#Embroidered Camo

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Crop Cotton Bomber Jacket in Embroidered Camo from Hudson Jeans ($59.97 - on sale)

[beetledrink]

while out today i saw a young man wearing a Bratz hoodie and a camo ball cap with Blood Meridian embroidered on it and im just gonna be thinking about that fit for a while i think

[aethelwyneleigh27]

TF141 Scenarios and Headcanons

(Them interacting with the mini and pink version of Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley) Inspired by my previous post

Credits to @puff0o0 for this wonderful art that I requested and all the other art that's used in this post, she delivered and slayed. I genuinely love your art style because the textures looks like crayons were used and it's just so cute, thanks so much Puff <3

Pairings:

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Justice for Soap? Poor guy has been a victim in this entire set of scenarios.

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

❥ Simon bringing mini Ghostie for her to interact with the Taskforce again. Safe to say Soap got hit at the back of his head for even trying to make fun of the pink carrier (that you, his loving wife bought for the baby), while the little one was fidgeting with the red bow that decorated the front of the strap carrier.

❥ Ghostie didn't earn the nickname till the second time Simon brought her with him bringing the mask along and she proudly wore it. They actually went through the effort of getting her a tailored camo print uniform with a little patch embroidered with the words "youngest recruit" and "Riley" embroidered on the back of the shirt.

❥ Mini Ghostie keeping herself busy with the crayons and papers provided by uncle Gaz, drawing herself, her dad and the other Taskforce members then proudly showing it off to them after they're done being busy. (It earned a spot on the base's fridge, Price bought a magnet for that purpose alone because it was held up by tape for the longest time)

❥ A little visual for you guys provided by my favorite and beloved mutual @puff0o0:

❥ Ghostie and Gaz exchange drawings on a basis, more oftentimes it's funny faces that Soap makes. Soap saw them..

"I DINNAE LOOK LIKE THAT"

*Gaz raising a brow at him while Ghostie was giggling at Soap raising his voice*

❥ And yes, Gaz was responsible for the shrekified version of Soap that was on the fridge.

❥ Soap tried to draw something as an insult towards Gaz but it backfired and little Ghostie ended up loving it and taking it home to display it on the wall of her room:

❥ Gaz tends to be pursuaded by every little pout Ghostie gives him, probably the reason behind him being her favorite uncle. Ghostie made a drawing of Gaz once with an outlined heart around the picture, he now has it framed on his desk.

❥ Safe to say that Ghostie was amused by Soap getting hurt in any way possible, at first it started with her dad playfully punching the sergeant that made her giggle but then it slowly started to turn into her taking matters into her own hands and actually hitting uncle Soap herself. (Poor Soap)

❥ Little one constantly either slaps Soap or pulls on his mohawk. Yeah Ghost probably taught her that, she loves seeing her dad amused and giggles when she makes her dad chuckle. (Cue annoyed Soap noises)

❥ Uncle Gaz calls her "Boo" sometimes because he thought it was fitting and yes he took it from that one animated movie character, more likely sets his phone up and let's her use it to watch Disney movies because he's the only one who has Disney plus. (Frozen and Mulan were playing non-stop and now they all know the song "I'll make a man out of you" word for word)

❥ The idiots encouraged little Ghostie to chug a bottle full of milk as if she was chugging beer while cheering her on, Simon sipped on his whiskey not knowing he'd regret it later on, they all had to deal with a massive spit up because they made her drink too much and too quickly. (Soap had to wash that shirt 3 times before the smell of milk became more faint)

❥ Little Ghostie calls Price her grandpa and nobody's correcting her even if she genuinely thinks that Price is her dad's father. Price was definitely the one who had a uniform tailored for her but it was Gaz's idea.

❥ Believe it or not, Little Ghostie is loved by almost all of the recruits. Lieutenant Riley has a DAUGHTER?! He has a wife..? Yeah that was their first reaction. But ultimately they loved her because Little Ghostie was a sweet bundle of joy who loves giving flowers to female recruits and uncle Gaz.

❥ Despite all the bullying uncle Soap has been through, he still loves that kid to death and couldn't be more prouder when L.T. Riley and his wife chose him, Roach and Gaz to be godfathers.

❥ Speaking of uncle Roach, him and Ghostie get along really well. Even though there's not much of a verbal conversation going on, they still manage to cause chaos together. She likes to fidget with the makeshift antennas that come with the helmet of his tactical gear.

❥ Nobody can stand it when she's crying, she's not even loud, she's almost so quiet when she cries but gosh is it heart breaking. Especially for Gaz, Ghostie's teary puppy eyes looking up at him while her arms are in the air. "Uppies uncle, please" she hiccups.

❥ Gaz is the one always carrying her around, if everyone's being honest then I don't think she was ever down on her feet at some point unless she was playing around with the recruits.

❥ If Simon was being honest, he enjoyed the sound of Ghostie's feet thumping around base.

❥ Ghostie loves handfeeding her dad, she does it all the time. Technically she still has a difficult time using utensils so hands would do for now.

❥ Roach gave the little thing a sip of his coffee and she was practically bouncing off the walls. Yeah that wasn't a very bright idea.

❥ She was a late teether, Soap was the victim. Not only was she caught chewing on the strap of his tactical gear, Ghostie actually bit him with her baby teeth that were only halfway out when he tried to swat her away.

❥ Uncle Gaz and grandpa Price taking out the little one for ice cream so her need for sugar is satisfied and to cool her gums off.

❥ Ghostie's uncles taking her to the park/playground. (Gaz was the one recording)

❥ Soap got in trouble for teaching mini Ghostie how to curse, you weren't too happy about that because now your daughter is saying "bitch" endlessly in the wrong context.

A/n: I hope you guys liked it, I put a lot of effort into this and the last post. Please check out Puff's account if you don't know her yet, I promise she is the sweetest person and her CoD content is a big hit.

[tuvvin]

new hat up in da shop !!! just in time for hunting season...

[meli-writes]

Mechismo - No. 04 /// Hit List

(First) / (Previous)

The broken war-machine falls to its knees, embroidered with a hot-white trim in the three perfect holes of its precious, now-former, systems; spilled out, as black smoke, except for its heart.

That falls out after.

“Hey. Princess,” you say to her, brass hard-but-hollow, the used shells her imperial-blonde hair rushes into, as she breathes into the dirt pushed underneath painted nails, as boots tread on them before she can reach for her pistol.

“You,” she snarls, twisting on bent limbs. “Fucking asshole I’ll— Hey!”

You hoist her up at an elbow, till her few, furious trembles collapse into a copacetic dangle and watch a local, mouse-analogous species squeeze itself under some muddy shrapnel.

“Princess”, you mutter, “you wanna live. So you’re gonna yield to me, okay?” And that’s rhetorical, because ‘deathwish’ isn’t in her—

“Not a chance in His hells,” she shrieks, kneeing herself free, and reaches — not for her holster, which is still full — but for your face. Crack! You catch it after, bring it behind her back to lock in re-used, disposable cuffs. “I can… I can take care of myself,” she protests.

“I know. That’s the problem — I won’t let you hurt my people.” You yank her back, till she trips and is left leaning on you, “Now yield.”

“No,” she squeals, “why would I ever trust you again?”

You trusted me?

Fuck, Princess. You’re dense as tungsten-tips.

You baulk at her, unseen from behind, and reswallow the budding softness before she feels it, “Cos these guys will bleed you out for fun. And I’ll let them, if I have to.”

There’s a wet shuffle-over-fallen-log, the familiar pitter-patter of light, temperate rain on plastic poncho. Another hunter who’ll see her in a moment. So you rock her around, without mind to the furious look painted like camo on her face, and take her at the small of her back — and pull her into a kiss.

“Fuck— it really is,” the hunter starts to mutter, before the words catch in his throat.

You know him; too new not to take it by-the-book, not too dumb not to listen to you when it counts. “Sir, what’s happening?” he asks.

You have to make this count.

“What? She’s a pretty thing, ain’t she?” you muse, as if you’ve pinned her to the wall for nabbing extra rations, and not—

He’s got his rifle over his shoulder; tall-as-him, rounds as big as her cock; is too drilled to not be gentle with it. He’d seize up if you drew on him, and it’d take him too long to respond in kind. “I had a thing with her back in the royal college.”

“Uh huh — before you betrayed me,” she cuts in, and you will her to shut-up and wonder if she still loves fingers squib-loaded down her throat.

“Before they realised I was a saboteur, Princess,” you remind her, though her eyes look the same as the first time she realised it. “We were never on the same side.”

“Never on mine,” she hisses, her own heart fallen out too. “Trying to fake your own death and blaming it on me…”

You would fill into the silence, And it would’ve kept you away, and, Still you found me, if you weren’t aware of the audience, so stuff yourself with unload pride, “Offered to take you with me, didn’t I?”

She looks like she’s gonna cook-off, “You don’t know what I was—”

“Sir,” he reminds, and you look at him; realise he is gentle, because his rifle is kick-stood on the ground and you didn’t hear that. His hand rests on his holster, “She’s on the hit list.”

Pilots to be put down. Machines to scorch, so no one else can use them.

Pilots like assassins, in their bonded semi-mechs; merchant third-sons with an insecurity to smother in bodies and merc hires; and ex-noble fuck-ups with nothing left but what they can prove.

Pilots like her, who’ve seen the gun and are nuzzling into your shoulder so deep you can hear the little killer’s loose heart pressed between your chest and hers.

“Look— Fuck— I— I yield,” she whimpers.

You run a hand up her back, to rake through her hair and tip her back.

“Then scrap the mech,” you say past her, looking in her eyes and slipping to her that same fear, before swelling viciously upon her desperate sweetness, “I’m not done with this one.”

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

[yautjathiinkinggrounds]

hello! could i request a yautja with a human s/o whos an artist and a seamstress and used to make a living with those skills on earth (assuming they are not on earth anymore?? idk dude)? 🫣

Yautja x Human!Partner who is a seamstress

Really interesting idea, thank you for requesting. Here you go: no warnings

He would be greatly interested in your projects.

He never asks you to explain your work.

He did once and you went on and on about the different types of stitches and how to properly hem certain textiles. And he realized this was much too complicated for him.

he's a man that can appreciate art. His people have always adored the beauty they can be created with their hands.

Seeing you show off something you've sewn up for yourself always brings him immense joy.

god how he loves seeing you in your custom made clothes.

He is especially interested in your embroidery.

you make cool jackets with patches on them, adding a bit your your touch to them.

A lot of your clothing is made for harsh environments. Traveling to different planets you have to accommodate to the climate/wildlife.

so when you spice up your boring hunting pants and army camo jacket with some interesting designs on the sleeves he is happy to see you being yourself.

He especially likes when you embroidered his name in Yautja lettering on the inside of your jacket right above your heart.

Yautja don't tend to wear "shirts" and "slacks", but when they aren't blooded or working for a hunt they wear coverings.

You take up some small commission work here and there, fixing and adjusting Yautja robes. Most of the time you fix clothing they wear for fancy occasions. The Yautja community finding your small Ooman hands perfect to make such precise fixes on such expensive clothing.

One time your mate saw you fixing up a wedding sash that a Daughter inherited and needed to get adjusted to he frame as she grew taller than her Mother.

Your mate saw you holding the sparkly lightweight cloth, the size of it dwarfing you in a funny way.

You count the beads on the corners, fixing and adding some that were missing.

To you, it was normal to be covered in Yautja clothes when working. But your mate is absolutely smitten to see you in a wedding sash.

these moments really plant seeds of a would-be marriage ceremony in his head.

Though not a silly thought to your Yautja; he is a very committed lover.

Though he would need to find a seamstress worthy enough to make his Ooman a custom made sash. And he would greatly travel anywhere in the galaxy to find one.

[magnetothemagnificent]

[id: eight images of a young man with beige skin dressed up in a Bucky Barnes cosplay making various poses to show off different angles of the costume. He is wearing a dark blue jumpsuit over red leggings and blue boots. He is wearing a red beret and red gloves and the suit has a red collar and red embroidered cuffs. He is wearing a utility belt with a silver buckle that has a star in the center. His suit is double breasted and he has a red white and blue badge on his left side, and an American flag patch on his right shoulder and a team emblem on the left. He is wearing a black domino mask, and in some poses he is utilizing a prop knife. He has a green camo handkerchief in his right back pocket and an orange handkerchief in his left back pocket. ]

Added a red detachable collar (can be switched out for yellow) and liberty cuffs to the ensemble hehe

[youthgonewildd]

𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗.

In the upcoming weeks of Dave's birthday, I had been rushing to get him a birthday gift. I didn't know what he wanted, let alone if he wanted anything at all - and it made me quite nervous, antsy, even. I always thought that it was the thought that had mattered, but I wanted to make it special for him.

I took every chance I got to think about it, but my mind was left blank. I skimmed magazines for things he'd like, but yet again, I was left to no avail.

It was only hours prior to when I was going to see him - on his birthday, exactly - that I was at the mall with a friend, but we were practically just window shopping, which was a typical thing for us, surprisingly enough. Nothing seemed to interest me, and the only thing that seemed to be stuck in my head was getting Dave a gift.

It was then when something had struck my gaze - a big display of teddy bears in a store window - but more specifically, one that embodied Dave. Gray fur, a leather jacket, camo pants, and some strikingly stylish shoes for such a teddy bear.. After so much overthinking, I had assumed I found the perfect present.

I had run off from my friend without warning, but she didn't question it, nor follow me. Shockingly, the normal hustle and bustle of stores had died down once I stepped foot into the store, surrounded by the warmth of all these little plushies, like it was a children's heaven.

I took a poised step forward to the counter, greeting the cashier with a smile of my lips before I spoke - very softspokenly..

"Hey, could I get that bear in the display..?" I pointed a finger towards the display - more specifically, the bear - and she responded with a nod of her head.

It was only moments before I had the bear in my hands, it's tiny embroidered smile mirroring mine as I walked down the street with it in hand. I was relieved that I had found a gift fast enough, but I had yet to wrap it up and write a card when I got back to our apartment. I felt like I was rushing, but I had more than enough time, and I thought it was my excitement that was getting to me..

Sitting on the floor of our living room, I had just finished stuffing his gift bag with tissue paper when I heard the clicking of the door - a clear sign that he was home from the studio - and it was a sound that made me nothing more than ecstatic.

Before he could open the door, I had done it for him, leaping forward into his arms.

"Jesus, baby.." He said with a chuckle, quickly returning the embrace with his own arms.

"Surprise," I whispered into his ear, pulling away from him with a kiss on his cheek. "I got you something."

Understandably, he hadn't seen the bag in my hand when I greeted him, but I held it up for him to see, and his face lit up.

"You did." He took the bag from my hands and led himself inside, and I followed him like a puppy to the couch..

He welcomed me to his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as I snuggled close to his side, my head resting on his shoulder as I awaited for him to open it..

His fingers delicately dug through the bag, finally coming across the bear at the bottom, lifting it out with a smile on his lips. He took a long look at it, but it was almost as if he was examining a baby, so carefully and happily - or at least I thought.

"You got me a teddy bear?" I couldn't read his face, but the tone in his voice made me fear for what he'd say next.

"You don't like it..?" The smile on my lips had faded to a frown, my brows now furrowed as my eyes met his. I thought he was disappointed, that he expected more, but his next words changed that thought.

"I love it," He set the bear on his lap in front of him, wrapping his arms around me in the same tight embrace as before, his nose nuzzling into my hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head before he pulled away. "He looks just like me."

"I think you should give him a name.." My grin reappeared, my eyes now fixating on the bear in his lap.

"I dunno," His brows furrowed, much like my own moments ago, but I could tell his mind was scavenging for names for the little guy - almost like he was naming a child of his own. "Hanley. That's his name.."

"Hanley it is," I felt his arms return around me, a silent message - that he was thankful for what I had done.. "Happy birthday, Davey. I love you.."

"I love you too." He gently tackled me to the couch, attacking me with kisses suddenly..

[thevampiremarie]

Heartless, Chapter 7

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

-

Ghost hasn't touched you in a while, so you ask him to teach you how to shoot. Tags under the read more.

-

Smut tags: EXTENSIVE SAFE HANDLING/USAGE OF GUNS AT A SHOOTING RANGE, description of guns and gun safety, gun kink, exhibitionism, more degradation, more praise, love for titties, semi-public sex, s/m, biting, possessive Ghost. Brought to you by my deep love and affection for the OG Ghost skin.

Ghost hasn’t touched you since your flare-up. Not literally. He’s been… stupidly nice, his hand never leaves the small of your back when you walk together, and sometimes, he even pushes doors open for you.

But things haven’t gone past kissing, which you do a lot of nowadays, more than before. He’s constantly kissing you, soft brushes of lips on your forehead, gentle bites at the pulse in your neck; if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll tangle his tongue with yours.

That’s it.

He withdraws if you try to pull his shirt up or take your pants off. And it’s driving you fucking crazy.

It’s not all bad. Ghost changes his mask in front of you now instead of ducking into the bathroom, and he leaves the door open when he brushes his teeth.

You catch glimpses of his face, jaw, and eyebrows like wisps of fog. They'll slip out of your grasp if you hold on too tight or demand too much. He’s turned you into a Victorian gentleman, at his feet for the smallest bit of bare skin.

But what you want almost more than to see Ghost’s face again is for him to fuck you. It’s been weeks. Literal weeks.

You’ve tried prancing around your apartment in nothing but your skimpiest lingerie, lace and tulle and embroidered silk.

You drop things in front of him and bend down to retrieve them. You draw your kisses out as long as possible, as indulgent and possessive as possible.

Go, Ghost. Give us nothing.

You thought that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you anymore. That he saw you in pain and need, and that killed any desire he had, like some weird Madonna-Whore complex.

But one day, while rolling on a pair of delicate thigh highs, you felt eyes heavy on your skin.

You looked up to find him standing at the sink, watching your reflection in the mirror, his gaze feverish, like that little slip of elastic cinching into your plush thigh was about to make him crawl.

That made you realize that your stupid husband is only treating you like glass because he doesn’t know any better, out of some deeply misguided sense of chivalry.

Today, you have a plan. A really, really good plan. One he can’t wriggle out of so effortlessly.

He looks more handsome than he has any right to look in his camo pants and dinky wraparound combat sunglasses, and when he crosses his arms, your mouth goes dry at the sight of his broad, muscular back in that gray jacket.

You’re determined to get him.

“Ghost, I have a question. Well, it’s more like a favor,” You ask as you dab on some lipstick, mouth open in a perfect ‘o.’

He’s on his way out, but Ghost stops and turns in his tracks just for you. “Hm?”

In the mirror, you see him adjust his sunglasses, and your instincts tell you he’s either looking at your lips or your ass in your miniskirt. Or both.

You tamp down on the smile tugging at your mouth before he grows suspicious. “Do you think you could… teach me how to shoot? If you have time today. I never learned how, and I trust you,” You add in a soft, fragile voice.

Then you bend over the sink just a touch more and arch your back. As you calculated, Ghost is too taken in by your tantalizingly short hem to notice how off your voice sounds.

He clears his throat, light reflecting off his glasses as he shakes his head. “Yeah. Alright. Let’s go,” He says flatly.

You keep some distance as you walk past him into the hallway. You know, just to keep Ghost on his toes.

“Awesome! Oh my god, thank you. I’m so excited,” You tell him as you rest your arm in his, intentionally pulling tighter so your tits in this push-up bra brush his bicep.

Ghost doesn’t pull away, but he does stiffen as he walks you through the base. “Better cool it. Don’t get frisky ‘round loaded firearms,” He cautions.

Damnit, he won’t even look at you. And you know you’re very pretty right now - this is his favorite shade of lipstick on you, and you’re wearing more mascara than a waitress at Hooters.

Ugh. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be good, I promise.” You won’t give up so easily.

He stops in front of a soldier manning a counter cut into what looks like a big ol’ wire cage. Past the cage, you see a massive metal wall with locked shelves.

The private salutes your husband as soon as he sees him. “Lt. Riley. How can I help you?” He asks, clearly used to Ghost’s presence. The man’s eyes flicker towards you curiously, but Ghost leans forward and quietly raps his knuckles on the cage.

The private looks away with a blank, bloodless face.

Ghost nods approvingly. “Checkin’ out a Glock 17. And some ammo,” He says, handing his DODID over so the other man can type his information into the computer.

After Ghost gets his card back, the man stands and unlocks one of the shelves by punching in a code. “How many rounds?” The private asks as he sets out a black hard plastic case.

“30.”

Three unmarked white boxes join the case. “There you go, sir.” Another salute, this one sharper and more respectful, then Ghost signals for you to go ahead of him.

You follow the signs towards the shooting range with your Uniformed Services ID card displayed prominently between your fingers. Both your husband and Soap have drummed the importance of this card into your head, and you hesitate to even walk around without holding it somewhere visible.

Ghost joins you after a minute to swipe his ID at the shooting range, effortlessly carrying the case and the ammo with one strong arm.

You see someone take off their ear protection. As the man turns, you recognize his profile.

“Sergeant Garrick,” Ghost calls out. To a stranger, he would seem just as cold and withdrawn as he was checking out his pistol.

You know better. His shoulders grow less tense, his stride easier, and his head dips in greeting.

When Gaz reaches out a fist, Ghost taps it with the back of his knuckles. “Lieutenant. Surprised to see you’ve let her out. You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” The sergeant asks, clearly having been apprised of your health.

“Thanks, Gaz. I’m feeling a lot better. Ghost has been a gentleman,” You assure him with a smile. This most recent flare was horrid but mercifully short. You were only out of commission for a few days.

And he was, in fact, nothing short of a gentleman the whole time. You doubt Ghost left your side for one second unless necessary, even when you were asleep and wouldn’t have known.

Your husband appraises you from the corner of his eye for a second. “Clear out,” He says as he interrupts Gaz’s follow-up inquiry into whether you need anything.

“Why? Are you… oh.” His gaze falls to the Glock-branded case in Ghost’s hand. “Are you teaching her how to shoot?”

“I asked him to.”

Gaz chuckles. “Good luck, mate. I’ll keep the others away for a few hours,” He says before sending a two-fingered salute your way.

You wait until the sergeant is through the doors to speak. “Why do you shoot alone?” You’re not complaining; it looks like Lady Luck is smiling down on you.

“Don’ like people gawking at me.” Ghost picks a lane off the side where he can conveniently see the exit, then sets the case flat on the little side table.

The target he picks is the standard white paper with a vaguely humanoid shape colored in black. White numbered concentric circles mark the points you can pick up, depending on where you hit.

The dead center of the target’s chest is worth 10 points.

Ghost opens the case with a soft click. The pistol he chose for you is just like the guns you see in the movies and on TV, a straightforward, standard handgun in a dark gunmetal gray.

It looks gorgeous in his large gloved hands, like he was always meant to carry one. He holds it as an extension of his body, and you decide to ask him later to show you the other firearms in his collection. He must have a rifle or some shit, something he uses to sweep through his enemies like a reaper’s scythe.

That sounds so hot.

Ghost first sets out the empty magazines, then removes the pistol from its case. “Basic gun safety. Treat every gun like a loaded weapon, even if you know it’s not.”

“Always keep it pointed away from you or anyone else.”

On the left-hand side of the gun, he shows you a tiny rectangle just below the trigger. “This button releases the magazine. Then you slide it back in, usually loaded,” Ghost tells you as he demonstrates it, slotting the empty magazine into the base until it clicks, then popping it out.

You step closer, ostensibly, so you can scrutinize the demonstration better. “What about, um, a safety? Is that what that’s called?” You ask as you lean in and tuck your hair over your ear, drawing Ghost’s attention momentarily to the long line of your bare throat.

He nods. “Yes. That’s what that’s called. This pistol don’t got one, so you need to be careful the whole time. Alright, doll?” His hands never leave the gun, not even for a second, and he aims it very, very, deliberately away from you.

But you feel Ghost bump his hip against yours before opening his posture, allowing you to nestle yourself near his chest.

“Mmhm,” You acknowledge.

His sunglasses make it impossible for you to see where he’s looking. A gleam of the harsh overhead LED lights on the dark lenses catches your attention; Ghost’s gaze is fixed on the pistol now, where it wasn’t a minute earlier.

With one finger, Ghost releases a tiny lever towards the top of the gun, then rests his hand on the back of the barrel. “This is the slide. Pull that back; that’s the chamber.” He holds it up so you can see the empty space that goes down all the way to the bottom of the gun, a space that the magazine would typically fill. “That’s where the… where the round goes before you pull the trigger.”

He pauses. “You do know what a trigger is, right?”

“Sleep with one eye fucking open tonight,” You threaten as you try to step on his toes. He’s wearing his steel-toed boots, so you get about as far as awkwardly balancing on his shoes.

Ghost sets the gun down on the table, then wraps his free hand around your jaw, forcing your mouth open with his fingers pressing into your cheeks. “Hey. What’d I say? Firearms. Live ammo. Shut it,” He cautions, his voice low and gravelly.

Oh. So you are getting somewhere.

You let your tongue loll out, a small teasing flash of pink flesh glistening with saliva. Ghost grunts as he snatches his hand back like you might bite it.

He touches the small of your back, making it clear that he won’t indulge your foolishness any further. “First thing. Always. Make the gun safe, make sure it’s unloaded. Pop the magazine out. Pull back the slide so there ain’t a round in the chamber. Keep the slide open.”

You’re trying to concentrate. Really, you are. His hands' hypnotic, smooth motions as he handles the pistol are… distracting.

He’s still cautious and as safe as can be, but the confidence- You’d almost guess Ghost is trying to show off, and it works because he is just that good.

He has to clear his throat a few times before you look up at his face, hidden behind the balaclava and the glasses. “Repeat the important shit back to me,” Ghost orders with a smirk you can hear through the cloth.

You make yourself the very picture of obedience and mindfulness, hands tucked behind your back to show your seriousness.

“Treat every gun like it’s loaded. Don’t point it at anyone. Make it safe, magazine out, slide back, keep the slide open,” You say. Coincidentally, your tits get pushed forward when you position yourself like this.

“Good girl.” Ghost looks back at the gun like a priest averting his eyes for fear of sinful thoughts. One step forward, three steps back.

Now, he gestures to the black metal magazine. “It holds ten rounds, so you get ten shots before you have to reload,” He informs you as he taps one of the ammo boxes.

It would be overkill if you started twirling your hair, so you settle for tilting your head and making your eyes all round and fluttery. “Do I have to, like, make it… um, make it stick the bullet in the chamber myself?”

His stupid little chuckle tells you that your performance is believable. “Semi-automatic. You fire one bullet when you pull the trigger, but it reloads automatically,” Ghost says indulgently.

“Okay, got it.” You smile back at him.

“Go on an’ assemble it, just like I showed ya.”

Right. Right.

You try to recall the order he laid out for you.

The pistol feels menacing in your hands, even though you know it’s currently as safe as any gun can possibly be. You almost drop the magazine a few times; the metal is slippier than anticipated.

“Magazine, in. Slide… cocked. Heh. Ready to fire, minus the bullets.” You hold it with pride but carefully point it down range.

Ghost touches your back again, and this time, he lets his hand linger. “Ah, we’ll make a soldier out of you yet,” He whispers into your ear.

“Disassemble it.”

“Boom,” You say as you lay the pistol down.

Instead of moving you to the side, Ghost crowds forward to reach around your arms.

“Attagirl.”

Like this, he could rest his chin on your head if he wanted to.

His broad chest is so warm, and you feel his harness snag on your shirt as he grabs one of the empty magazines. “‘M gonna load this magazine for you. You focus on firin’,” Ghost tells you, his voice a rumbling, soothing comfort on your nerves.

He slots ten rounds into the magazine, which cleans out one of the three boxes.

Then he tips your chin towards him, his glove rough and chafing on your sensitive skin.

“Doll. Hey. Listen to me. Once this magazine goes in, this pistol is loaded and dangerous. Dangerous. I don’t want you getting yourself shot, so for the love of God, pay attention to where you’re pointing the fuckin’ thing.”

You look into his sunglasses, as black as night, and you know that the minute you fuck around too much, Ghost will bodily remove you from the scene for your own good.

“I will pay attention.”

You wish you could see his face. He’d never agree, especially not in public, so you know better than to ask. But…

Even the sight of his deep, rich brown eyes would be enough. You go back and forth with yourself for a few seconds; he might be willing to take the glasses off, but if he wanted to show his eyes, he wouldn’t have put them on in the first place.

After a minute, Ghost releases your chin. “Assemble it. I’ll be right here,” He encourages, dropping his hands to your waist.

When loaded, the magazine is much heavier, and you take great precautions to avoid dropping it.

Click. You feel the gun's weight in your hand and understand why he’s so cautious about something so small. It can do some hefty damage.

Ghost held this like it weighed nothing at all.

The slide is satisfyingly loud when it slams into place. “There you go,” You say, hands trembling just a little as you hold the pistol up for his inspection.

He takes it from you before you can put your fingers in the wrong place or, God forbid, accidentally discharge it, and you exhale softly with relief.

Now, Ghost steps up to the firing lane. “Make sure you have a comfortable grip. None of the gymnastics and shit you see on the telly. Fire with both hands on the gun. Both. Shoulders and feet square,” He tells you, limbs moving in time with his words so you have something to emulate.

You watch him straighten his spine; his head tilts a little, and his breathing slows. “Line up your sights. Squeeze the trigger.”

His shot rips a neat hole in the target’s chest. Ten points to Ghost.

“Gonna recoil. Every gun does. Let it happen, don’t tense up. You’ll make things worse.”

Finally, he lowers the pistol.

“Ready to try?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” You’re not that ready. Ghost is watching you like a fucking hawk, and your palms grow slick with sweat.

God, what if you do it wrong? What if he thinks you don’t know shit?

Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs a set of ear muffs you didn’t realize he’d slung around his neck and hands them to you.

You slip them on, tighten the headband so they fit you, then wipe your hands off on your skirt.

When he passes you the pistol, he never aims it away from the target.

‘Shoulders and feet square’ is a harder direction to follow than it sounds. You know you must always look where your firearm is aimed, but then how do you check if your feet are square?

You shuffle around for a moment, and you think it’s fine if you just lower your arms for a second-

Ghost sighs. “No, don’t- don’t hold it like that. Fuckin’- here,” He grumbles as he uses his boots to nudge your feet into the right position.

Then he gets behind you again with his large hands braced under your elbows. “That’s your stance.”

You inhale. “I’m scared.” Your exhale comes out shaky and fucked-up, but thankfully, your grip doesn’t falter.

“…Mm. I’m right here,” Ghost reassures you, pressing you protectively to his chest.

Some of your nerves ebb away, and you try to imitate his example. Straight back, confident aim.

“See? You can do it, love.”

“Thank you. Okay. Sights aligned…” Then you pull the trigger.

You get, like, maybe one point at most. Your guy has a hole in an area that a satirical British comedy troupe might generously call a ‘flesh wound.’ The target will need stitches in its’ left hand.

“Nice aim. You really killed him dead.”

“Shut up.”

Ghost takes the gun back. “Here.” That was rude of him. Did nobody teach him how to share and ask politely?

He fires. Then fires again. “Dead on.” Two perfect headshots. “Don’t worry, don’t expect you to pick it up so quickly,” Ghost says as if he isn’t fucking preening. He’s probably even gleeful under the shit covering his face. Not like you would know, you grouch to yourself.

Ghost presses the pistol into your hands. “Give it another few tries.”

You clear your throat, determined to do a little better this time.

You get your sights lined up, everything’s good, and you feel good about this one. “Eep.” Except the gun kicks back, taking you by surprise, so you try to make it stop moving, and your shot hits the target’s ankle.

Ghost’s laugh would be more attractive if it weren’t at your expense. “Recoil. Told ya. Loosen up,” He chuckles, briefly tapping the top of your head with his mask-covered chin.

“It’s harder than it looks.” Your complaint falls on deaf ears; he simply indicates that you do, in fact, have to keep practicing with him.

Just when you go to take your next shot, Ghost rests his hands on your hips and steps close enough that you can feel his pants, almost scaring you out of your skin.

“Babe, you’re literally being so rude right now.”

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.” Please, how is he making this your fault?

You stick this bullet in the target’s other ankle.

“Take it easy. We got plenty more ammo. You can’t be good at everything.”

Actually, yes, you can.

Enough with the fucking reindeer games.

This time, you bring your heel down on his boot hard enough that he steps back in surprise before you tear the ear protection off with one hand.

“Fuck you,” You snap before returning to the target.

You’ve done this, like, a million times; your dad taught you to shoot when you were ten.

You rest the butt of the Glock on your left palm, your right pointer finger naturally curls on the trigger.

You slide your right foot back a little and get more comfortable. His instructions are too rigid for your taste.

You incline your head, your brow furrows in concentration, and-

Four perfect shots. The slide sticks open after the last one because you’ve finished the magazine, just as you knew you would.

Two in the ten-point ring in the target’s chest, joining Ghost’s first shot.

One next to his headshot.

The last bullet hits the target’s groin for good measure.

You pop the empty magazine out without missing a beat, tuck it into the case, and then present the unloaded gun with a slow, theatrical turn.

Since he’s too busy standing there, with a distortion in the painted-on skull mask as the only clue his mouth is open with shock, you press the gun into the case yourself.

Mindful of his repeated emphasis on safety and your lived experience of shooting empty beer bottles in an abandoned quarry as a teenager, you go so far as to lock it on his behalf.

That clicking sound spurs him into action.

You find yourself more or less shoved against the wall, head tilted back and breathless as Ghost towers over you, taking full advantage of how… inhuman he seems.

“Goddamn. Looks like you didn’t need me to teach you after all. You conniving little bitch,” He growls, impressed against his will.

He runs a gloved finger along the line of your jaw, you bite your lower lip, and Ghost shoves his knee between your legs so you can’t dance away even if you want to.

At least he’s able to appreciate your effort now. “Nope. I just wanted your attention.” You’re shameless, grinning like you won a blue ribbon at the county fair, and when he cups your warm cheek, your bright gaze engraves your victory on his mask with the precision of a knife.

His long-suffering exhale is not a sound of release - it’s a provocation, a warning shot.

Then Ghost wraps a piece of your hair between his fingers; its fragility is the only thing keeping his restraint intact. “I know. You’ve been begging for my attention for some time, haven’t you?”

You were right. He was not cosplaying a monk. You’re always right.

When your lips twist into a pout, Ghost straight-up snarls. “What? Thought I didn’t notice?” He taunts, lowering his face closer to yours.

He releases your hair to slip his hand under the hem of your shirt, resting his coarse glove against your soft, curved belly.

“Those sexy fuckin’ panties, this short skirt. The goddamn… garter belt with the little stockings?” Ghost’s breathing deepens, the pace of it picks up, and his fingers dig into your skin. He’s riled up and angry that you’ve done that to him, and those two emotions feed off each other like wildfires and gasoline.

You can see it in his powerful, well-built frame, and any second now, he’ll take the tension out on you.

He smells like gunpowder. He smells like petrichor, that intoxicating, electric zing that hangs in the air before a storm.

His hand slides around your waist to push your body towards him, forcing you on your toes. “Acting like a horny, needy slag.” Ghost spits out each word with venom so he can almost lovingly watch your pupils dilate and lips open in a silent moan.

“Well, doll, congratulations. You’ve got my attention.”

When you slide your arms around his neck, he doesn’t stop you. “What was I supposed to do? You were ignoring me,” You whine. Your voice is a breathless, fluttery thing, your head won’t stop spinning, and your bra chafes your sensitive, hardening nipples.

You can’t decide if you want to drop to your knees in worship or tear him out of his jacket.

He removes his hand from your body to rest his forehead on his palm. “Use your words, maybe? Not luring me out to the firing range so you can grind that pretty arse against me.”

“But that would be less fun,” You point out. You know, to be helpful. It seems like you have to do all the work around here.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“You like it, though.”

That’s his final straw. Ghost closes his fingers around your throat, tight enough to choke, as he drags your skirt around your waist.

As far as you can tell, his gaze is still fixed on you, on the flush crawling up your cleavage. “Anyone could walk in right now and-“ His fingers inch up your thigh, slow, so slow that you start shifting around, so he hurries the fuck up.

Ghost kicks your feet wider for better access. “And see you like this. Spread open for me…” Then his hand brushes over the roundness of your bare hip. Completely bare. “Fuck. You’re-“ He cuts himself off with a groan.

“Not wearing underwear, yeah.” It would just get in the way if things worked out as planned. And look - they did.

Now that your cunt is bared to his concealed gaze, your hips tilt away, trying to hide your arousal.

Ghost doesn’t like that. He pins your hips to the wall with one firm hand. “God, you’re dripping,” He murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

When he holds his other hand up to your lips, you keep your eyes fixed on his mask as you pull his glove off with your teeth.

The glove falls from your mouth when he takes his fingers and slots them between your folds. Not quite pressing in, just teasing your sensitive flesh, fucking playing with the slick coating your skin. He brushes your engorged clit, then moves on before you feel anything beyond the tiniest jolt.

You bite back a wail when the hand on your hip tightens, pressing hard enough to bruise.

“Is that what you want? You want them all to see you getting fucked, to see me using you like a fuckin’ toy?” Ghost punctuates that by dragging his mask down to suck his scarred fingers clean of your arousal, and you see his lips shine and-

Then he bends down to kiss you, savagely, brutally, all teeth and the salt taste of you coating his mouth like expensive wine. When Ghost pulls back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths.

His fingers touch your temple softly.

What is he seeing? What does he think when he watches you blush like a schoolgirl? Is he pleased? 

Without Ghost’s eyes, you feel small and utterly helpless in the face of his glasses' curved, almost alien gaze.

You tilt your head back as you catch your breath. “Well, that can only happen if you fuck me.” You’ve won. You’ve fucking won.

“If there’s even a single drop of your mess on my boots, I’ll make you lick them clean,” Ghost threatens as he kisses your forehead. The innocence in the gesture is as menacing as the bare hand he fists into your hair.

He’s playing with his food.

“Kinky.”

Ghost wraps more of your hair around his fingers. “You know what you’re askin’ for ain’t gonna be nice? No takin’ it easy,” He warns you, shaking your head back and forth ever so slightly with his better grip.

“You just watched me empty the clip into that poor piece of paper, and you think I want easy? Or nice?” You laugh, even as he tugs harder, and your eyes roll back.

You get your answer when Ghost exposes your neck and sucks a dark, possessive bruise over your pulse.

Now that he doesn’t have to worry about keeping the mask up, he’s relentless. Starved. His mouth wanders across your skin, sucking and licking and biting, it hurts like cigarette burns, and you whine, fight, push for more.

His tongue traces your collarbone, his teeth bite another bruise into the crook of your neck.

You’re so covered in sweat and spit that it takes him a few tries to draw more of your skin into his mouth.

That’s Ghost’s cue to shove the neckline of your shirt down, exposing your heaving tits still encased by your lacy bra.

He doesn’t move for a couple of seconds. Not only to take in the view, and you know he’s enjoying it, but because there’s something…

Debauched and profane about your poor skirt tugged up and your shirt sliding off your arms, and you’re trying to get him to take the rest of your clothes off, “Ghost, I’m begging you-“

Fresh arousal trickles from your core, then down the insides of your thighs. It’s like there are live wires under your skin, burning you from the inside out, and you can’t think, or stand up straight, or reason.

He puts you out of your desperate, horny misery by pulling your bra straps down your shoulders, freeing your breasts from their underwire prison.

You watch him discard his sunglasses over his shoulder without giving a shit if they break. He’s too busy bending down to take one nipple between his teeth to care.

Ghost fucking moans into your skin, his other hand paws at your hips, your ass; he just can’t touch enough of you at once.

“Fuck, I need to feel you,” He gasps when he lifts his head long enough to breathe. Your nipple feels sore even at the slightest brush of air, sensitive from his kisses and tongue lathing over and over the aroused bud until your skin is dark red and glossy with saliva.

You’ve banged your head against the wall at least twice at this point, too overcome with pleasure and heat and white-hot pain to notice. “Oh my fucking god-“ You keen as he slips his hand between your legs once more, only to find your aching cunt so wet that you’re dripping down to your calf.

He slides two thick fingers into you, and the stretch doesn’t pinch in the slightest. As soon as he starts moving his fingers and working his thumb furiously on your clit, you’re screaming and sobbing into the empty firing range.

It’s quick and fast and brutal, he switches to your neglected nipple, and your cunt seizes around his fingers when he bites down. “Gorgeous fuckin’ tits,” He growls, the sound vibrating through your overstimulated skin.

Your hands scrabble on his shoulders for stability because your legs will give out any second now. You can’t focus on anything because his mouth leaves red marks along the curve of your sensitive breast, and it feels too fucking good.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to your tits but you feel each lick and nip deep in your pussy, just as good as when his fingers deftly find your g-spot.

He stills for a moment, causing you to whine and smack his shoulders to get him where you want him, curses and insults tumbling from your lips.

Ghost bares his large, frightening teeth until your tantrum fades and your hips move of their own accord.

You chase the high, eyes screwed shut and your nails carving a bloody furrow into the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Fuck my hand,” He rasps, curling his fingers so you can wring the most pleasure out of him.

Then he kisses your exposed hip, forcefully driving his fingers into you again when your thighs tremble and your muscles shudder. “Shit, fuckfuckfuck, Ghost, a- aah-“ You chant, mouth open because you can’t get enough air, and everything tastes like salt and musk, and you feel something painfully hot pulse within you.

His other hand grabs your breast to grind his gloved fingers into your already-bruised and reddened flesh, dozens of broken capillaries sprinkled between his love bites.

Fuck. Fuck. Ghost releases you, then swats lightly at your nipples. “Think you can come like this? Right now?” He orders, bringing his hand down again on one breast, then the other.

It burns, he strikes the hickies, and he’s not even slapping your tits that hard, but the pain blossoms like lightning down your spine, and-

He circles your clit one more time, and you’re fucking gone. “Ghost!” You gasp as you come, shaking like a leaf. Your back arches, you’re wailing and twitching around his merciless fingers, each wave more devastating than the last.

It reduces you to a handful of primal nervous impulses in his grasp. Every fucking time your sensitive, helpless cunt sucks him in deeper, you cry out. He has to abandon tormenting your nipples to hold you up, one arm clutched tight around your jerking hips.

Ghost kisses your sweaty forehead, then fucks his fingers into you one more time to milk the dying throes of your orgasm.  “Attagirl,” He whispers into your hair, then smiles at your final, exhausted whimper.

Once you’re back in your body and not floating on cloud nine, you reach for his bared face and trace the edges of his eye black. To your surprise, Ghost permits the exploration. You don’t mess it up too much, cognizant of his effort, but it’s fascinating that he’d let you.

His eyes are mostly black, all blown-out pupils and want. He stands, then interrupts your wandering fingers with a deep, drawn-out kiss, no teeth because your mouth is already bruised. You feel him sigh, the tiniest hint of a moan, when your tongue traces his bottom lip.

“Think they heard you all the way in Manchester?” Ghost jokes as he moves away.

He refuses to let go of your ass even once you find your balance. “If you wanted me to be quiet, all you had to do was-“ You tell him, drawing out your words for his inevitable protest.

His cocky smirk is so profoundly, unfairly attractive - you never stood a chance. “I like knowing you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” You tug him back towards your lips with hands curled in his jacket hood so you can kiss him breathless.

His remaining glove rustles as he takes it off. “Are… are you okay?” Ghost asks, cupping your face with both large hands.

There’s concern written all over his face, and when you notice his gaze flick down to your midsection, checking if your posture shows any sign of pain, your heart twists violently in your chest.

Briefly, you consider making some snarky remark, turning his worry into teasing. But his worried brown eyes find yours, and you can’t bring yourself to be so mean. “I’m fine,” You reassure.

Ghost searches your face for a minute before finally nodding.

“And if you ask me that again, I’m going to bite you, and not in a fun way.” 

The little bashful upturn of his mouth sends another horrible wrench through you. “Sorry.” You don’t like it when Ghost apologizes to you like that, like he’s afraid being near you is too much.

It’s not.

You’re not sure how to tell him this, so you lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his cheek and hope he gets it.

He relishes in that simple, affectionate kiss, you can tell by his fingers curling tighter into your hips. Perhaps you’ll do that more often, then.

Ghost tucks some loose hair behind your ear. “I wanted to do it right. Do right by you.”

You know what he means. Hearing it from his mouth completely reframes the past couple of weeks. Instead of fixating on how his hands would brush your hands away, you remember the cups of hot tea he brought you regularly and how Ghost would never let you get out of bed without help.

He waits pensively for your response, like what you say next could break him. “I thought that maybe you didn’t like me anymore,” You confess in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Ghost’s gaze turns from vulnerable to fierce faster than pulling a trigger. He doesn’t even need the mask; a cold, dark shadow falls over his scarred, beautiful face. This is not a man touching you. This is a demon grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him.

“Didn’t like-“ He can’t even repeat what you said without shaking his head in disbelief.

Ghost leans down to get level with your face. “Remember what happened the last time you said dumb shit? ‘M not afraid to turn your ass blue and black if you keep this up.” You jerk forward with a moan when he smacks one butt cheek as a reminder, just hard enough to sting.

“You are fuckin’ exquisite,” He tells you with the same tone he probably uses to threaten bodily harm on someone, the same insidious, frightening surety.

Ghost runs one hand down your ruined, bite-covered chest, losing his train of thought for a moment to watch your tits bounce when he plays with them.

Then he shakes it off so he can kiss you as he drags his hands over your hips, your thighs, one clutches the small of your back, and you’re as close as you can get with all his clothes in the way.

“Sexy as fuck, bloody brilliant, such a good, eager whore for me.” You see a flash of his white teeth when he laughs, a low sound that spills with amusement.

His hands spin you around and push you towards the shot-up target until you’re bent over the railing separating the firing booth from the rest of the lane.

Once you brace your arms on the metal barricade, Ghost grinds his hips against your body. “Yeah, I like you. You could call it that,” He hisses.

“Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Your mouth runs before you can stop it.

“…That was awful.”

Then you’re laughing, cackling so hard that your stomach hurts. “I know right? Hah! I had to,” You chortle, hiccuping in delight.

You hear him sigh. “Don’t make that joke again.”

You take a second to evaluate your position. First, you adjust your grip on the metal so it will be a little comfier. “Why? Gonna use it on me?” You arch your back and look over your shoulder with a smile…

Ghost throws his head back at the sight you make. “You are fuckin’ evil, d’ya know that?” He mutters, then reaches for your body like he can’t even pretend to resist.

You feel him flip your skirt up over your back. “Aww, baby. That’s so sweet!” You tease.

“Gonna fuck you ‘till you stop callin’ me that.” At first, you think he will prep you like usual. But instead of stretching your pussy out with his fingers, Ghost simply works your clit until you’re wet again.

Oh shit. He spits into his palm, and you hear the slick sounds of him running his hand over his cock.

“Never- ah-“ You moan as Ghost eases the head of his dick into your folds. He hisses through his teeth as soon as your muscles clamp down, your body unsure whether to drag him in deeper or push him out.

Tears gather in your eyes as he slowly, slowly, slowly thrusts in. “Take it. C’mon. Fucking take it,” He commands through deep, desperate pants.

No. You can’t. You can’t. The stretch is- it’s more than you’ve ever felt before; your poor pussy aches as it flutters helplessly around the massive fucking cock rearranging your insides.

Your eyes roll back when he thrusts another inch further. “Ghost, please- I…” He pulls out, pushes in, your elbows can’t hold you up any longer, so you go boneless against the metal cutting into your arms. 

You don’t notice the hair covering your eyes, not when your heart beats so loud your pussy contracts with each pulse. “You’re so…” You cry out, trying so hard to do as he says, but his cock is just, it’s, it’s ruining you.

“Pretty girl. Gorgeous. Beautiful.”

Ghost curses as he readjusts, unintentionally sliding the tip of his cock past your g-spot, leaving you bowed over with white knuckles through a sharp bolt of pleasure that burns.

Finally, he gets his arm around you so he can play with your clit in slow, even motions, something stable and gentle for you to focus on. “You- you’re not gonna fit…” Your words come out garbled and stuttered, and it’s a miracle he understands you all.

He makes a deep, choked-up sound as he drives himself almost to the hilt. “Well, that’s too fuckin’ bad.” Carefully, Ghost increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers slipping a few times from all the wetness trickling out of your horribly-stretched cunt.

You push back without realizing it until, finally, he can slide all the way in. “There we go, that’s a good girl…” He purrs, lazily rolling his hips in a gentle rhythm. Right now, anything faster or harder would break you.

Deliriously, you wonder if he’s in your belly now. “Oh- oh my god, Ghost, I can’t-

“Feels good?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, your cock, you’re so big, ohmygod,” You chant as he grips your pelvis and fucks you deeper, aiming for the most sensitive places in your core.

One of his hands slides into your hair and forces your head up. “Look. Look,” Ghost gasps into your ear. “See that? Immaculate fuckin’ aim.” You can barely focus on the target, not when you’re trembling so hard underneath him.

Your stomach tightens and tightens, and you’re moaning his name like it’s a prayer. “Fuck, squeeze me again.” Your muscles contract around his cock like a vise, not quite an orgasm, but almost.

Pain tingles in your scalp when he tightens the fist in your hair. “You’re deadly, sweetheart. And a fuckin’ stunner. My wife is perfect. Her body is perfect.”

At this point, you’re lax and incoherent, and the only other thing holding you up is the railing he’s fucking you on. It makes a slamming, cracking noise with each thrust.

“Tell me you’re perfect.”

Right now, Ghost could order you to do literally anything, and you would try; he feels just that good.

“I- I’m perfect,” You wail.

Fuck. Fuck. He’s grunting behind you, pounding into your ruined, aching core like he’s as close, as desperate for release as you are. “Good girl. This cunt was made for me, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He releases your hair to wrap an arm around your waist and help you arch your back.

“Tell me you’re a crack shot.” You can feel something shoot up your spine, some great force writhing and pulsating in your guts, so powerful and pleasurable that every muscle in your body screams for release.

“I’m a crack shot.”

Ghost’s brutal rhythm begins to falter. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you,” He pleads in a deep, rumbling whine.

“You’re obsessed with me, fuck, fuck, I’m coming-“

Your orgasm rolls through you like a crack of lightning, bright white lights bursting behind your closed eyelids. It rips the breath from your lungs, you forget how to use your vocal cords, and your wetness covers his pants and your thighs.

Your overstimulated pussy quivers on his still-thrusting cock, on and on, each pulse as pained as it is rapturous. You’re gonna die, you think deliriously, he’s gonna fucking kill you, as Ghost fucks you through the spasms with a vengeance.

When you think you’ll pass out, the tension unspools, and your muscles lock for the last time. Then you feel him come. Warm ropes of spend fill you until you can’t take anymore, then it spills out of your swollen folds to trickle down your legs.

Ghost pulls out to watch more of his cum flow out of you before helping you upright and kissing the back of your sweat-soaked neck. “…Fuckin’ hell,” He murmurs into your skin, leaving smears of black makeup where he nuzzled into your throat.

You push at his shoulders until he lets you turn around. Then you draw him down for more kisses. “I think you might have to carry me out of here,” You whisper into his lips.

The sound of his chuckle is so infinitely precious. You wish you could preserve it, like pressing flowers between the pages of a book so that you can remember it later.

“I can do that.”

-

Tagging (please let me know if you want off the list by shooting me a message):

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[justicefor]

Do you know this girl?

Her body was found in a suitcase on September 17, 2016, in Madisonville, Texas.

The bottom left picture is the bag she was found in, while the bottom right pic is the shirt she was wearing.

She:

Was anywhere from 4 to 6 years old.

Might be from Texas, Mexico, Arizona, New Mexico, or possibly California.

Had a feeding tube.

Wore a pink dress (size 4T, Brand "Mon Petit) with colorfully embroidered butterflies and the words "Follow Your Dreams"

Wore a Size 4 Diaper - "Parent's Choice" brand.

Had black or brown hair.

Nearby were:

A military issued camo shirt (desert digital pattern)

A silver child's bedspread

A grey adult sweatshirt

A small green blanket

Her NCMEC case number is 1291323.

If you think you know her, please contact the Madison County Sherrif's office at (936) 348-2755.

[the-sprog]

WIP ask game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I was tagged by @wolfsbanesparks! Thank you so much and sorry for taking so long to do it lol I haven't worked on my wips in a while.

I have so many so mmmh

We're all but fragile things

Visits from the past

That's not tubular

Ghost for a day (or two)

The terrifying ordeal of being known

Never show your hand to the enemy

Never show your hand to the enemy

The bicycle

Communication issues

Quicksilver in the MCU

Ghost camo

Duality

D³P

Embroidering

Peter/Weasel

A Study In Redheads

The Power To Be Kind

Can curiosity kill the toon

Good at masquerading

The centre of a sunflower

Operation: Art imitates life

The two of us were never meant to be here

I will not be tagging these many people

Yes, 6 and 7 are different fics.

@jadenoryuu @jackalspine @emeraldstorms @ravenmold @teacupsandstarlight

@kimmycup @astrikonaou

no pressure and also if you wanna do this go for it

[littlefluffbutt]

SALE POST

Our oven died and we have some upcoming bills looming so I’m selling some things I’ve made; I take paypal and am located in the US. I will ship internationally but keep shipping costs in mind.

All crocheted yarn items are made with 100% acrylic yarn and stuffed with polyfill.

Dinosaurs approx 6″ tall or long. Stegosaurus and Triceratops (the ones on either end) are $15 each  the rest are $12 each. Take all six for $75

Mermaid with fish friend $20 The fish is separate; I’ve just tied it to her hand so it won’t get lost lol. Her face is done with embroidery floss. Top is not removable.

Variegated sea creature bag $55 comes with octopus, crab, fish, lobster and bait bag to carry them in. most are around 5-6″.

sea creature bag $55 comes with octopus, crab, fish, lobster and bait bag to carry them in. most are around 5-6″.

Lobsters! Large ones are $12 and have bead eyes; small ones have embroidered eyes and are $10. I have small red and large red, blue and camo ones ATM but I can do them in other colors too.

LeisureArts 268 outfits (from L-R)

top row purple and pink dresses with hats and purses $35 each; wedding dress and veil $30, purple variegated dress and hat $35 (blue dress not for sale)

Bottom row: blue coat with hat and brown coat $15 each; jacket and skirt set $20, red PJs $25 with doll, $20 without (doll has bangs cut), 4 piece poncho outfit $20, blue top and shorts $8 (doesn’t fit anyone well), green jumper $8 (fits 80′s Skipper) ballet outfit $8 (fits early Skipper)

Doll house items from The Attic pamphlet $150 for the set OR

Wedding dress and mannequin, veil, and bouquet $50. Dress can NOT be removed from mannequin. Back of dress had to be widened to fit the mannequin.

Couch/bench with two gold throw pillows, trunk and yellow rug: $30

Checkered quilt or pinwheel quilt $20 each

Baby dolls $15 each

Teddy $10

Hat box set with hats (red bowler and yellow sunhat) $20

corset : (not made to fit anyone) $10

If you have any questions/requests message me:) Thank you!

[resampled]

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Selection of vintage 90’s UK Jungle, Hardcore & Rave t-shirts

Including Suburban Base, Aphrodite Recordings & Dream Frequency’s 1992 album ‘One Nation’. Alongside iconic rave promoters Fantazia with an embroidered longsleeve and a camo In-ter-Dance number, a renowned party at Sterns Nightclub

[noiretbug]

[image IDs in alt text]

bringing this sideblog back from the dead to talk about the au that won't leave my brain. can NOT stop thinking about ladybug persona au...

i was thinking about maybe swapping in adrien as the protagonist bc there's usually several jokes about persona protags being "generic" and it could be a nod towards adrien being very moldable bc i wouldn't transfer sentimonsters to this au but. maybe i'll find smth different to give him to represent that. maybe smth resembling the p5 akechi arc? we'll come back to it

all in all though i decided marinette deserves to stay protag, not only because that's her rightful place but also because her unmatched ability to wield multiple miraculous powers easily translates to the protagonist ability to have multiple personas.

as for the fashion choices above, this is my imagining of what their "phantom thieves" outfits would be if i went with a metaverse mechanic that most resembles p5. i personally like the idea of something more like the tv-metaverse in p4 but the p5 fashion is so good and these characters deserve that so here we are. anyways.

marinette gets a coat that is both impressive and practical, because as a fashion designer she knows what looks good but as ladybug she knows what works well. i'd like to rethink how the wings on the back would be made, but as of right now i'm imagining like. a layer of that holographic stuff they make those skirts and jackets out of? with some embroidery around the edges of it to make it secure in a pretty way.

adrien's outfit is a mess on purpose i promise. because if i’m pulling from persona 5 for outfit inspiration, the phantom thieves outfits are based on the characters internal perception of what their image of rebellion looks like. and i just think the natural process for daddy issues adrien is committing fashion crimes as an act of rebellion. so he gets a crop top with camo pants and a ripped up gold jacket :) is this objectively a bad look? not necessarily! but would gabriel hate it? absoLUTEly. and that's what counts >:3

alya's outfit is simple because her sense of justice is simple. she believes in seeking out the truth and exposing it. hence she gets an outfit that is good for blending in and getting info on the ground. not necessarily what works in a metaverse situation, but none of the game outfits apply like that either so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

she still deserved some cool details though, so she got her miraculous embroidered on the cargo pockets of her pants, some heart frames, and the stitching on most of the seams is orange.

this au is still not super fleshed-out, but i NEED to talk about it bc i need more people to be thinking about it and going insane with me thanks

(the fashion sketches above heavily rely on templates from prêt-à-template on the apple app store. not sure why tumblr won't let me link it [maybe they think i'm an ad even though i'm not?] but i still want to give credit where credit is due)

[kicksaddictny]

Adidas x BAPE® Unveil Their Latest Joint Creation: Introducing the adidas N x BAPE® Footwear Collaboration

This April, the dynamic collaboration between adidas Originals and BAPE® sees the release of their latest creation: the adidas N BAPE® sneaker.

With its sleek urban aesthetic, this silhouette channels the essence of the 2000s, featuring a plush suede upper, durable rubber outsole, and iconic contrast stitched Three Stripes.

Crafted as a testament to the enduring partnership between BAPE® and adidas, every aspect of the design is meticulously considered. Each pair showcases 1ST CAMO lining and sock liners, the distinctive APE HEAD emblem subtly debossed on the lateral quarter, and a striking BAPE STA™️ logo embroidered in white on the heel. Complemented by co-branded silver eyelets and a bold adidas Trefoil debossed in white on the tongue, every detail speaks to the fusion of these two iconic brands.

Adding to its allure, each sneaker comes complete with a premium leather key chain and a trio of laces: two retro-inspired 'fat' laces in white and 1ST CAMO, alongside a standard pair in white.

Elevating the experience further, the adidas N BAPE® sneaker arrives packaged in a custom co-branded box, accompanied by a sleek blue mesh bag.

Available in two striking colorways, this exclusive silhouette launches on April 20th via CONFIRMED, select retailers, BAPE STORE®, and BAPE.COM, marking another milestone in the ongoing collaboration between adidas and BAPE®.

[inafieldofdaisies]

Can I get 1, 18, 24, and 49 for john/sabrina and jacob/mercedes please?

Questions from this post.

1. Who laughs and kisses their partner on the cheek while their partner isn’t happy about something trivial to try and make them feel better? Sabrina for sure.

18. If they were to have matching pyjamas, what would they be?

Dark blue as color, Sabrina is definitely going for a velvet set as material, she'd feel strange sleeping in anything satin (especially paired with his beloved sheets, I just picture her not being able to fall asleep and sliding around the bed😂). John's robe (let's face it, he probably has that embroidered with EG's cross or scales) is fair game, and she would so steal it whenever she feels chilly and has to grab something from the kitchen, etc. 😂

24. Who runs their thumb over the other person’s skin to comfort them? Both, depending on the situation, the two are big on physical touch.

49. Who pulls the other closer while sleeping? Mostly John since he's the big spoon.

1. Who laughs and kisses their partner on the cheek while their partner isn’t happy about something trivial to try and make them feel better? Mer, and she's good at it.

18. If they were to have matching pyjamas, what would they be?

Let's face it, chances are those two would never wear matching pjs, if you don't count Jacob's undies somehow once or twice matching her sleep set in color. Mer is about neutral colors, lace, satin, bodysuits or straight up sleeping in the nude and stealing his shirt when she's feeling cold. I can picture her jokingly getting a camo piece to model for him then being like: "You like it? Wear it yourself, Jacob." and throwing it at his head. Girl has limits, no matter how good she might look in the pattern.

24. Who runs their thumb over the other person’s skin to comfort them? Both. Mercedes has hard time accepting the fact he has such calming effect on her, too.

49. Who pulls the other closer while sleeping? Jacob, Mer pretty much has a rule against it, enforcing it though, isn't easy with his mind set on the opposite.