.Â
She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. âAh, ah, ahâthank you, thank you, IâŚâcan I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleasepleaseââ
It feels like everything theyâve been through so far has been leading to this. Heâd smelt it coming like blood in the water.Â
All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. Sheâd doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but heâd ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because sheâd been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.
That hadnât lasted long.Â
âWhatâs gotten into you, pet?â Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.Â
âTook care of me,â she mumbles, almost slurring her words. âAlways taking care of me, Simon.â
Thereâs no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.Â
Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, itâs over. Thereâll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.Â
âTold you, you donât owe me nothing,â Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.Â
âThenâthenâŚâI donât know, pretend itâs just for me.â Itâs a joke because they both know itâs not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.
He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. Sheâs far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.Â
Itâs a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.Â
Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. âRight, get offâyou ainât ready for this.â
âI am!â she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. âJustâI can do it, Simonââ
âNo, you canât. Youâre rushing and hurting yourselfââ
âWait, okay, wait, I canâŚjust give me a minute, okay?â she begs, and he doesnât tell her that heâd give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. Heâs waited so long; whatâs a little longer?Â
Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before sheâs ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins. Â
He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.Â
He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldnât have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.Â
âYouâre alrightâyouâre alright,â Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. Sheâs still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.Â
She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing heâs ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.Â
He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.
His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.Â
âYou do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?â he pants, taunting her.
âNo!â she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.Â
It doesnât matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that heâs the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.Â
âPerfect girl,â Simon chuckles, breathless. âMade for me. Got mâself a pet right off the street.â
And he did, didnât he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.Â
His conscience is clean. He couldâve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chestâ) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patienceâa fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.Â
A pretty bird thatâs made his chest a cage.Â
The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.Â
He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.Â
âGiâmeâŚgiâmeâŚâ she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.Â
He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows whatâs best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.Â
When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.Â
âFuckinâ hell, thatâs pretty,â he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.Â
His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messyâhow he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.
He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.Â
He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. Itâs his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses heâs lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.Â
âSqueeze me good, bird. Say thank youââ thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping meâ almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.Â
âNngh, Simon,â she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound heâs ever heard.Â
Simonâs never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows sheâll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.Â
Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.Â
âCome on, fuckâthat good, pet?â
âR-right there, oh god, ohgodohgodââ
He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.Â
Itâs a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesnât matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.Â
Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.Â
He thinks heâll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.
She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. âNâmore. Mâtired.â
âWasnât gonna, pet.â
The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.Â
He couldâve told her that itâd end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.Â
In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.Â
âI think I want to go back to school,â you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.Â
âYeah?â he says, only half-listening.Â
âI can always get a part time job on the days when I donât have class. I never liked my old job anyway.â
âDo whatever you want,â Simon grunts. âNot my problem.â
Under the table, your catâs tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.Â
You smile.
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Donât EVER imagine ghost standing over you and using his thumb to wipe tears from your cheeks whilst heâs wearing his gloves đľâđŤđľâđŤđľâđŤ
âDonât like seeinâ you cry, love. Please stop fâ meâ
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no ive read this so many times and it just gets BETTER everytime i cant đ
ăi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!
part one | part two
đ pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader
đ tags: nsfw, size kink, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, youâre coming to realise, is that now that youâve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you canât stop thinking about it.
In the week following the night youâd spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like heâs carved a space for himself inside of you, something youâll never get back â not that you want it back in the first place.Â
Realistically, you know that the whole âloss of virginityâ thing doesnât have as much to do with how youâre feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghostâs massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.
The worst part is, you donât know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. Youâve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you donât even come close to coming again.
It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you donât know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.
The problem is that while you feel as though youâve been changed from the inside out, you donât think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, thereâs no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training.Â
All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.
Itâs harder than it sounds.
You find your whole body straining towards him when heâs close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You canât even look in Ghostâs direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.
And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. Heâs the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. Heâs still your lieutenant, but itâs like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. Heâs no longer just your untouchable superior, the man whoâs always so cold and distant behind that death mask â now heâs the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.
But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you.Â
You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though itâs never at the same time as when youâre looking at him. And maybe youâre imagining it, but it seems as though heâs gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. Itâs subtle, and you canât be sure that heâs actually touching you anymore than usual.
But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesnât make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz.Â
If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that heâll give you something.
Youâve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. Youâre slow, youâre clumsy, you mess up everything.Â
You donât think you can be blamed when youâre working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when heâs lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs.Â
You know itâs obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before youâre able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.
But if Ghost sees it â any of it â he gives no indication.Â
If you have to be honest with yourself, youâll admit that youâre disappointed. You had hoped thatâ well. Youâre not sure you can bear to admit what youâd hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldnât be content with just being your first, that maybe heâd want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.
You donât technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you wonât be missed in their ongoing training. Youâve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when youâre out there with them.Â
Thereâs just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. Youâd been vulnerable in front of him in a way youâd never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that youâd been okay with it being a one time thing, but you werenât exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.
So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesnât even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like youâre being rejected anew. ItâsâŚ. Itâs not ideal. But youâre a big girl, and youâve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.
Itâs fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. Heâs Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you.Â
âââ シ ・ďžâ: .â˝ . :âďž
You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise itâs not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.
Truthfully, it doesnât take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, youâve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so youâre dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.
To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago.Â
Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghostâs massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement.Â
Itâs galling to admit it, but you feel like youâre on fire. He doesnât say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move thatâs unexpectedly intimate.Â
You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that donât know him well, to you and the squad heâs always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghostâs eyes follow him until he gets back as though heâs expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that heâs gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.
So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesnât actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesnât mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghostâs side.
You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to â maybe itâs because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly.Â
Itâs a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety thatâs been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, youâre leaning against his side. He doesnât react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if heâs just tolerating it.
When Ghostâs eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you canât stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.
âSlow down.â He murmurs, setting the glass aside. âItâs still early.â
You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though youâre pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.
Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soapâs loud voice brings you back to yourself.
âLet the lass drink, LT.â He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadnât even noticed him leaving for the bar. âShe deserves to have fun tonight. Donât you, bonnie?â
âSure.â You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. Youâre still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. âI deserve fun.â
It feels as though Ghostâs gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. Heâs so intense, youâre pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. Itâs the most heâs looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.
Heâs drinking too, though heâs foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that heâs barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.
You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like youâre on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghostâs muscular body pressed against your side.Â
Over the last week, youâve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.
Youâve heard men laughing about girls theyâve slept with whoâve become too clingy, whoâve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys arenât willing to give. Maybe itâs because youâre so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but youâre so determined to not be that person.Â
Ghost isnât exactly a big talker anyway, unless itâs the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so itâs not like youâve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you neednât have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you donât know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that heâd see you later.
So, you donât talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu youâre experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.
While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. Heâs already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention.Â
âYouâre staring at me.â You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.
Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement.Â
âYeah.â
He doesnât say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. Itâs like he thinks that he doesnât need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.
Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you canât focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, itâs hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation thatâs growing under your skin.Â
After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now heâs sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?
The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. Youâre not sure what to make of his attention â youâve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot thatâs gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.
âIâll get the next round.â You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.
Itâs too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly donât look at the half-full glasses in your squad matesâ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghostâs relentless stare.
You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.
God, this is just embarrassing. Youâre a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that youâd be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.
It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you canât help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself.Â
When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadnât expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.
Well, heâs not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but youâve never actually had any dealings with him and you canât think of a name⌠Daniels, maybe?
âHello there,â He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. âHow you doing?â
Itâs far from the first time youâve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. Youâve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life.Â
Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him.Â
Heâs sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.
âLet me get this next one for you,â He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. âWhatâre you having?â
âUh..â You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. âVodka soda.â
He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you donât shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.
When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder.Â
The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.
The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language.Â
You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. Youâre not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasnât spoken to you all week despite the fact that heâd nearly done your back in fucking you.
Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but thereâs no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you havenât been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. Youâre starting to wonder if maybe youâre not capable of coming without someone elseâs hands on you.
âIâve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,â Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. âBut itâs, uh⌠itâs a little difficult to catch you alone.â
You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and youâve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe.Â
âYeah, the guys can be a little protective.â You laugh a little weakly. âBut donât mind them.â
Even now, you can feel Ghostâs dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.
âMm,â Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. âCanât blame them, I suppose. Why donât you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.â
You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, youâve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a manâs interest in you now.
âOh, Iâm not sure.â You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. âI donât think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.â
Danielsâ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though youâre stretching muscles youâre not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadnât done too much mingling outside of the squad; theyâve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.
âI think they get enough of your time,â He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. âCâmon, Iâll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?â
Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. Itâs lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. Youâre pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy.Â
If you canât get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldnât be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.
You glance down at Danielâs hands where theyâre wrapped around his beer glass. Theyâre big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you canât help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think theyâd do the job.
âWellââ You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.
But you donât get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.
For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isnât even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.
âOn your way, Sergeant.â Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.
Despite Ghostâs obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesnât immediately do as heâs told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what heâs hearing.
âWeâre only talking, Lieutenantââ
Ghost doesnât even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking â maybe you were going to be one of them.Â
But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else youâve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when heâs angry. Itâs like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying âDonât fuck with meâ. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.
And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesnât so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.
Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.
âWhat the hell was that?â You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.
Ghostâs head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes â bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.
âWhat was what?â He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that youâre facing him head on.
âYouâ I was justââ You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands.Â
Youâre indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadnât spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?
âMm.â Ghost grunts. âWhat were you doing?â
Your jaw clenches. âI was talking. Is that a crime now?â
Jesus, you sound like a brat. You donât even know where this insubordination is coming from; heâs your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. Youâre being too bold talking like this, but itâs like you just canât help yourself.
His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.
âWatch that mouth, doll.â He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone.Â
But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.
âYou canât ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when Iââ
He cuts you off as though heâs not even listening to you. âNot here. Come on.â
And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. Heâs not harsh, and he doesnât drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now.Â
Youâve pissed him off, and you donât want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.
You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now.Â
Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off â how mortifying. You pray they didnât catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but theyâre also terrible gossips.
âLet meâ Sir, let me goââ You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.
When you realise where heâs leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesnât stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that heâs leading you all the way back to your own damn room
âWhat are you doing?â You demand in a hiss. Youâre so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end.Â
After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like youâre a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar?Â
A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when heâs not in the field, but it doesnât make him any easier to read.
He doesnât answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.
Now that itâs the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. Heâs just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.
You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.
âYouâre unbelievable.â You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. âYouâve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, youâre over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?â And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, âSir.âÂ
Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. Thereâs something in his eyes that you donât know how to read, unable to get a feel for what heâs thinking through that inscrutable mask.
ââS not true.â He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests heâs frowning.
You feel like youâre going to explode. âYes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him offââ
Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadnât even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that heâs sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide.Â
âHis name is Davidson.â He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. âAnd that wasnât what I was talking about.â
Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didnât know the guyâs name â whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, youâre certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.
âI havenât been ignoring you.â He says, watching you like heâs trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. âJesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?â
Youâre left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.
Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him.Â
Despite the fact that this is your room, youâre stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.
âYouâve barely spoken to me since weââ You canât bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. âSince last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, thatâsâ thatâs fineââ
Ghostâs spine straightens, but he doesnât speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.
âI donât want to make things awkward, I justââ Youâre tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. âIâve never done this before, so Iâll follow your lead, but I donât understand the point of sending Danâ Davidson, whatever, away like that if youâre clearly trying to keep things between us professionalââ
Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like heâs suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.
âHeâs a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time weâre in there.â His voice is a low earnest rumble, but youâre too agitated to properly hear him. âHe didnât have anything to offer that youâd be interested in.â
âThatâs notââ
âBesides,â He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. âI think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.â
Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so heâs decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.
âRight.â You say. âYeah, thatâ um⌠thatâs made things awkward, I suppose.â A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, âSorry, LT.â
Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though heâs considering his next words carefully.
âCâmere.â He says.
You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, youâre suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries.Â
You had never slept with anyone before, and you donât understand whatâs expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that youâve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant?Â
âHavenât been ignoring you,â Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. âYou jokinâ? Been watching you all week. Thinkinâ about you all the time.â
Thatâs a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You canât deny that heâs been watching you â you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. ButâŚÂ
âYou neverââ You start to say, before swallowing again so you donât say something stupid. âYou havenât spoken to me.â
âSpoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.â
Thatâs a little galling, and all you can do is scowl.Â
âStop that. You know what I mean.â You snap defensively.Â
Maybe youâre imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when heâs trying to figure something out.
âI was trying to give you space, doll.â He murmurs. âIt was your firstâ I didnât want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.â
The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but youâre not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly youâre losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.
âI didnât want space.â You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. âYou justâ we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.â
You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?
And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasnât impressed with your⌠performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than youâve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadnât made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.
Thereâs a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesnât rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks.Â
âI go for a run in the mornings.â He says at last, his voice low and rumbly.Â
It takes you a moment to process that.Â
âYouâ what?â
Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. âThat morning, I⌠went for a run.â
He must realise how that sounds â maybe the expression on your face tips him off â because he hurries to add on to it. âCreature of habit, love. I didnâtâ I donât do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thoughtââ
He stops rather abruptly, and doesnât finish so you donât quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and youâre staring at him in agitated confusion. God, heâs bad at communicating.
âShould have stayed.â He says gruffly, and if youâre not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. âThought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.â He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. ââCause it was your first time. Dunno.â
Oh. Well.
Now youâre the one blinking at him. Thatâs⌠not what you had been expecting.Â
While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. Youâre not sure how to even begin processing that.
âI didnât need time to myself.â You say, and you sound pathetic.
Thereâs a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.
âNo,â He rumbles after a moment. âApparently you didnât.â
You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after itâs been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, heâs still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you.Â
âRight, wellââ You start to say, a little sharp.Â
He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. Heâs not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow heâs tugged you up into his lap.
âJesusââ You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.
Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. Heâs broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that youâre certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.
âLast week wasnât enough?â He asks, and if youâre not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking thereâs an undertone of hope, too.
But maybe thatâs a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. Heâs veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. Youâre pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you canât help yourself.
You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasnât enough.
âThen why bother with that idiot at the bar?â Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. âIf you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.â
You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadnât expected him to speak so bluntly, but itâs typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush.Â
âI wasnât sure youâd want to do that with me again.â You say, your voice edged with insecurity.Â
Thereâs a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. Itâs borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, heâs still so intense.
âWhat made you think that?â He asks, his voice low.
You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position youâre in. Youâre sitting perched in your lieutenantâs lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. Youâve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together.Â
âYouâre difficult to read.â You whisper awkwardly, shifting. Youâre hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know heâs strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.
But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.
âYou think so?â His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. âYou been trying to read me? Canât have been doinâ a very good job, darling, since youâve been avoiding me all fuckinâ week.â
Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he canât hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear.Â
âI justâ Didnât know if you would want me again.â You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.
Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.
âFeel that?â He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that youâve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.
âYeah.â You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.
You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.
âOh!â You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. âOh, god.â
âStill think I donât want you?â He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.
Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs.Â
âI donât know.â You say stupidly.Â
Itâs like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because youâre fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghostâs cock press into you.
He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately.Â
âYou think too much, doll.â He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like itâs a stress toy. âWay too fuckinâ much.â
Heâs probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.
Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.
âYeah,â Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. âThatâs it. Youâve been wanting this, haventâcha?â
âYeah.â You admit, so quietly that itâs almost inaudible. âYeah, I want it.â
But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot.Â
He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how youâd gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.
You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But youâre already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that heâs here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and youâre about to get what youâve been craving all week.
He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that youâve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesnât have any intention of letting you hide yourself.
He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. Youâre not sure what heâs doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you donât think thatâs whatâs happening here because heâs still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.
âDid she miss me?â He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.
âWhat?â You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.
But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that heâs talking about your fucking pussy.
âOh my god, you weirdoââ You choke out, but you donât get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt.Â
He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that itâs been revealed. Itâs embarrassing, but you canât bring yourself to try and hide again. Heâs touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that youâre not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.
âMy fussy girl,â He mutters, low enough that you almost donât hear him. âHave you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?â
You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they havenât been working. No matter what you do, you canât replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.
But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought thatâs been practically haunting you, thatâs had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as youâd sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.
âWaitââ You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. Itâs like heâs just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.
âI want to try something.â You tell him before you can lose your nerve. âSit back down.â
He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than youâd expect for his size if you hadnât already seen him in action. Heâs almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.
Since youâre already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine.Â
âPromising start.â He says, and you want to smack him.
You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. Youâve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now heâs sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesnât seem put off by your inexperience at all.
Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. Itâs somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like youâve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant.Â
âVery promising start.â He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. âDâyou know what youâre doing, sweetheart?â
The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what youâre doing, youâre learning as you go along. But Ghost hasnât judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that heâs willing to put up with this too.
âSort of.â You say evasively. âIâve seen it in porn, and Iâve⌠Iâve been practicing.â
Ghostâs groan sounds like itâs been punched out of him, and itâs rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where youâre trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and itâs slow-going.
âYeah?â He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. âWhich one?â âWhat?â Youâre a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. Youâve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.
âWhich one of your toysâve you been practicing on?â He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. âThe pretty little pink one?â
You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. Youâre not quite sure what to make of the fact that youâre apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo youâve been sucking at, imagining it was him.
âMaybe.â You mutter evasively.
Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, youâve felt it, and yet now that itâs in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.
Youâve watched porn with so-called âmonster cocksâ and it isnât like that. Itâs just⌠bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because itâs not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.
Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.
âYou donât have to.â He says quietly.
âI want to.â You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves.Â
Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that youâre in over your head. But youâre not willing to back down; not when youâve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when youâve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.
You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghostâs thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. Heâs so big that it feels like heâs dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what youâre doing.
You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that youâre getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.
âGrip it harder, love.â He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. âIt ainât gonna break.â
âShh,â You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. âLet me do it myself.â
Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You canât help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because theyâre your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown.Â
Itâs not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock.Â
You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you neednât have been. Heâs a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.
He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.
âThought you wanted to do it yourself?â
Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesnât mind.
You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and youâre coughing, choking, and sputtering.Â
You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.
âSlow down,â He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. âYou in a rush?â
âNo.â You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. âI just⌠I donât know what Iâm doing.â
Even though youâre quite certain that Ghost already knows that, itâs a little humiliating to admit.
Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit thatâs trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.
âDonât matter, love.â He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that heâs wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. âPlay with it as much as you want to. Donât think too much.â
You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted â the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.
You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.
âYeah, thatâs it.â He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.
His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke â the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.
You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesnât seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.
It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. Youâre rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.
Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isnât nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.
It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when youâre on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.
You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.
You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what youâd do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything youâve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. Youâre making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and youâre certain that youâre drooling.
Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.
âFuck,â He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, âKnew youâd be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckinâ gorgeous.â
That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. Youâre not sure what feels better; whether itâs his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises heâs growling.
God, you want to be good at this. Youâre definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost.Â
Youâre pretty sure heâs lying about you looking gorgeous, though. Youâve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, youâre gripping onto Ghostâs thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and itâs taking everything you have not to choke on him again.
Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. Youâre making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way thatâs definitely a little gross, but youâre surprised by just how much youâre enjoying this.Â
You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy.Â
You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldnât be cute but it is.
The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. Youâre fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.
You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch.Â
Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. Itâs jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though itâs just waiting for your attention once more. Itâs already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.
âLike a pro, baby.â Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture thatâs gathered there.Â
You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. Itâs nice to know that youâre not doing a horrific job, at least.
You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghostâs eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. Heâs watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. Itâs too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.
An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once itâs been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you donât understand why heâs taken it away from you.
Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.
You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.
âNo,â You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. âI wanted you to come on my faceââ
You can tell that Ghostâs expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesnât put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, heâd hardly gotten undressed at all. But now youâre being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button.Â
âNext time.â He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. âFuck, love, next time.â
Heâs quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before heâs muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like itâs a hard candy.
You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and heâs so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You donât even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes arenât lined up with the holes anymore, but heâs working with such enthusiasm that it doesnât even matter.
And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation heâs providing is really doing it for you.Â
Youâre probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way youâre craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. Heâs built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing youâve ever seen in your life.
âOh god, fuckâ!â You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.
Of course, Ghostâs fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe itâs because youâre used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when youâre playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghostâs pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.
He pushes another finger inside and itâs snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.
Youâre honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves.Â
Itâs exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.
Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when youâve been failing so spectacularly for a week.
Youâve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point heâs shucked his trousers off, and the fact that heâs naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. Heâs still got the damn mask on.
Heâs breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. Heâs still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. Heâs still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what heâs thinking.
When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. Youâre sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.
Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.
He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and heâs quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.
âOh, look at her,â He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. âShite, she missed me, didnât she?â
His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesnât even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.
âFuck, sheâs been waitinâ for me all week,â He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. âI know, baby, been waitinâ for you too.â
Jesus, you feel like youâre gonna die. Youâre taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. Youâre so wet it feels like youâve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.
Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.
âYeah, sheâs begginâ for me.â Ghost is still talking â at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because theyâre low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. âListen; itâs like sheâs talking to me.â
For a second, you have no goddamn idea what heâs talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.
âOh god,â You whine, high and needy. âJustâ stop teasing.â
The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.
âItâs not teasing, lovie.â He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. âYouâve been avoiding me for a week straight. Iâm just reacquainting myself.â
Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that youâre tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response.Â
âSimon,â You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you donât even get as far as finishing the order.
He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it youâve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.
When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. Youâre wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghostâs dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You canât stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.
He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, âCâmon, stop pushing me out, darling.â
âWait,â You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. âWait, oh my god, youâre too bigââ
His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though heâs obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.
âItâs only the tip, baby.â He murmurs, cooing softly to you like youâre something easily spooked. âYouâve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.â
You nod, hesitantly. Heâs right; he may be big, but youâd taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since youâd long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.
Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. Itâs mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?
You slap at his belly hard, writhing away.Â
âNo, nope, not gonna fit.â You wheeze.
Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. Itâs still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick.Â
Itâs big, but you know you can take it. You just⌠you need better leverage.
Your jaw clenches in determination. âI need to be on top.â
Thereâs a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghostâs brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that heâs laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.
His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you â the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.
âGo on.â He encourages, as hungry and wanting as youâve ever heard him. âAll yours, gorgeous.â
All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until youâre certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.
You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.
You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghostâs cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as youâre speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.
Though youâre the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.
You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that theyâve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if heâs trying to take it all in before it disappears.
His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesnât, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.
You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesnât rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.
Youâre so full you feel like youâre about to break in half, and Ghostâs gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you donât stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.
Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside.Â
âThatâs my girl.â Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. âFuck, itâs like you were made for me.â
Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system â youâve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.
One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.
âWould you have gone back to his quarters?â He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.
âHuh?â You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.
âThe guy at the bar.â Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. âThe one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?â
Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that heâd be a big possessive bastard.
âI donât know.â You say, but youâre barely paying attention. Youâve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind â you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.
âWaste of your time.â He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. âJesus, look at the way youâre sucking me in. Cuntâs so fussy, she was just waiting for me.â
The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasnât the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldnât fall over that damn ledge.
âYeah,â You whine, hardly even aware of what youâre agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but thereâs nowhere else to go because heâs filling you up so completely.Â
You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, heâs so strong, itâs like your body weight is nothing to him â he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.
Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then youâve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.Â
âSimon,â You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper thatâs far more pathetic than you had intended. âAm Iâ am I doing good?â
Heâs gritting his teeth â you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.
âLike I said, lovie, youâre a natural.â He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. âGimme a kiss.â
When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.
âThere.â You moan into Ghostâs mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each otherâs lips. âOh god, pleaseââ
The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden heâs fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.
Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, heâs drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.
Your mouth is hanging open and youâre pretty sure that youâre drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You donât understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.
âFuckinâ Christ, youâre so tight,â Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. âGonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.â
You didnât actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.
Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and youâre gone. You think you might actually scream, but itâs muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs.Â
You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it.Â
You donât get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all heâs worth. Youâre put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.
It's the most unravelled youâve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know youâre already addicted.
This is not the lazy rhythm of before; heâs uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that youâre sure itâs going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe thatâs what heâs aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.
Youâre oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you donât complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghostâs own soft belly too.
It makes a mess, but you donât care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed.Â
You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You donât bother opening your eyes; you know heâll come back.
Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that heâs pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery.Â
âYou alright, love?â He asks, and you realise that youâve just been staring blankly at him.
âYeah.â You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that youâve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but donât complain.
To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. Heâs a little too big for the standard issue frame, but youâre more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.
âAre you staying, this time?â You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you canât quite help the little pulse of insecurity.
âAs long as youâll have me.â He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like heâs talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.
You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. Heâs so solid, reliable. Youâd trust him with your life, with anything.Â
You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. Itâs laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when itâs flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You canât lie to yourself and say you donât feel a little possessive, either.
âAre we dating now?â You ask quietly. Youâre not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You donât think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.
Thereâs a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns heâd been drawing on your back.
âWas that a question for me, or my cock?â He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though heâs actually not sure.
You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when theyâre looking at you like this.
âYou,â You say.
Thereâs another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.
âYeah,â Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. âStuck with me now, lovie.â
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Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism đđž you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.
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Captain Price doing his little tippy toes hip thrusty thing.
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pls bless me with thots of soap or kyle w face riding and abs riding PLS
YO
iâm usually a tummy girl but the thought of riding someoneâs abs is actually sending me into cardiac arrest and ik for a fact that gaz would be obsessed with that shit
super short sorry, 18+ and fem!reader
oh my days just imagine
IMAGINE
being all pent up and desperate and gaz is laying on your shared bed, fresh out of the shower, abs glistening in the low lamplight
you canât help the way your body responds. heâs too damn attractive for his own good
straddling his abdomen with both hands on the soft, warm muscles of his pectorals while you slowly begin to grind yourself against him
feeling the muscular grooves against your bare cunt, and the way your clit rubs against him just
đŠ!!!
gaz would look up at you with hooded eyes and a sly smirk, his large hands on your hips, gently guiding you back and forth as you rut yourself against him
the slick of your cunt smearing over the defined lines, and you pick up your pace with each lewd noise, followed by desperate, airy whimpers from your throat
heâd coo at you, praising you quietly as your hips increased in pace and you chased your high, the warm rigidness of his abdomen being absolutely perfect <3
âyeah? you like that, pretty girl? grinding this pretty pussy all over my abs? yeah, âcourse you doâ âcourse you do, baby. jusâ look at the mess youâve made. made a right mess all over meâ sâokay, baby, sânot youâre fault. sânot your fault this pretty pussyâs all worked up.â
AHH
FUCK
then of course youâd come with his words swimming in your head <3
(heâll definitely fuck you into the mattress after this)
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?!!?!?!??!?! WJHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT
https://x.com/nsfw_stellaa/status/1755710192359022819?s=46
LITERALLY GAZ. IT EVEN LOOKS LIKE HIM.
- twt link plug
(afab!reader, mdni 18+)
this is so gaz making out with your pussy because you kept asking for a kiss and he was teasing you by giving you kisses everywhere except your lips. the right ones at least
gaz for sure moans and mumbles against your pussy as if talking to it. chuckles to himself when he can feel you squeezing down on his tongue as he licks up your juices and spreads your folds against his mouth.
"mm, taste so good, baby," he murmurs against your clit. kisses it a couple times in thanks. because he just loves the taste of you, loves the feel of you. he'll swipe his tongue between your folds from side to side to spread them apart and make more room for him to prod against your slit. "dripping s'much for me. thank you, baby. thank you."
you're moaning out and trying to grip his hair but he thinks you're still trying to coax him upwards for a proper kiss so he traps your hands in his, interlaces your fingers, and keeps them pinned to the bed while you just squirm and take it.
"kyle," you grit your teeth when he plunges his tongue deep inside.
"wha'?" he doesn't bother detaching from you and just burrows his head deeper between your legs. it's like he's obsessed. so thirsty for you. loves the feeling of your slick pooling against his tongue and dripping down his chin.
you're pretty sure that your entire face is on fire. it's so hot. the sounds he makes against your pussy is downright embarrassing. messily slurping up anything you have to offer so he can smear it all over your thighs. doesn't help that he leaves open mouthed kisses on your puffy folds.
"kyle, wait," you pant. you feel him huff against you. he doesn't stop still, but tilts his head upwards to look at you and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. the angle he's now at lets him swipe his tongue across your clit in slow back and forth movements. you can't even collect your thoughts properly.
"c'mon, baby. talk t'me," gaz coos.
you bite your lip. "stop teasing me. all i wanted was a kiss."
he hums and wraps his lips around your clit to suck at it a couple times. lets it go with a wet pop before resuming that filthy slurping of your pussy. he pulls back just enough to tell you, "i am giving you kisses."
"not there," you drag out in a whine. you grip his hands tighter and try to pull him upwards like that. but he holds fast and continues groaning against your pussy.
"quit tryin' to pull me away. you wanted kisses. you're getting kisses."
do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
#my fav gaz writer#oh my god????#im malfunctioning at this point#need him so bad its crazy#gaz smut#kyle garrick smut#twt links
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giggles twirls my hair jumps up and down
Build-A-Boyfriend | A Luvit Valentine's
Valentine's Day is approaching! You know what that means! Oh... no plans? No worries! Here at Luvit Inc., we have you covered. Just answer our short questionnaire and we'll send you something to make this holiday season worthwhile ;)
RAFFLE ENTRY - up to FIVE (5) winners will be chosen for a little extra holiday loving this season:
your first step is to take a quick uquiz assessment! there are 14 possible results.
reblog + let us know your results in the tags (this counts as your entry!)
you have until 11:59pm pst, feb. 16th to enter. any entries after that time and date will not be counted (but you can still take the quiz <3)
winners will be selected through the wheel of names and then privately messaged with your result (pls have your messages open so i can let you know!)
winners will have until 11:59pm pst, feb. 17th to confirm response
PRIZES:
a personalized blurb up to 750 words (can be either fluffy or suggestive)
reader-insert or OC-insert - i'll use whatever name/pronouns you let me know of!
will include your tagged result as the character
select a prompt starter from a provided list
prizes will be distributed on feb 19th unless otherwise notified
*eligibility requirements are: cannot be a blank blog, this cannot be the only post on your blog, reblogged and tagged with your result, entered before the time and date
**i've never made a uquiz before so i apologize in advance if it's bad đ it is mostly random and gives you a little dive into how i personally characterize and associate things with the different cod men. this is for fun and not meant to be taken super seriously! i just decided on 5 people since i'm still recovering from the sick but wanted to do something interactive and let y'all know that i really DO appreciate you â¤ď¸
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oh my god? OH MY GOD?? IM LITERALLY BAWLING MY EYES OUT???
WIP: still your passenger (re: deftones)
simon ghost riley x gn reader
!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)
thereâs a new medic in the base â a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. sheâs beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves.Â
youâve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, thereâs really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that youâve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you canât really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.
it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.
her nameâs erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family sheâs got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics.Â
âtheyâre a family of smart nuts,â johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. âcan you believe it? sheâs pretty and wise.â
you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.
âof course iâll keep it in!â johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. âi donât want to anger LT, yâknow?â
cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like youâve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart.Â
âoh?â you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. âwhy would he be angry now?â your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead.Â
johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. âwhy else?â
the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes.Â
you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.
because of course.
of course.Â
you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered âiâm glad youâre safeâ pressed onto each otherâs cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break.Â
everything with him was just physical â chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each otherâs bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches.Â
sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning.Â
âyâready to go back to the base?â johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.
âââââ
ignoring simon was easy. itâs not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like sheâs got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache.Â
the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didnât know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin.Â
he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.
and itâs not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?
erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyoneâs troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isnât strong, anyway.
erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.
so, again, could you really blame him?
you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences â he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to.Â
heâs told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of.Â
one you thought you would have shared with him.
but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.
it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.
but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley angst#sob sob sob#this is eating away at me i relate to reader on a spiritual level
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I WANT HIM SO BAD
Give me a Simon Riley who's soft.
Give me a Simon who, when the guys ask him to run to the pub after a successful mission, turns them down. The reason he gives them is "because I just spent two months with you assholes", but everyone knows it's because he's too eager to get home to you to waste any more time.
Give me a Simon whose favorite place to be is with you in bed or on the couch, laying atop you like a massive weighted blanket; his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat as you massage his scalp. He constantly falls asleep like that, and he swears it's the only position he can sleep in that guarantees he won't have any nightmares.
Give me a Simon looks at you and, for the first time in decades, imagines a future for himself. He's never allowed it before - he's always been convinced that he'd die young and has always known he'd be grateful for it. But now, when he watches you smile back at him, he finds himself thinking of future years he never thought he'd want.
Give me a Simon who lets you trace his scars with your fingertips, and who starts to associate them less with the injuries that caused them and more with the sensations you give him. And all the while, he's looking at you like you hung the moon, the stars, and everything else in the sky.
Give me a Simon who has earned his reputation as a ghost, a phantom, a threat, but refuses to so much as raise his voice towards you.
Give me a Simon Riley who is completely and utterly yours, for as long as you will have him.
Give me a Simon Riley who will burn the world down at your feet to keep it that way.
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hes so gorgeous
I tried to draw Simon's/Ghost face
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simon doesnt like hot chocolate!
FIRM BELIEVER IN THISSS.
Ghost is practically a fiend over tea, to the point where any other drink just disgusts him. So, when wintertime rolls around and TF141 is sipping on their hot chocolate, he can't help but feel a lil left out! So, the next best option? Tea. Peppermint tea. Where he stands idly in the doorframe, leaning against it with his mask pulled up just above his nose as he sips it. Pulled it back down his face as Soap cranes his neck to stare up at him with a scrunched up nose, âHell are yuâ drinkin?â Ghost would tip his hand up just slightly, âTea,â he paused, âPeppermint.â Only for Soap to furrow his brows and chortle, directing his gaze elsewhere with a smirk. âSmells like shit.â âOh fuck off,â Ghost groaned, earning a low chuckle from Price and a smile from Gaz. â Simon also uses it as a way to introduce you to tea, since you werenât as fond of it as him. Youâd be finishing your mug of hot chocolate, setting it aside as the minty-peppermint smell invades your nose from beside you. Youâd lean over, getting a better whiff of it as his eyes catch onto yours. âYâwanna try it?â He murmurs, holding it out to you. Taking it from his grasp, you place it to your lips and take a small sip, savoring the bitter taste. You hand it back and hum, âSâokay.â You taking sips from his cup quickly turn to you brewing it in the morning for the two of you, attempting to make it quietly but always waking up your sleeping boyfriend because he doesnât feel your warmth in his arms anymore :( Itâs okay though because he always walks softly through the halls, following the hissing of the kettle and wrapping his arms around your torso, nuzzling his face into the side of your temple, pressing lazy kisses to it. He rasps out a âgood morningâ into your ear, lightly leaning his body forward to get closer to you as he tries to fully wake up. And once he does, you can feel that little smile against your head and that little rumble in his chest as he chuckles. âKnew youâd like the tea, lovie..â
#â§â áľáľ đ elysian writes â
ËâŽ#simon ghost riley#tis the season#he has my heart#need to cuddle him by the fireplace while we drink tea#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon#ghost#simon ghost x you#cod fluff#simon ghost riley fluff#ghost fluff#ghost x reader#ghost simon riley#cod ghost#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#cod#cod mw22#cod imagine#ghost cod x reader#cod mw2#fluff#tea#boyfriend#christmas
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AHH I LOVE THIS
Government name vs Military callsign
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it canât hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
âIf you want me to âshake a legâ, call my name, luvie.â
Now if you holler âJonathan Priceâ, heâll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and heâs peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
âYes, luv? Whatâs wrong, poppet?â
âLift the other end of the couch, would you?â
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. âAnything else I can do, love oâ my life?â Heâs hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
âNo, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.â
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and heâs already given you permission to call him Simon, donât call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
âGhost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.â
âFuck you callinâ me that for?âÂ
Once he sees youâre alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
âWe playinâ games now?â You didnât want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
âSorry, baby.â Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. âIâm sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.â
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.Â
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesnât mind being called Gaz, and youâll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesnât even mind if you use âKyleâ or âhoneyâ in front of his squadmates. Though âKylieâ he does have some displeasure with.
âIâll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.â
Call him âGarrickâ, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. Heâs too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout âKyle Garrickâ, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
âKyle Ga-â
âYes, dear!â Shit, he didnât mean to âyes, dearâ you. âYes, my dear, Iâm right here.â
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once heâs close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. âI need a kiss.â
He blinked once. Then twice. âGod damn you.â He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. âDonât stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.â
âGive me another kiss, or I will be.â
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.Â
âIn my own fucking home,â he muttered.
John MacTavish
Military callsign.
Heâs got some thick skin. And heâs had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting âJohn MacTavishâ meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
âSOAP!â
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
âJOHNNY!â
âIâm here, bonnie,â he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
âCâmere, câmere.â
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. âWassit?â
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. âA caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.â
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. âBonnie, I thought something was wrong.â
âHm?â You spared him a glance. âWhat are you talking about, bubba?â
âYou called me Soap.â
âDid I? Didnât mean to spook you, loverboy.â You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. âJust wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.â
Posted: 2023 Dec 10
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