#( MAN IS GETTING BOLDER- )

[mischievous-thunder]

One day later:

The evolution of Wade's thought process before and after meeting his Logan

[tshortik]

I love you messy artstyle i love you visible brush strokes I love you textures and rough edges I love you imperfections I love you roughness and colour blobs I love you scratchy sketches and bold stylisation and dirt and imperfections I love you ugly and raw emotion!!!!! ❤️

[sqtorux]

gojo 'i am a man too' satoru when you keep teasing him about how he's younger than you and makes it his life mission to prove it.

[anathemafiction]

I love seeing Hadrian getting bolder with MC lmao feels even better with a shy MC because it's like he's picking up the slack. ❤️

You haven't seen anything yet.

[fiendishartist2]

its been so long since i first shared my designs for them, so i thought i would try again with my new art skills :3

[daybreakrising]

@apocryphis: "you never told me you could dance, vautrin." depending on how one chooses to interpret neuvillette's tone, one could hear either a very mild indignation or a pleased sense of surprise. without waiting for an answer (although he does listen out for one, should vautrin grant him the honour of it), he rises from the sofa and walks up to the phonograph, turning it on and adjusting the volume to a soft, gentle inflexion. "I would quite like to hear that story - and whether you knew how to dance before joining the marechaussee or because furina also made you learn... but most importantly..." satisfied, the iudex turns back to his dear friend, with a smile and a gloved hand reaching out to him. "could I trouble you with a request for a short demonstration?"

You never told me you could dance. No, he hadn't. In fact, he'd hardly told a soul since he left that life behind. There was only one other in Fontaine (and, indeed, all of Teyvat) who knew, and that was Furina - a secret revealed during a moment of bonding between them, a sharing of a mutual passion they had both once held dear. And still do, a voice utters inside his mind. He won't tell Neuvillette that he was not the first to learn of this, of course. He seems put out enough that such information was kept from him in the first place, and he dare not cause him further upset.

"Ah, it... it was a long time ago..." There is a subtle shift in the temperature of his skin, notably upon his cheeks, the tips of his ears, the hollow of his throat. Hopefully, he thinks, subtle enough not to warrant a change in colour, too.

It isn't that he is ashamed or even embarrassed by his former talents upon the stage, nor does he begrudge himself the ties to his parents and their fame. But it is something... private, almost intimate, about himself. A piece of his history long buried, that only someone of great importance to him should ever know. He can count the number of people he has ever felt confident and comfortable enough giving this piece of himself to on the fingers of one hand.

One of them stands before him now, a vision in blue, warmed by the soft glow of the evening lamps and accompanied by the gentle chords of music that fill the quiet around them. "I... I was a child of the stage." There is, surely, colour in his cheeks now. "My parents were performers - singers, dancers, musicians, actors, they could do it all - and, well... both myself and my sister followed in their footsteps. They used to joke that I learned to dance before I learned to walk, that my sister could sing before she could talk. I was to be a professional, one day, and-"

Primordial eyes widen at the hand now outstretched to him, all coherent thought stalling within his mind as he understands what is being asked of him. A short demonstration. Neuvillette, his Neuvillette, is asking... for a dance.

It takes, perhaps, a moment too long for Vautrin to react in any way beyond simply staring at that gloved hand. When he does, it is as though his body has simply taken control where his mind has faltered - his own gloved hand slides smoothly into Neuvillette's as if they were two pieces carved to fit, and he rises from the sofa to step within the Iudex's personal space in one fluid motion. It feels natural, the way he moves into position, the way his other hand falls upon Neuvillette's waist to draw him in closer.

He lifts his gaze to meet with those striking eyes, closer now than he thinks he has ever seen them, and he feels a rapid stuttering within his chest at the proximity between them. He can feel the soft whisper of breath upon his skin; he can see the fine lashes of delicate blue that frame those soft, beautiful eyes.

It feels almost difficult to breathe, as though the air has been stolen from his lungs. He can feel the frantic beat of his heart within his chest - so loud, surely Neuvillette can hear it - and the spreading burn of the flush that now creeps from beneath his collar. He parts his lips to speak - archons, why is his mouth suddenly so dry - but he can do little beyond exhale an almost shuddering breath.

Get a grip, Vautrin, he chastises himself, before you make a fool of yourself.

"It would be my pleasure and my honour to give you a demonstration, Neuvillette." It is unmistakable, the way his voice softens upon uttering the Iudex's name, the way it warms with unrestrained affection.

And then, a shift in the former captain's demeanour: a sudden boldness, a confidence, as he adjusts their joined hands into a specific form, as he lays a firmer grip upon Neuvillette's waist. There is a curious tilt to his head as he leads the other into the first steps of this rather intimate dance, a curve of his lips into a smile of such rarity that perhaps Neuvillette is the only witness to its existence.

"So... Furina made you learn?" His voice, too, is bolder: a tease within his tone, an element of humour combined with delight, with fondness. "Well, then, Monsieur..." There's a subtle movement, a leaning in - and a slow, soft brush of nose against nose. "Perhaps you can demonstrate in turn?"

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

i think what's really getting me about kozma claiming to have blown up the moon and also claiming to "be" the breach and basically equating "breach collaborators" and "my allies" in the same speech is that. the breach operative we've known since season one, the person who "is" the breach as far the story's concerned, is saskia. and midst is saskia's HOME! she built the black candle with her own two hands (metaphorically, at the very least), she LOVES it there and she loves those people :( and if we take kozma's story at face value, she just threw the "centerpoint" (according to imelda) of her own operation entirely under the bus and endangered the lives not only of innocent people but also of a bunch of her own operatives without their knowledge just to destabilize the trust and frankly that makes me kind of hope she IS telling the truth simply because that's the kind of betrayal i find absolutely delicious,

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Michael...

Michael Christopher Sheen...

The phrase is tongue AND cheek. Not tongue IN cheek.

Furthermore, "tongue and cheek" is a phrase used to refer to someone using a sarcastic tone. What YOU did has... much different implications.

And you do this not long before the "We both get Plenty of use out of it, don't we?" Like! Hdjsbxidjb. You cheeky wonderful bastard angel man!

I, of course, have no idea if you came up with any of this yourself, or if it was all from thorough and meticulous direction, but still. I have a hard time believing you and everyone else involved in this didn't/don't understand the implications of, well, really that whole scene.

Seriously, though, it brings me so much joy to know that when Aziraphale REALLY wants Crowley to do or let him do something that Crowley is not going to particularly like, he gets flirty like this.

...

Oh... Well, except for that one time, huh?

Fuck.

By the way, the gif is just an edited version of one from this person's post:

Edit after reading comments:

@cottonwoolfairy @clarebearr I really should know better than to trust my family's pronunciation by now. I've always heard it as sort of "tongue 'n' cheek" and when I looked it up the first time, the sites that came up said "and" as well. Apparently, there are two versions with two different meanings, which honestly explains a lot. Thanks for pointing it out! Learned something new.

[floorpancakes]

im having thoughts about gay people again

[jupiter-on-the-compupiter]

ANYONE WANNA SEE MY GAMEBOY PIN

I've always been a huge fan of pokemon and despite being born when gen4 was out, I always played the first two gens the most, so the gameboy pokemon games hold a place in my heart :3

The thing behind the gameboy is the little motherboard for a fake tamagotchi that I disassembled the other day bc I wanted the shell for another diy project of mine!

[newbiecitrusauthor]

Imagine having a perverted ghost obsessed with exposing you. They gradually turn you into the town whore.

It starts with your clothes disappearing. You go to your closet and all you have for bottoms are skirts. Your panties and bras disappear one by one until you just stop wearing them.

Whenever you walk by a man in public, your skirt blows up whether there's wind or not. Every man in town has seen your pussy by now. Many of them see it daily.

If you're wearing white, you can guarantee you'll have water spilled on you at some point during the day. People like to joke about your free wet tshirt contests.

Your shirt unbuttons itself while you talk to people. Most people don't mention it anymore. They just stare at your bare tits until you realize.

People in town trade the best stories of seeing you naked. That time your bikini fell off at the beach and you couldn't find it and the day the wind blew your sundress fully off at the town fair are top favorites.

Eventually, people get bolder. They start taking photos of your clothing mishaps. The ghost is always sure to hold your skirt up long enough for them to get a good shot. Pictures of your ass, tits, and pussy are everywhere.

Not only do they not tell you when your shirt falls open, people start to grope you. It's not even worth fighting it. You let them feel you up until they've had their fill. Eventually, people don't even pretend they need to talk to you. They come to see you just to play with your tits.

The ghost doesn't even need to lift your skirt anymore. People in town will lift it up just to squeeze or slap your ass.

You get used to being fingered out in public. On the bus, in line at the store, even at work. Everyone has seen your pussy anyway.

People start licking your pussy every time you ride the bus. You sit with your legs open so people can taste you on their morning commute. You don't remember what it was like to ride the bus without a tongue inside you.

Every man in town as fucked you at some point. Most of the women too. Instead of paying at the store, you bend over and let anyone present abuse your pussy. You lose count of how many men shove their dick inside you daily.

Your porn becomes the town's main export. Videos of you being fucked in every possible location are all over the internet. People travel to town just to fuck you. Instead of shaking hands, you introduce yourself by spreading your legs.

[mochinon-yah]

I...... YES..... ABSOLUTELY HE IS LIKE THAT LIKE YEAH MAN HJEUEIEIKWSK

[odorefal]

ׅ◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ nothing made kento nanami’s blood boiled (slight jealousy) more than catching men staring at you for too long, whether casually or with questionable intent.

from what you gathered from your grumpy goblin husband, his friend, gojo threw a birthday  to “release the unnecessary stress”, specifically just to annoy him, and drag introverts like megumi into social situations. but since you were so bored, lounging around the house all day like a couch potato, you nagged your husband to go out for some fresh air and enjoy the free food.

the party was in full swing, the laughter and chatter blending with the upbeat music. everyone was dancing and having a great time, and the energy was contagious. slowly, your former friends and acquaintances started making their way to you, their warm smiles and familiar faces creating a sense of nostalgia as you reconnected.

bored, nanami’s gaze swept over you, noticing how your dress hung a little too loose, revealing a little bit of your chest and making you visibly uncomfortable in his eyes. he sighed softly, and then placed his blazer around your torso, pulling you close as some of the crowd continued to engage with you both.

staring at him from the corner of your eyes, your husband looked like a fine wine, radiant and attractive as usual. the party is all good until it heated with your friends and acquaintances praised how perfect you two looked as a couple, and the worse part was when the praises drew some of random men’s attention. it heated up even worse when men kept staring at you like they’d never seen a woman before — nanami glared at them, causing  them to look away and pretend to be innocent.

however, a man with an unsettling stare eyed you from head to toe, as though trying to measure your beauty. nanami, noticing the unsettling gaze, pulled you closer, making sure half of your torso was hidden by his chest, determined to avoid any drama in the middle of the party.

the strange man grew bolder after nanami excused himself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with your drink. he approached you with an unsettling grin, introducing himself. at first, you were caught off guard by his sudden introduction, but the discomfort began to settle in when he wrapped his arms around your waist and offered you a dance.

unbeknownst to you, everyone was watching as a 6’0 man with yellow hair struck the strange man’s face with a solid punch, causing blood to gush from his nose.

“i will not tolerate your disrespectful behaviour; how you’re looking and acting in front of my wife inappropriately.”

he stormed toward the the man, each step heavy with fury, his face a mask of pure anger.

giving the man no opportunity to speak, your husband yanked the man’s hair and threw him across the room, breaking the wall with the force. the force of being tossed across the room left his hair messy and wild.

nanami is a skilled and powerful sorcerer, you admit that – but when he gets serious, his physical strength and cursed energy would definitely pack a punch that could break through walls, especially if he's angry or provoked. 

“he won’t bother you anymore now, my love. you’re safe with me.”

[valalice]

BLINDS WIDE OPEN .ᐟ ft. stalker!caitvi

ꮼ summary. you've unknowingly attracted the attention of piltover's finest, and now they'll do anything to make sure you're theirs. ( inspired by 'she' by tyler, the created ft. frank ocean )

warnings. dark content. fem!reader. reader isn't specified to be from piltover or zaun. stalking. slightly nsfw. established caitvi. allusions to murder but could also be just them scaring off said person. possessive!caitvi. abuse of power (on cait's part). commander!cait. unsolicited note & gift sending. staged meeting/slight savior complexes. pet names (r!receiving : darling, pretty girl, little bird, dear). reader is painfully oblivious. vouyerism. vi takes pictures of reader without her consent. pantie stealing & sniffing & alluded usage of stolen panties. wc. 2.3k

m.list. | arcane m.list.

‣ their little obsession starts out innocent. you're just a civilian, blending into the crowd around you, just another person going about their routine. but to caitlyn and vi you stood out. they didn't actively seek you out, you just happened to also be in the same places as they were at times, and they couldn't complain about that. often moving or forgetting what they were doing to see (follow) you a little longer.

‣ they agree that they've never been so sure about something before. you allure them in, like a flower temping a honey bee. someone so sweet, with such beauty that want, need you. they begin calling your theirs from then on.

‣ it turned sour when once again, out of coincidence you were in the same vicinity as vi, the pink haired woman quickly taking notice of you, her fingers hooking into her hood to pull it over and cover herself as she keeps a sweet distance behind you. not too far and not too close. the bustling streets get rowdier and vi gets thrown around a bit, picking up her pace and ramming her shoulder into who gets close to her, so she doesn't get whisked off into the frown and loses you. she groans when out of nowhere a brutish man blocks her view, putting her scuffed hand on his arm, mumbling something out about needing somewhere to be (a lie), and just within those few moments of vi’s watchful eye on you you've presumably arrived at your destination, a restaurant. she sighs and takes post near by, but as quickly as she was resting, slumped against some wall, her posture straightens out. fist fighting at her side, her teeth begging to grind, hard enough she'd snap her jaw off. you've met up with a woman, and said woman has her hands on you, pulling you into a hug. a glare bores into the mystery woman's head. if vi had glared any harder she's sure beams would've shot out her eyes and straight into her head.

‣ since then, the couple had made sure to purposely watch you. no more coincidences or hopeful wishes that they'd see you a few times out of their week. now they see you every chance they can get. and at this point they're getting bolder, more risky with how they watch you. inching closer and closer into your space as they follow you just to get a whiff of your shampoo, or perfume. going into the same places as you instead of watching from outside. frequenting the same places you frequent and learning your favorites, caitlyn has gone as far, as asking for the same drink as you one time when she was standing behind you in a small cafe. they're even begin starting to work out your relationships with people, keeping tabs on them too. and oh, you haven't seen that one friend in awhile.

‣ caitlyn begins to abuse her power as commander to find and dig through your findings. memorizing your stats; height, weight, hair color, eye color, blood type, ect. she got caught once snooping through your files by a subordinate and quickly sorted herself out, clearing her throat out and making up some lie about needing a file on a stillwater escapee. waving your file at them and briskly walking past them saying that she’ll be in her office, when she's really taking that file home with her.

‣ they’d even begin sending you notes and gifts. notes that read along the lines as “you look beautiful today.” “loved the new hairstyle, did it just for us?” “one day you'll see that you were made for us.” and the gifts are usually items they'd watch you eye in shops or things they'd think you'd like based off of your other preferences, like clothing, books, a new bag, that expensive new technology device you've been saving up for since your old one broke, and of course the classic flowers and chocolate. and they can't lie when they're hurt whenever you come home or open your door to one of their notes or gifts that you have a horrified look on your face, frantically looking around to see you could've given it to you, and vi in particular is hurt whenever she watches you throw out the chocolates she picked for you.

‣ despite all of this, they still have yet to formally meet you, although they're sure you know of them. but they can't simply introduce themselves, they have to make it look natural. accidental and like you needed them. they've learned your entire routine just for a moment like this.

you had just finished up grocery shopping. the sun was just finishing up with rising fully within the sky. you enjoyed going first thing when the store opens to dismiss the morning rush that happens by the time you're bagging your items and leaving. as you're making your way home, your head peeks from over the brown paper bags in your arms to watch where you're walking.

it's quick and sudden, the catch of something on your foot. knowing what's next, so you close your eyes preparing for impact against the ground. at least your groceries will cushion your fall, but not without ruining them underneath your weight.

except you don't and your body stays slanted still at a degree. peeking an eye open you're met with a pink haired woman, she looks familiar, but you can't put your finger on her name. you're reminded of the groceries in your arms from the crinkle of the bags, and they feel lighter in your arms. her hands are placed over your groceries, and there's also a pair of hands on you, but on your waist? who's the person behind you?

“are you alright?” the woman in front of you asks, her voice is low and comforting.

it happens swifty, the woman in front and the person behind you working to place you back upright on your feet. and you're dazed when she also takes most of the bags from your arms.

“she asked you a question, darling.” you twist around at the sound of a new voice, the person from behind you presume, and it's. . . british? upon turning around you're met with the fall figure of commander kiramman, and on instinct you're standing a little straighter.

“c—commander kiramman,” you splutter out. “i’m, uh, i’m okay.” looking down you adjust the bags in your arms, just for caitlyn to swoop down and take them in her arms, and within them, the bags no longer look as big as they did in your arms. “thank you, for, em, catching me from falling to my doom.” you let out a light laugh at the end, trying to make light of your embarrassing situation and to ignore that you're flushed, thankful for the cool morning air against the warmth of your sizzling body.

“it's no problem, really. we hate to see a pretty girl get hurt.” the pink woman smiles. oh! that's when it clicks.

“you're vi!” you enthuse, feeling a sense of pride that you were able to remember her name, you knew she seemed familiar. feeling a little silly it didn't click sooner since she's so recognizable.

“i am,” her smile grows. “and you already know caitlyn.”

it feels like a game as you bounce your head from one woman to the other, but now your attention lies on caitlyn. “no more calling me commander kiramman. no need for formalities, you can just call me caitlyn.” she hums, correcting her name for you.

yet your wide eyes stay strained up at her, “but would it not be respectful to call you commander?”

caitlyn’s exterior remains collected, only vi catching the way cait’s eye slightly twitches, your worries for calling her by her correct title is cute and sends a jolt straight to her cunt.

“like i said, no need for that. calling me caitlyn is perfectly respectful. alright, little bird?”

they both refrain from voicing their distaste of your nod at cait’s words.

it's quiet for a moment, the three of you just looking between each other and you realize both of them still have your groceries in their arms. “oh! i can take my groceries now.”

they both look at you like you'd just grown another head from your neck.

“don't be silly. you should've seen how looked trying to carry all of these bags—”

cait cuts vi off, “you looked comically cute.”

a part of you doesn't really know how to take that they thought you looked funny trying to carry your groceries, but at least they thought you were cute. “i normally don't have that many bags,” that was something they already knew. “but today they had some great deals i couldn't pass up on.” oh, gee, they wonder who tipped off the owner to have such deals.

“well that's great, dear. but what we're trying to get at is that, we want to assist you with your groceries.” caitlyn clarifies, eyes flickering down to her girlfriend.

“so, we’ll carry them. keeping you from stumbling by trying to balance it all in your arms. and you show us the way to your place.” vi finishes, although they already knew the route to your home with their eyes closed.

this isn't something that you'd agree to, but it's vi and commander kiramman, or caitlyn, and that automatically makes you trust them. agreeing to their offering and placing yourself ahead, beginning to walk your way home, and they follow, missing the way they wickedly smile at each as they just perfectly wormed their way into your life.

‣ since meeting you they've become even further unhinged. while caitlyn has duties that distract her from her habits of watching you, vi has complete free will to watch you whenever she'd like. her favorite is when cait is working late, instead of being alone at the estate, she’ll take post at a spot close to you place, to her it's the perfect spot, having a view into your home, able to see as you go from room to room, even your bedroom. both you and her are thankful that your windows don't really point anywhere, so you're comfortable enough to keep you blinds open most of the time and vi is able to watch as you leisure around, cook, clean, when you're fresh from a shower, still damp and drying off your body with your towel. she's seen it all, she's seen you all, in your most vulnerable state when you touch yourself, fingers trailing between your pretty thighs to play with your cunt. vi wishes she could hear the gasp, whines, and moans of pleasure that fall from your lips, but right now the best she can do is capture pictures.

bonus

‣ they're both desperate for you, the run ins, pictures, files, watching you isn't getting them what they need. but they both know that it isn't time to act just yet. so, cait request for vi to break into your home one night, a night they know you'll be out with some friends, to steal a few pairs of your panties. something small that'll take the edge off for a little while. luckily it had been a warm few days and a window in your bedroom was cracked, so vi welcomed herself in as she slid the window open wider so she could slip in. already having the layout of your bedroom memorized as she makes her way to your dresser, opening the first drawer to behold where you keep your socks, bras, and panties. she diligently scours through the stacks of panties, making sure to keep them all nice and tidy as you had them, picking out a few pairs that she and cait would like, mostly cotton, until she got to the bottom of the stacks where you kept your lace panties. she can only imagine that you got them for her and cait to look all pretty when they finally take you. there's a pretty lavender pair, it makes her wet thinking about you wearing them. vi brings them up to her nose, eyes rolling back as she sniffs the fabric, you've worn them before she can tell, they smell of you and your detergent. feeling a high, she promptly stuffs the various pairs of panties in her pockets and exits her way from your bedroom, leaving everything as it was when she came in. caitlyn and her will make great use of them.

and just a few days later cait gets a call from you, the exchange of numbers occurring that morning they helped you with your groceries. “what is it, darling. tell me.”

“it’s—” you pause, rethinking if you should've even called. “it's embarrassing, but i’m scared.” you whisper.

“i ensure you i’ve heard my fair share of things while on the job.”

“promise you won't laugh or call me crazy?”

“i promise.”

you sigh, gathering courage. “i have a stalker, or stalkers. i really don't know but they refer to themselves as 'us' and 'we' a lot.”

caitlyn leans back in her office chair, “oh, darling. i’m sorry to hear that.” faux concern is ridden in her tone. “have they been doing anything to you?” she already knows the answer to that, this is normally the time she'd take out her note pad and pen to make note of the report, but there's no need for that.

“yes. i feel foolish to not think much of it at first, i thought it would just fizzle out over time. but the notes, the gifts, they've gotten odder. and now—” you stop yourself.

“and now?”

you bite your lip, your heartbeat beats rapidly in your chest, it's loud bangs rattling throughout your body. “i think they've taken some of my panties.” you whisper that also, embarrassed to have to admit that.

caitlyn smirks against the phone. oh, you have no idea.

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[frankiethedarkangel]

You recently moved into a home that is notorious for being haunted.

Being the skeptic you are, you took the chance with it. You could handle a few bumps in the night, maybe even at the worst, a little poltergeist activity.

After spending the day unpacking you decided to explore the attic. There were a few boxes that needed to go into storage for the holidays. Grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight, you head to the hallway to pull down the ladder to the attic.

It was as you expected. A dusty and over heated space at the top of the house. As soon as you turn your flashlight on you feel as if someone poked your side.

Your flashlight relieved a something in the back of the attic covered by a white, dusty, cobweb ridden sheet. So typical. Making your way to see what it is, you feel like someone’s touching you again.

This time it’s bolder than feel as if there was someone poking your side. Something touched your ass. Trying to ignore it, but definitely feeling weirded out, you make a logical explanation for it. Just a muscle spasm you told yourself.

That was until you actually reached the cloth covered objects. Pulling the sheet off, you see there’s a painting of a man. Must be one of the previous owners.

Before you could even move something pushed you against the wall hard. Letting out a scream you try to fight off whoever it was. But there was nobody there.

Feeling something touch you again. Almost as if someone is running their fingers up your legs. You decide to call out.

“Who’s there?”

As expected nobody answers, but it takes you by the hips and pushes you against the wall again. By now you’ve pieced together it’s the ghost you heard about. Well, the poltergeist.

“It’s you isn’t it?”

Looking at the painting as you ask. Almost as if it’s giving you an answer, your pants are pulled off and you feel a finger rubbing your wetting slit.

Rubbing circles on your clit with what feels like it’s thub. Slowly pushing a finger into your pussy. It feels so wrong, but it feels so good.

After the mystery of a person fingers you, you feel a while body pin you to the wall. Holding your hips tight. Slowly what feels like a hard dick is pushing into your now soaked pussy. Using you make itself reach an orgasm.

You feel the ghost cock twitch inside you. As if it was a warning, it cums inside of you. It pulls out and just, disappears. Getting yourself dressed you feel the ghost’s cum leaking out of you.

“It’s green? Green goo?”

Monster Masterlist