#HES BEEN WRECKING MEEEE

[lil-elle]

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT I CANTTT

Love In Translation

Hunter Summary: Hunter likes you, so he keeps telling you, in thai. WC:432 Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner

“Why do you keep saying that? You’re insulting me aren’t you?” You accused Hunter, smacking him on the shoulder after hearing the thai words leave his mouth again. 

“No, I’m not,” he defended with a happy smile on his face. 

“Then what are you saying?” you asked again. 

“Figure it out,” he played with you. 

“Hunter!” you whined. Hunter couldn’t help, but find you adorable with the way you kicked your foot in annoyance. “Just tell me. You’ve been saying it for weeks now.” 

“I know, I’ve been waiting weeks for you to figure it out,” he says. You let out a sigh. 

“But how am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me?” you argued. 

“Translators exist you know,” he poked. 

“No, I didn’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. You tried using a translator, but you have no clue how to spell whatever it is Hunter is saying in thai and your pronunciation of it is so bad that even the translator has nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ผมชอบคุณ” (pom chôp khun) The phrase left Hunter’s mouth again. 

“I swear you’re insulting me,” you say. Hunter breaks out into a fit of giggles. 

“I swear I’m not.” He raised his hands in defense. 

“Seriously, why can’t you just tell me?” you questioned.

“It’s more fun this way.” He smiled at you cheekily. 

“Hunter please?” you begged. Hunter laughed again, which made you glare at him.

“Ok, ok, I’ll say it one more time,” he tells you. 

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” You rushed out, picking up your phone to open the translator. “Ok, now go,” you told him. 

“ผมชอบคุณ” (pom chôp khun) He repeated the phrase again. “I like you” the translation appeared on your screen. You blink at your screen. It takes a moment for the words to register. 

“You like me?” You looked at Hunter surprised. 

“Yes, I told you I wasn’t insulting you. I was confessing,” he reveals. You feel a small heat creep onto your cheeks. 

“You should have just told me in a language I understand. This has been driving me crazy,” you smacked his chest lightly. 

“Well now that you know, do you like me back or not?” he asked.

“I do, but I’m still annoyed at you.” You folded your arms over your chest.

“Ah come on, you can’t be mad at me. I just confessed my undying love for you.” He wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You made a pathetic effort to push him away. Easily failing to budge his strong embrace, but it’s not like you really wanted out of it anyway.

[welcome2southpark]

Episode One pt 1

Everyone assumed when we were kids we were just playing. Saving cats and doing bake sales….yes we would do that but we also fought crab people and coked out cultist cops. We aren't normal. We're mutants, aliens, altered humans and more.

Ring

Ramona jumped at hearing the bell. She had begun to doze off as her teacher had started rambling about politics during math. 

"Ey douchebag get up we've gotta get ta Tokin's house to help cleen" Cartman smacked her shoulder. 

"Ow good grief Cartman" she grumbled and grabbing her bag. "I gotta drop by the pharmacy first" 

"Get your gurl drugs later CMON" 

"Why did we let you back in" she grumbled as she's dragged to the bus 

"I'm just saying if you keep using that store crap you'll be balding by fourty-Cartman stopping dragging Ro!" Kyle yelled

"Kyel we gotta go now Tokin there's an EEmergecy" 

"Crap really?" Stan exclaimed as they followed.

"Cartman I can walk" Ramona yanks free and runs along beside. 

"Wait what about Kenny-" 

"He's gotta get his sistar" Cartman rolled his eyes like it was a dumb question. 

As they run past the middle school Cartman this time grabs Kenny's arm who is holding onto Karen's bag.

"Cartman wtf" he yelps as he and his lil sis are dragged 

"Eemergency leave Karin with Sam."

"I don't wanna hang with a three old." 

After Cartman nearly got a black eye for calling Karen a bitch. The six arrive and get buzzed in. 

"You made it we have a class C- oh um hi Karen. Wanna go play on my Switch?" Tolkien yelped

"Ya'll are weird so yeah. Can I play Mariokart"

"Yep" 

They quickly shoo her to the game room before sighing.

"What type of class C?" Stan asked confused

"You know how Mephesto has been working on some "secret" thing"

"Is it a cat with 5 butts?" Stan asked annoyed

"No just….come down to the base."

Tolkien takes them to the basement where Wendy and Timmy are waiting. 

"Timmy!" Timmy exclaimed pointing at the computer screen.

The nearby farm was being wrecked by a large multi-assed hippo wolf.

"...what" began Cartman.

"The" continued Kenny.

"Fuck" said Kyle.

"AGAIN WITH THE BUTTS" groaned Ramona face palming. 

"Not the important thing" Timmy telepathically remind her. He wheeled himself over "We'll need Sunstar, Human Kite, and Mysterion." 

"What about meeee!" Cartman whined. 

"Mephesto wants it back alive," Tolkien began "Sunstar's flight and strength can carry it, Human Kite can use his calming wind to sooth it and Mysterion can create shadow shields to corale it. We did only ask for you to pass on the message to those three." 

"Why didn't you text us?" Kyle asked as he removed his contacts.

"Jeez, don't do that in front of us Kyel" 

"Shut up fatass" 

"There's interference with the com's app" Wendy answered as she worked with the tablet. "Stupid only level 30 encryption GAH!" She yelps as a virus jump scares her and she 404s. 

"Wendy!" Stan yelped to go help her recover.

The trio awkwardly get ready before changing before taking off.

NEXT

[thirillia]

Since I’m currently rewatching SDC in the English dub, here are some bits, with or without context, that made me smirk the second time around with more grasp on the language and that are mostly just ... bizarrely wacky. (Sometimes I’m switching between languages just for... science)

(Here is the DiU version)

• *Dio caressing his naked torso* “JONATHAN JOESTAR’S BODY!”

• “Oh I get it now” *tosses painting into a tree*

• “Soooo... while Jojo is taking off his pants...”

• “No one can just deflect the Emerald Splash!” (A classic)

• “This green, stripy thing looks like a shiny melon.”

• not dialogue, but that one shot of the spoon with the “menacing” dancing around it

• “Non non non non non!”

• “Quit your bitchin’ old man.”

• *about flesh buds* “Now we can all be BUDDIES!”

• “Tell ‘em Avdol!” *thumbs down*

• “Let’s figure out what our strategy will be when Soul Sacrifice [Devo] attacks.” *Polnareff, bleeding all over, clearly coming from a fight* “You’re kidding, right?”

• “You vile little cockroach dick!”

• “Oh yes... I do love coconuts.”

• “Have wu wost wur sense of wumour? :’(((“

• “Wait a minute.... this isn’t Kakyoin!” (It took for the imposters face to melt until he figured that out.)

• “Gaze upon my handsome face with ENVY!”

• “I was sunbathing by the pool.” “With your school uniform?” “Yes, why not?”

• “Is this your kid?” “No.” “Then shut up.”

• “Do you understannnnnnnd?”

• “ORA!” “What do you mean ‘Ora’?”

• “Time to power-up with some crustATIANS!”

• “Licklicklicklicklicklick Hey look Jojo! Flamingos in flight!”

(honestly, the whole Yellow Temperance episode is a train wreck)

• “Oh crap. Somebody has already stolen my wallet.”

• “It better be something amazing. Something gorgeous and sophisticated that suits a frenchman such as moi.” “Which means it doesn’t matter. He’ll eat anything.”

• “That piece of shit’s corpse is two or three thousand meters that way if you wanna take a look.” “OKAY I WILL!”

• “Shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” (A quote by Joseph)

• again, not a quote, but Joseph throwing car keys and them getting stuck in Pol’s hair

• “Not bad Kakyoin. Got a question for ya: You like SUMO?!” *one risky rescue later* “Yeah I like sumo.”

• “Holy SHIT we’ve got ZOmbies!”

• *sigh* “Of course he’s taking a shit.”

• *with enthusiasm* “HE’S SUFFOCATING THAT BITCH!”

• “You were licking what, again?”

• “You can’t touch me. I’m DAN of STEEL.” (Steely Dan’s localised name makes me wheeze)

• “How am I feeling YOUR knuckles cracking in MY PROSTHETIC HAND?”

• “I was about to explain my powers when you hit me!”

• “Are you trying to kill your own grandfather?” “This is Jotaro we’re talking about. He might be.”

• “You’re a rather sturdy bridge, aren’t’cha?”

• “Go ahead and stab me then.” (Ugh. mood.)

• “You’re forbidden from making stupid camel jokes!”

• two identical rocks in the desert

• “It wasn’t a dream about stands. A stand was in my dream!” “That’s what I said. You were having a dream about stands.”

• “Baby...? STAND?!?!”

• “HoLY SHITbricks.”

• “Lali-HOE” (It’s not written that way... but it sounds like that)

• “Now it’s time for your punishment, baby.”

• “I REALLY don’t care that you’re a baby. I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

• *high pitched* “Ithinkthat’sthecruelestthingyou’veeverdoneto meeee”

• *Joseph having just lost his hand once again* “Can you help me out, Jotaro?” “Do it yourself.”

• “Your underwear is showing.” “YEAH NICE!”

• “That damn tongue agaaaiiin!”

• “It’s been quite the adventure. We’ve gone inside a brain and even inside our dreams. Oh right. You don’t remember that.”

• “It’s a HELICOPTER!” “Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious.”

• “Sorry Polnareff, I’d like to keep my hair.” *hair flip*

• *Iggy, a literal dog, eating gum* “The least he could do is take the wrapping off.”

• “I’mgonnaneedaCHIROPRACTOR!”

• “You can just use your Emerald Splash and call it a day, can’t you?” “Yes, but I don’t want to.”

• “UGH yes. Sleep, while WE fight to surVIVE!”

• “Tiiiiime..TO DIE!”

• “coooooOOOLA?!”

• “Yow. You know, yow. Actually, I was pointing out that there was a ... cyow over there!”

• “Waaait a second... is that a nasty old suckerrr?”

• “That’s the last time I go anywhere with him.”

• “So you wipe your ass... with SAND?!”

• “I think I’ll pull a Polnareff and wait till we get back to the hotel.”

• Avdol being completely and utterly DONE by the time they arrive in Egypt “I don’t deserve this.” You’re right. You don’t. I’m sorry you have to put up with those morons.

• “Polnareff, keep your guard up” “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

(My favourite thing about this one is that Polnareff enunciates this in his favour, as if he has not been the sole target of half of the Stand attacks they face)

• “What do you mean by ‘evil eyes’? My non-evil parents gave me those baby blues!”

• “This hurts like a BIIIIITCH!”

• “Here’s a fun idea: Let’s turn YOU into a fetus!”

• “Hm. Someone falling from a window covered in blood. You don’t see that everyday.”

• “Thing is, I’m something of a GAMbling maaaan!”

• “Do you have any idea what surface tension is, Barbie?”

• “Go aheat, Mr. Jostrrrr.”

• Jotaro’s eyebrow game being so intense that it gives people panic attacks

• “Stick your fingers all the way up Polnareff’s nose and then.. we’ll WIN!”

• *doing exactly that* “HELL YEAH!”

• “LOOK where my tongue is pointing!”

• “Need me to stick my fingers up somethin’? I will!”

• “I’ve gotta HAUL AAAAASSSS!!!”

• *in terror* “My watch is FAST! :’((“

• “What are ya STUPID?!” (Iggy’s English voice gives me life)

• “This creep’s a FUCKING KILLING MACHINE!”

(it kills me that Iggy is the one allowed to say “fuck” in the dub, if I heard it right)

• “First I loose my leg and now some demon bird wants me flattened into frozen dinner!”

• “In other words, we beat the shit out of Dio.”

• “Would you care to... wet your whistle?”

• “You’re about as helpful as a cramp in a relay race!”

• “The hell did you do to his arm?!”

• “Serect yr cur”

• *gasp* “He’s going for a turbo start!”

• “One doesn’t simply get those skills by playing videos games!”

• “I still have more SPEED than YOU D’ARBY!”

• “Why are you sitting down? We should be kicking Geppetto’s ass!”

• “OH! That’s a Baseball!”

• “Da first pitch!”

• “Jotaro! Pitch the BALL!”

• “I am a video game genius. I can’t lose. I am a video game GENIUS. I CAN’T LOSE!”

• “Well of course I did, ma’boy, I can read you like. A. Book.”

• “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! .... YES!”

• *terrified* “Are you gonna do the ‘Ora Ora’ thing?”

• “Well, I sincerely hope that for your sake, your next victim into the void will be one of the Joestars and not my boudoir.”

• “His name: Billie Jean! His fate: Instant defeat!”

• “Come at me, you demented pinball!”

• “Waddaya know? The answer ended up being option 3: Life’s a bitch!”

• the guy Suzie films on the streets has Bakugou’s English va I cannot mishear that

• “I gotta hand it to him, Dio’s got some pretty nice curtains.”

• Kakyoin: reasonable metaphor for the immense power Dio omits. Joseph: “It felt like somebody shoving an icicle up my ass!”

• “There is no need to kill a helpless senator..?” “WRONG.”

• “He even dodged the concentrated Splash?” (Honey...)

• “Woman. How about you make yourself useful and fetch my leg?”

• “Nervous yet, sweetheart?”

• “I mean he turned my favourite uniform into Swiss cheese....” (he sounds so genuinely sad)

• “You...-bastard.... it’s-not ..over-yet!” *immediately falls unconscious*

• *Dio bleeding from everywhere and flying through the air like a ragdoll* “Once again, my genius has TRIUMPHED over you!”

• you know, they really tried with the “Oras” and the “Mudas” and I respect them for that, but they didn’t dare touch the WRYYYY. It’s just an “AAARRGH” but that’s okay

• “I’M GOING TO ROLL ALL OVER YOU!” doesn’t have the same refine as ROOOAAAD-O-ROLLA DA! but it works...

• “I don’t got any kindness for your sorry, undead ass.”

• “I hear a PULSE?” “My GOD! Brian activity too!”

[sugars-fluffy-escapes]

I just read the hcs you made with your friend and just gotta say that imagining harry and peter as a ler tag team kills meeee 😭 peter would one thousand percent be the person to hold someone down and do most of the verbal teasing while harry has free range to wreck however he pleases; until peter gets bored and decides to join in too which in that case RIP whoever the lee is they had a good run I’m sure- gwen’s really out here with two full-time jobs and one of them is taming tickle monsters ALSHFSKDL

IT IS 1 AM AND I SHOULD BE SLEEPING BUT IDC BECAUSE OH MY GOD ANONNNNNNN- /pos /lh 💖❤️

THE WAY I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS WHOLE LER TAG TEAM CONCEPT WITH THESE TWO FOR DAYS- (The butterflies in my stomach are in overdrive rn omfg HELP AHSJSJSDJDK)

The moment these two find out that you like being tickled, they're gonna be wrecking you every time you walk into the damn room-

Also just envision that during a late night in the Oscorp tower where it's literally just you four in the building and nobody else, that Gwen, in the midst of trying to do some work, just sees you running down the hall and screeching because Peter and Harry are right behind you and they will absolutely catch you- (bonus if they do the thing where one of them is chasing you and the other is waiting right around the corner to catch you which makes you scream 🤭)

Gwen is 100 percent the type of person who can get work done despite potential distractions, so she'll just be working on a shit ton of science related stuff while you're deadass on the floor a few feet away with two adorably evil jerks absolutely wrecking your shit. She's not even phased by it- The only time she'll pause her work is when you need to be rescued.

"GWEHEHENNNNN! *hic* HEHEHEHELP MEHEHEEEEE!"

"Don't worry, Y/N, I'm coming to save you!"

She takes rescuing you from those two tickle monsters very seriously 🥺🖤 Guaranteed she's thinking "...oh my God my boyfriend and boss are both ridiculous..."

YO- IMAGINE- Peter and Harry having the same ultimate death spot (back of the neck-) but for different reasons. Peter cause of the spider bite, and Harry because he's been majorly touch starved for a good twenty years at least. And Gwen will just effortlessly attack those weak spots and the two of them just fall to the floor and curl up with their shoulders scrunching up.

"Really, boys? This is the fourth time in an hour."

Just imagine Peter giving Harry tips on verbal teasing while they're IN THE MIDDLE OF TICKLING YOU- WHAT THE HELL- Peter effin Parker is giving a whole crash course on the effects of verbal teasing and Harry's genuinely paying attention (of course he is! He's gonna pay full attention to a lesson on making you laugh harder)

Don't ever sit between them on movie nights (or just anywhere EVER because they're gonna trap you and wreck you.

Also, fully expect Peter to quiz Harry on verbal teasing methods mid-tickle attack. These two are absolute little shits /hj /lh I adore them both and I adore Gwen 🥺

THANK YOU ANONNNNN 😭❣️ /gen /pos

[tojisun]

MAK!!?<“_#)!#) THE GOOFY ASS GULP I DID WHEN I SAW U POSTED A GHOST FIC, N THEN WHEN I SAW THE TAGS????? HELP MEEEE

okok this is gon be a loooong comment im sorry omg but its just???? this is so fucking good. it’s so fucking perfect. exceptional. life-changing, even!!!! mak my love u are one of the best writers i know — the emotion, the build up, the characterization that you put into your works??? how can i not be in awe every damn time!!!!! how can i not adore you?????????

first: THE PETNAMES??? its probably a conglomerate of my issues but i fuckin swooned when i saw ghost call her “kid” JHAHDHF HAD ME HOWLING

ALSO I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN WHEN HE WALKED INTO HER MASTURBATING. I WAS CRYING LAUGHING IN EMBARRASSMENT BUT GOD IK THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GO DOWN AND I WAS SHAKING, ALL EXCITABLE

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

i choked so hard when he said this. why was it so hot?? why is it a reminder of his bulk. his size??? i was biting the drawstrings of my hoodie, giggling n everything mgjwrokf it was badddd

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out to sharp and harsh as though they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR THOSE TROPES WHERE YOU’RE BLATANTLY SEEING HOW READER AFFECTS GHOST!!! LIKE I GET SO WEEPY AND MUSHY, AND THIS ONE!! THE WAY HIS DESIRES ARE MUCH GREATER THAN HIS USUAL COHERENCE???? IM GONNA EAT MY FIST. EATING MY FIST!!!

But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

i felt breathless myself when reading these paragraphs because this is exactly how i think ghost kisses like hhhfhfh!!!! but more than that, this is exactly how i envision the way ghost reduces you to. THE WAY!!! HE OVERWRITES HER PAST EXPERIENCES WITH ALL OF HIM — OVERWHELMING BUT IN A WAY THAT BURNS. MAK!! I AM SO UNWELL

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

im nOT EVEN LYING I HAD TO THROW MY PHONE AWAY TO MUFFLE MY SCREAM. HES GONNA RUIN HER. RUIN HER NOT JUST SO HER NEXT PARTNERS WILL FALL SHORT, BUT SO THAT SHE WONT EVEN TOUCH HERSELF WITHOUT NEEDING HIM?!!>!!@/!!!1 the possessiveness and the carnality of this statement. this promise. god i need him

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

CROONING AND MEAN GHOST MY BELOVED. GRINDING MY TEETH SO HARD MY BRACES SNAP

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

LIVES WERE CHANGED. ALTERED. I PHYSICALLY CLAWED AT MY PANTS FROM HOW MUCH THIS MADE ME CHOKE. FELT MY HEART LODGE INTO MY DAMN THROAT. and hhhhhgfhhghghhghghs “deep breath”????? the way!!!! the way ive always envisioned him to talk you through it and this!!! this made me a wreck for reallll

“Ghost-!” / “Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

i swooned. i honest to god swooned. i love love when fics do this thing w his names. when HHHHH when he acknowledges the difference and makes his partner break the barrier. when he himself craves that shift in intimacy. my god mak im spiralling

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.” / “Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

the praises. the dirty praises. im gonna hurl with how big the ball of need is thats sitting in the pit of my stomach

“God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

THE POSSESSIVENESS MY GOD. HES SO INSATIABLE LIKE HES NOT EVEN DONE FUCKIN HER, NOT EVEN DONE CLAIMING HER, AND HES ALREADY CLAIMING HER AGAIN AHHHHHHHHHH

finally: THE AFTERCARE??? WHEN SHE SAID SHE THOUGHT SHE LEFT AND HE SAID “NO.” ‘SIMPLY’. LIKE THERE IS NO OTHER QUESTION, NO ROOM FOR DOUBTS. HE WONT LEAVE HER. HE WONT JUST WALK AWAY. NOT NOW OR EVER- (and their cute banter at the end PLEASE ITS SO FUCKING CUTE)

MAK. MY BELOVED MAK. YOU DELIVERED, SERVED, ATE, DEVOURED ONCE AGAIN. thank you so so much for this beautiful fic. kissing u and ur beautiful mind because what the fuck. i am obsessed

ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.

With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.

You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.

The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.

It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers. 

It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.

You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.

“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap. 

Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.

“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.

You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.

“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.

You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.

“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.

You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.

When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.

“What the hell were you—”

“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.

Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.

You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that  it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.

There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.

But tonight, you’re distracted.

The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.

The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.

You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove. 

You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.

You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.

And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.

You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks. 

“Nothing.” You say quickly.

He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.

Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.

A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.

“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.

It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.

“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.

“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.

It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.

And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.

You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.

Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline. 

You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars. 

Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.

You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.

“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”

“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.

Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.

“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”

Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”

Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.

“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”

Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.

You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.

And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.

But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.

“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.

The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.

You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.

By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.

Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.

But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid. 

It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.

It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.

You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.

But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.

You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.

You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.

You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.

Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.

You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan. 

You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.

You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his. 

You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.

Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.

“Kid, you–”

Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.

“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off. 

You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.

And then, finally, silence.

Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.

You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.

At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”

He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.

“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.

Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator. 

“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”

Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.

“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely. 

Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.

“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”

It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.

“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets. 

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.

“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”

But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.

You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave. 

But you don’t.

“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.

Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.

But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.

“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”

In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– sir–”

“Let me see, sergeant.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.

You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion. 

Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.

Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.

This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.

Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant. 

At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.

At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.

“You’re still wet, sergeant.”

Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual? 

Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.

You swallow. “It’s just– I–”

“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you. 

You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.

“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”

You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.

“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said. 

It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.

Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.

“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”

You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?

Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.

His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.

“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”

For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before. 

He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.

And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him. 

You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.

You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.

The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.

His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.

“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it. 

You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.

It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show. 

You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?

“This how you usually do it?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”

Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.

“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.

You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.

“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”

That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.

“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl. 

Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.

“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”

His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.

You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.

“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.

You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes. 

“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee. 

You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.

Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.

“Never messed around with anybody?”

“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”

“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.

His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.

“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”

You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.

Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.

He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.

It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit. 

When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.

His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.

You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–

His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”

You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.

Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.

It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.

The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.

“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.

It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.

“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.

Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—

“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”

“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself. 

The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.

“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.

He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.

“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”

“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.

He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.

You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.

“D’you always get this wet?”

You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.

It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.

But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit. 

When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.

You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.

You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.

Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.

He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.

And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.

You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.

You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.

The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.

Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass. 

 “Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.

“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.

“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”

His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.

Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.

He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.

You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.

“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.

“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.

Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.

It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.

His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.

Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.

“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.

Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.

Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.

Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.

You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky. 

“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.

You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.

But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.

“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”

“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip. 

You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.

God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.

“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”

You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit. 

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.

“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”

“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”

Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.

“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”

You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.

There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.

But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.

When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.

“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”

The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.

“Oh god–”

“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.

Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.

It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”

“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.

His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.

“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.

The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight. 

Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.

Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo. 

He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.

It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.

He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.

Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”

He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”

Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.

“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”

There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?

Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”

Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway. 

“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying. 

“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.

Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.

He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.

Good fucking lord.

“You’ll find out.” He says.

And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.

He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.

His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.

“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.

You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”

“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.

“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”

You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.

“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”

Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.

“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”

Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.

Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.

He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.

He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”

“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”

“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”

You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.

Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.

You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.

Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery. 

The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside. 

“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.

God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.

“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”

“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”

“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”

“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.

When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic. 

Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.

He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.

“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”

“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.

“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen. 

Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in. 

“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go. 

All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.

You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.

Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.

All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you. 

He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours. 

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.

“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage. 

With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”

Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.

“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

 You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud. 

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.

“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit. 

He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.

It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly. 

“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”

No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.

You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.

It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face. 

Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean. 

You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.

You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.

“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.

Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.

There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.

Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.

He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot. 

You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt. 

The minutes afterwards are a blur. 

You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.

For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought. 

God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.

It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.

You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. “Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.

Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.

“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.

Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.

“No.” He says simply.

The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.

When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.

When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.

You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.

Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.

You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.

Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.

“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.

He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.

“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”

Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.

“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”

You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.

Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.

“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”

You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.

As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”

He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.

“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.

“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”

You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.

“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”

[spooderboyandtincan]

The 12(ish) Days of December

A/N: I intended to write a Hanukkah themed chapter, but unfortunately I suffered some burnout and I couldn’t really start it :(((((( I plan and hope to add on to this in the future, I just wanted to get it out here on time! Happy Holidays everyone!!

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

I

“Che palle!” May cried as she and Peter stepped out of the elevator. “Tony, what the hell is that?!”

“It’s a giant teddy bear,” Tony called back from the kitchen. “It’s for you, Pete!”

“Me?” Peter gasped, his face lighting up. He charged toward the ten-foot teddy bear and tackled it. The giant brown bear teetered slightly with his weight but didn’t tip over. “He’s so soft!”

Tony came out of the kitchen with a wide grin on his face. He wiped his flour-coated hands on his pants and tried to give Peter a hug without pushing him off the bear,

“He’s so beautiful!” Peter giggled, wrapping his arms around the bear’s neck. “And huge!” 

Tony nodded in a proud, self-satisfied sort of way. Besides being delighted that the boy clearly adored his gift, he now had proof that this was obviously how one should react when presented with a ten-foot-tall stuffed animal. He'd have to take a picture and send it to Pepper.

May tossed her purse on the floor and shook her head at Tony. “As long as you can find a place for it, I’m not complaining,” she chuckled.

“I’ll rent a storage unit somewhere,” Tony supplied, taking a sip of coffee from his Iron Man shaped mug. Tony treasured that mug, which had been gifted to him by Peter several months ago. He never brought it in the lab for fear that Dum-E or U would break it, and he kept it in the cabinet next to his “1# IronDad” mug (also a precious gift from his kid).

He looked back to Peter, who had wrapped his arms around the bear, which was tilting dangerously. “Be careful, kiddo,” he said, biting his lip. But the moment the words got out of his mouth, Peter and the gigantic teddy bear started to topple to the ground.

“Shit-!” he began, darting forward, only to be met by Peter’s giggles.

“Nooo. Leave me. ‘M comfy.” He rolled onto the bear’s big belly and sprawled across it. “This’s perfect,” he hummed, closing his eyes. 

Tony and May shared a slightly exasperated yet fond glance. Tony flopped down next to Peter, tucking a curl behind his ear. “Now that I think about it, spider-baby,” he mused, “I’ve got something else for ya.”

Peter perked up and opened his eyes. “What?” 

Tony gave him a large grin and ran a hand through his curls. “C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led Peter to his room.

May sighed. “I swear to god, Tony, if you’re giving him an Audi….” she muttered. 

“I’m not!” the man insisted. Peter rolled his eyes and sat down on his bead. 

Tony put a warm palm over his eyes. “Close your eyes, bud.” 

Peter tried to keep his eyes closed as Tony ran to his own room, tearing through what sounded like wrapping paper and knocking boxes over with no absence of cursing. 

Moments later, a small, leather 4x4 inch box was placed on his open palm. He opened his eyes and looked first at the box, then at up Tony, who smiled. May shrugged and gestured to open it. 

Inside the box rested a thin, slender watch with a smooth black strap. The face of the watch was rectangular, and when Peter pushed the button on the side it lit up, displaying the time above what looked like a mini arc reactor. It resembled the StarkWatch he was wearing that very moment, except it looked more high-tech.

“A new StarkWatch, specially customized for you, by yours truly,” Tony said. “Your old one looked pretty busted, even though they’re supposed to be indestructible.” Peter snickered at Tony’s gentle jab. “And it’s got a few minor upgrades. You can set the lock screen, for one. And it should be trackable from anywhere in the universe, and I mean everywhere. And you can call me, or May, or Ned or Rhodey or whoever from the top of Mount Everest or the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

“Wow,” Peter whispered, tracing the sides of the watch before strapping it onto his wrist. “Thank you, Mister Stark! I love it! It’s so cool!” 

“What happened to ‘Tony?’” he grumbled playfully, giving his spider-baby a kiss on his head. “I’m glad you like it, buddy. It’s basically the same stuff as your old one, just better.” 

Then, to both Peter and May’s surprise, Tony bent down and grabbed a colorful red bag covered in golden glitter. Peter laughed.

“Tony, it’s only the ninth!” May snorted, her eyebrows raised past her hairline.

“That’s because we’ll need these before Christmas,” Tony said wisely. He handed Peter a soft package wrapped in green tissue paper and watched him tear the packaging in half.

“It’s so ugly!” he cried, holding up a garish green sweater. There was a plastic red ball attached to the big reindeer's nose and tiny bells were tied onto the reindeer’s harness. Little snowflakes were patterned all over, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “I love it, Tony!” Peter pulled the sweater on and was delighted to find that the fabric was incredibly soft, instead of the unbearably itchy sweaters he had owned in the past. “It’s perfect!”

Tony laughed fondly at his already thrilled kid. “If you think it’s good now, wait till you see this. FRI, lights off,” he ordered.  

Peter felt Tony fumble with something on his shoulder, and suddenly the sweater lit up. The reindeer’s nose lit up bright red, the snowflakes began to glow, and, as cliché as it might have sounded, the bells gave a merry jingle as Peter laughed.

“I love it!” He tackled Tony with a hug, relaxing slightly in the man’s arms. 

“Good,” Tony chuckled, “‘Cause I’ve got about three more for you and your aunt each.”

II

“Tony, where’re we going?” Peter whined, his breath fogging the window. “Tell meeee!”

“My lips are sealed,” Tony said, pretending to zip his lips shut and throw away the key. “We’re almost there, Rudolph, don’t worry.”

“Rudolph?!” Peter snorted.

Tony reached over the console to ruffle his hair. “I thought you might want a Christmas nickname,” he explained. “Plus, y’know, you already had a nickname available that only required a bit of simple reconstruction, Roo.”

Peter shook his head. “Just tell meeee!”

“No. Never.”

“Pleeease?”

“I physically can’t, buddy.”

“Tell me! Tellmetellmetellme pleeeeeeeeease?”

“Will… to keep secrets… decreasing,” Tony said robotically. “Fine. We’re going ice-skating, Petey-Pie.”

Peter gasped, his big chocolate eyes going wide. “Really?!” 

Tony grinned and glanced over to his kid. “Really.” He wished he could stop the car and give his sweet boy a hug. 

“But…” Peter bit his lip. “I don’t really know how. I mean, I went ice skating with Ned a few years ago but we mostly fell over and bruised our butts.”

Tony chuckled fondly. “That’s okay kiddie, I’ll show you the arts. Rhodey and I went when we were in college, and man, we had a blast laughing at each other. Oh- we’re here!”

“Tony, I don’t have any skates!” Peter realized as they hopped out of the car. 

“I already got you some, Pete, don’t worry,” Tony assured him. He opened the trunk of the car. “And I brought you an extra hat, a coat, a scarf, some better gloves, extra socks and a pair of snow pants.” 

“Tony,” Peter began, leaning into the hug the man offered him all the same. He grumbled and rolled his eyes but let Tony wrap a scarf around his neck and trade his thin woolen gloves out for much warmer, thicker ones. Peter had to admit he felt a lot warmer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thanks, Pete. M’kay, I’ve got these fancy red and blue skates for you and red and gold for me.” 

“And I’m sure the color choices were random?” Peter asked sarcastically. “Wait- these have the Spider-Man logo on them! Mr. Stark, are there Spider-Man ice-skates?!”

Tony bent to kiss his forehead. “There are, Pete. Pretty cool, huh?”

“So cool! I love ‘em, thank you, Tony!” He held up the skates to admire them. “They’re great!”

“No problem, buddy. It was my pleasure.”

Peter flopped down in the snow and pulled on his skates. He looked up to admire the tall oak and pine trees swaying gently with the wind, the last leaves of fall scattering along the icy roads. A pair of snowflakes drifted down to his coat, and Peter felt a sort of peace flow through him.

“Petey? Are you comin’?” Tony called, skating back and forth along the edge of the pond. Peter knotted the laces of his skates tightly and struggled to his feet.

“I’m trying!” he yelled, staggering forward. He leaned over the ice and felt a bit dizzy. It was about a foot down to the actual ice, and Peter knew without a doubt that he would slip if he tried to get down. “I dunno, um….”

“I gotcha, Petey, don’t worry.” Tony held out his arms and gave him a reassuring smile. Hesitantly, Peter lowered stepped onto the frozen pond, grabbing Tony’s arm and clinging to him as he got both feet on the ice. 

“Good job, Roo!” the man praised, lifting him up by the armpits so he was standing up a bit straighter. He couldn’t help but compare Peter to a fawn who just stood up for the very first time, and the boy’s big bambi eyes weren’t helping his case. “Getting on the ice is the hardest part. I’ve landed on my ass more times than I can count.” Tony frowned at himself. “Sorry I said ‘ass,’ don’t repeat that.”

Peter snorted. His skates slipped and he felt Tony’s arms tighten around him. “Whoa there, buddy. I gotcha.” He tucked a loose curl behind the teen’s ear and kissed his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“‘M’kay, you ready, Pete?” 

“Heck yeah!” 

Tony grinned. “Okay, first, you said ‘heck yeah’ instead of ‘hell yeah’ and that’s adorable,” he teased, chuckling at Peter’s eye roll. “Second: let’s wreck this rink!”

Though of course, they ended up making more of a wreck of themselves rather than the rink.

The very second Peter slid his foot forward, he found himself spontaneously falling backwards. Luckily, Tony caught him easily and gently pulled him back up. 

“I meant to do that,” he huffed, his small hands scrabbling at Tony’s coat. “It was- completely- intentional.” 

“Of course it was, Roo, I know that,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. “No one has the grace and agility you do.”

“I am graceful, Tony! How dare you?!” Peter grumbled. 

Tony might have made a quip about the arms wrapped tightly around his waist for support, but he decided his poor kid had suffered enough. Despite bumping into every table or chair in his path, Peter was surprisingly graceful, especially when he swung with ease through the air on a thin stand of webbing. “You are graceful, buddy, I promise,” he admitted. “You wanna give it another try?”

Peter stuck his tongue out at him, adjusted his hat, and gingerly took a step forward. Tony tensed, ready to lunge forward and catch him if the boy slipped, but found himself letting a quiet cheer. “Nice job, Pete!”

Peter beamed at him, his legs spread far apart and his arms extended for balance. He tipped backwards and Tony started to jump forward, but Peter flailed his arms around and regained his balance.

“I think you’re getting the hang of it, kiddo!” Tony called as Peter made his way to the opposite side of the pond. He winced suddenly, protectiveness flooding through him at his retreating figure. “Be careful! Wait for me!”

He caught up to Peter easily and zipped in front of him, catching him by the shoulders. “You’re doing great, baby!” 

“Thanks,” he giggled, looking down at his shoes. He wiped his red nose with the back of his hand and sniffled. “‘S fun!”

Tony smiled and adjusted Peter’s scarf. “Glad to hear it.”

“Tony?” he asked. “Can you do a figure eight?”

The man paused to consider this, clicking his tongue. “Only one way to find out!” he decided. 

Peter watched excitedly as he skated out to the middle of the pond, looking practically weightless. Tony took a deep breath, prayed he didn’t break any bones, then pushed off. He zoomed around the pond in a perfect figure eight, only faltering for a brief moment, and traced over it twice before he skidded back to Peter. “Ta-da!”

Peter applauded, clearly very impressed. Tony bowed exaggeratedly and pretended to be embarrassed. 

“D’you think I should try?” Peter asked. 

Tony smiled fondly. “Only if you want to. I know you’d nail it though.”

And he did. Peter skated carefully to the edge of the pond and performed the figure eight beautifully, spinning in circles and laughing when he got a bit too dizzy.

Tony skated up to him, his eyes huge. “Jesus, Petey, that was fantastic!” He pulled the embarrassed teen to his chest and wished, not for the first time, that Peter wasn’t wearing a hat so he could kiss the top of his head. He settled for Peter’s cheek instead. “Wow, baby, that was amazing! Wait- I gotta sign you up for the Olympics. Where’s my phone- oh, I got it.” He pulled his phone from his coat.

“Tony, nooooo!” Peter protested.

“Tony yes. You’re too talented.”

“It was just a figure eight!” he giggled. “And you did one too so you hafta sign yourself up.” Peter looked up to the gray sky and shivered as the brisk winds tore at his heavy coat and scarf. He leaned even closer to Tony.

“You cold, baby?” Tony rubbed his back gently, hoping to generate some warmth. “Wanna go back home? We can come back here anytime you want.”

Peter sighed a bit sadly, but he had to admit he was freezing. He and Tony skated back to the car quickly. Snowflakes began to fall rapidly down as gusts of wind tried to upset their balance. Tony helped Peter onto the bank and they hurriedly yanked off their ice skates.

They found refuge in the car only when Tony turned the heater up full blast and  leaned over the console to pull Peter into his arms. Peter’s shivers that had been worrying him far more than Tony had been willing to say eventually died off and together they watched what was now practically a blizzard raging outside.

“Just in time,” Tony mumbled into Peter’s curls. “Feel any better, baby?”

He grew worried when he received no response and pulled back. Peter’s eyes were shut and his breathing slow, though he made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat when Tony pulled away. Tony smiled, a tender, loving light in his eyes and pulled Peter back into his arms, cradling his kid against his chest and rubbing his back soothingly. “‘M here. ‘M here, baby, don’t worry,” he cooed, planting a kiss on his forehead. 

Peter curls tickled his cheek, his warm breath heating the skin of Tony’s neck. The console between him and his kid was uncomfortable and hard against his side, but he wouldn’t have moved for the world. Tony held Peter tightly and closed his eyes.

Maybe they could stay there a little while as they waited for the blizzard to pass.

III

Tony had been brewing a hot cup of coffee in the kitchen when a disheveled, sniffling, sleepy Peter face-planted into his back.

“Whoa, bud!” Tony spun around and caught the boy under the armpits. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?” He tilted Peter’s chin back and found that his nose was bright red, his eyes were half-lidded, and his bedhead was a lot worse (though still absolutely adorable) than it usually was.

“‘M fine,” Peter sniffled, leaning heavily against his chest. “Missed you.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony murmured, wrapping his arms around the small teen, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He gave his definitely-not-sick spider-baby a smooch on his temple. “You’re pretty warm,” he noted with a hint of worry in his voice. He pressed the back of his hand to the teen’s forehead. “Do you wanna lie down, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head weakly. “Wan’ you.”

Tony’s heart melted and he turned into a pile of mush. In this tired, sick, achy state Peter was clingier than ever, and all he wanted was him. He wanted Tony. He kissed Peter’s temple. “I’m gonna stay right here, Petey, don’t worry,” he assured his kid. “I promise.” 

Tony held Peter with one arm while he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets with the other. “FRI? What’s up with the spider-baby?”

“Peter is exhibiting symptoms of a common cold, such as coughing, sneezing, a runny nose, and a fever,” the AI replied. Tony felt a pang of worry and empathy in his heart. 

“Okay. I’ve got your pain meds,” he announced in a whisper. “Do you want water or OJ?”

Peter decided on the latter, not bothering to raise his head but simply mumbling “juice” into the man’s chest. Tony hummed in agreement and attempted to pour a glass for himself one-handedly (most of the juice ended up on the counter, but holding his sick kid was far more important than pouring orange juice).

He led the boy to the couch, a steadying hand around his shoulders. Peter snuggled against him, coughing and sniffling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and shivered.

Tony placed two white pills into palm. Peter took a hesitant sip of his drink and gulped down the pills. Tony tucked an errant curl behind his ear and placed a kiss one his temple. 

With Peter still in his hold, he strained to reach the weighted electric blanket that had fallen behind the couch. With a painful crack from his twisted back, he finally managed to get his fingers around the feather-soft blanket and settled back on the couch with a triumphant grunt.

He wrapped the electric blanket tightly around them both. Peter’s shivering caused a surge of fierce protection to run through his veins, and Tony hugged him to his chest, pressing a kiss to his soft, though slightly sweaty curls. He glared at the dark corners of the room, as if somehow the very cold that was making his child suffer so much would leap from the shadows.  

Peter found comfort in the vibrations of Tony’s chest and the beat of his heart. The calloused fingers running through his hair and the occasional kiss against his temple soothed him beyond measure, and without ever realizing it, Peter started to drift off. Compared to when he had woken up, soaked with sweat, wheezing and sniffling and rather nauseous, he felt so much better in his father-figure’s embrace.

Dimly, he noticed that Tony was talking to him. He thought he recognized the words coming out of his mouth, and he realized suddenly that Tony was reading Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree to him. That book had been Peter’s favorite when he was a small toddler, and hearing the familiar words aloud brought a big burst of happiness to his chest. 

Peter let his eyes slip shut for a second. The headache that had been pounding in his head was completely gone and in Tony’s arms, he felt incredibly warm and cozy and happy. 

When his eyes opened again, he determined that Tony had finished reading the book. If he had had enough energy, he would have asked him to read another. But much to his delight, he realized Tony had already picked up another book.

And just before his eyes fluttered shut, he heard Tony’s gentle voice speaking, full of love. “I love you, Petey.”

I love you too.

IV

“Mmm, Tony, the spaghetti was fantastic!” May exclaimed as she loaded her plate into the dishwasher. “I need that recipe, it’s just too good!” 

Tony looked at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. The boy shook his head frantically and drew a finger across his throat. Tony snickered. “Thank you, May, I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

To be completely truthful, he felt like throwing up. During the dinner, Peter had chatted enough to distract him, but now his emotions were left to himself, and Tony had barely been swallowed by them. He stuffed the last plate in the dishwasher and took a few long, deep breaths. He massaged his forehead and blinked, sitting down heavily on the couch.

Tony’s heart was beating out of his chest. He looked up to the boy, who was texting someone- probably Ned, completely oblivious. “Pete?” he began shakily. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” He and May shared a glance. She realized immediately what he was about to do and gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. 

“Yeah!” Peter vaulted onto the couch with a laugh. His grin faded when he saw how worried, how scared the man looked. Alarm kindled in his chest. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark?”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the cookie crumbs in the corners of his mouth or the way his hair frizzed everywhere as he pulled his Santa hat off. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Um-” Tony had to clear his throat. He reached down and grabbed a briefcase leaning against the couch that Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Uh,” he tried. He pulled two papers out of the briefcase and stared at them for a long while. “Do you think that you could give these a read, kiddo?”

Peter nodded silently and took them. He looked up at Tony, his head tilted in confusion.

He looked to the papers. His eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what? I-” He turned the papers over as if there would be a sticky note saying “IT'S A PRANK!” on the back. “What? W-what? I-I don’t-” Peter shook his head. 

He couldn’t stop looking at those cream-colored papers. 

Child: Peter Benjamin Parker

Adopting Parent(s): Anthony Edward Stark 

The rest of the paper was blank, except for Tony’s signature at the bottom. 

“Am I asleep? This-this is a dream, right?” Peter's eyes were filling with tears but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“It’s not a dream, sweetheart,” May said gently. “It’s real.” She squeezed his knee, hoping to ground him.

“Really?” He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to form words. He gaped like a fish, reading the adoption papers over and over again. “You-you wanna adopt me?” he finally managed to squeak out.

Tony finally gathered the courage to look at his kid. “Yeah, baby. But only if you want to, okay? Nothing would change, though. We’d- just be making it official. Everything would be the same except-” He throat closed, and suddenly he couldn’t speak. 

Except Peter would be his official son- legally, on paper. And Tony would be his official dad. (There was no way Tony wasn’t already his dad.)

“What are you thinking, baby?” he murmured, instinctively tucking a curl behind Peter’s ear with shaky hands. 

Tony’s gentle touch was enough to break the dam of emotions that had been holding back. Peter sniffled, then burst into tears and practically jumped into his dad’s arms. 

Tony hugged him tightly, rubbing a hand up and down his back and pressing long kisses to his temple. Peter blubbered into his chest, happy tears soaking Tony’s sweater. May wrapped her arms around the two and squeezed them both tightly.

Tony felt tears prickle in his own eyes and he dropped his forehead to Peter’s curls. “Is that a yes?” he finally managed to say.

Peter giggled wetly and nodded frantically against his chest. 

A grin as wide as a dinner plate crossed Tony’s face. He realized suddenly that tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He kissed the top of Peter's head and squeezed him tighter. 

May pressed a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek and stood up. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, sensing that the father and son might want a moment alone. 

Tony rocked his kid back and forth, rubbing his back and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” he murmured into his chestnut curls. “I love you.” IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

“Love you,” Peter babbled. “I love you too. I love you.”

He held Peter at an arm’s length, still grinning. Then he pulled his kid back to him again and kissed his cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of his thumb. “I love you.”

Peter sniffled, wiping his nose with his sweater. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and curled around him like a koala. He leaned heavily against his dad’s chest, his breathing beginning to even out. Tony’s chest vibrated with every “I love you so much, Petey” and his ceaseless murmurs of love and comfort.    

“Love you, Dad,” he said sleepily, his eyelids drooping. 

A lump formed in Tony’s throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow past. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks. “Petey-” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I love you so much. So damn much, okay?” He ran his hand up and down the boy’s back, kissing his temple and trying to blink his happy tears away. 

Tony felt himself slowly drifting asleep. He blinked, and then his cheek was resting on his kid’s curls. His eyes closed again, and suddenly May was there, draping a blanket over them. He tried to tell her to get Peter’s special heated blanket, because his poor kid couldn’t thermoregulate and absolutely hated the cold. Then he realized that she had already tucked it around the boy and sighed in relief, finally letting himself relax.

May settled on the opposite side of Peter and wrapped an arm around him. Within minutes she was snoring quietly, but Tony was too tired to notice. A wave of joy and peace and love washed over him, and his eyes slipped shut.

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Taglist:  @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12  @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret​ @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know!

[lostinanothersmemories]

i loveeee darlin and david fight-to-confession but the "we're not gonna talk about it" route also fucking hits different fo meeee

especially if they dont realize until Asher, milo, angel and/or sam points it out tooooo

AND THE (healthy) JEALOUSY THAT WILL HAPPEN DURING THAT POINT CUZ DAVID AND DARLIN ARE TWO JEALOUS MFFF im sooo sorry but i am softttt for david and darlin

no its such a cute pairing. As much as the heated argument would absolutely work for them I feel like it’s healthier for them and especially more natural for early david to not discuss feelings. The idea of the fear that the other thinks this is nothing but some odd fling torments them.

Until David drops a “my mate” suddenly and Darlin knows, but honestly isn’t that more terrifying now? And then the final “I didn’t think you’d wanna be my mate I mean look wt me i’m a walking train wreck. I’m awful and I’m rude and i’m hard to deal with-“

“not to me, you’ve never been that to me. You aren’t a burden, I just wish I could make you believe that. And if you’ll let me I’ll spend my whole life trying to convince you”

AND YES THE JEALOUSY they constantly have to have something of the others on them. Darlin constantly gets covered in his leather jacket Darlin likes to get creative sometimes. Most of the time there will be a very prominent hickey on them. God forbid you catch them at a club darlin dragged him to. He’s literally growling into their ear as they dance against him just because people are watching them.

[ichayalovesyou]

The Search For Spock (live reaction)

Harve Bennet & Leonard Nimoy, you KNOW this is the gayest one!

“It seems I have left the noblest part of myself back there” 😭

Oh wow this happens like RIGHT after WoK, okay. Yikes Klingons!! Ohhhh it’s a WARG! Cool!!

Oh my god it’s Sulu’s ship!!! The Excelsior!!! We love that!

So are you just expecting me to be okay after Bones broke into Spock’s room? And is literally begging Jim for help and talking about Mount Seleya??? I’m supposed to be OKAY?? 😭😭😭

Oh look Saavik plucked their eyebrows in true Vulcan style lol. I think they sense it’s Spock (or at least a Vulcan) through the k’war’ma’khon and that’s why they said “or who”

Sarek is pissed! He does care even if he’s not a great dad. KATRA! Time to get fucking saaaaaaaaaaad!!! Don’t you EVER tell me Shatner can’t act ever again after this scene holy craaaaaaaaap. 😭😭😭 Jim I cannot believe you left Bones alone go get him (and SPOCK more or less) and save the dayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!

“As surely as if it were my very own” IM FINE! Oh my god McCoy/De’s Nimoy impression is on par! Also loving the weird Han Solo McCoy vibes of him trying to get Spock’s Katra to Vulcan, the Spones is STRONG with this one.

Shut up I LOVE SULU SO MUCH!!!!! Amazing outfit! Amazing one-liner! Amazing jailbreak!!!!! Also awwww Bones and Jimmmmmm! Uhura’s sass is beautiful! Get in the closet punk! I love you!!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍 I LOVE HERRRRR YOU GUYS!!!!!

I love that as they’ve gotten older, Bones has gotten even more southern, and Scotty has gotten even more Scottish lmao. Thing Jim is willing to give up for Spock #1: his captaincy/career

BABEY SPOCK HOLY FUCK, me too helmsman lady. Also Saavik isn’t it worth mentioning you’re in a FUCKING BLIZZARD?? And Spock could die of exposure?!

Woah, Bones sounded JUST LIKE SPOCK (I know it was literally voice over) but still, I’m shook too Kirk! Meeee tooo! Also damn Saavik you just roasted the living shit out of David and I do NOT blame you! 😂

Yo like, POOR SAAVIK! That whole situation with Spock is rough for everyone involved actually holy shit. Saavik has to do something messed up, and Genesis Spock has like, no idea what’s going on. I know they had to like, do it, or he’d literally die, but still 😬 I also figure that the Pon Farr was triggered early because of the rapid/warped aging process considering the vast majority of vulcans don’t hit adulthood/Pon Farr until there 30s (like Spock was in Amok Time)

OH MY GOD DAVID’S DEATH WAS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT JIM OH MY GODDDD 😭. Also it’s fucked up to say he sacrificed his son for Spock (Sarek is such a fucking asshole to talk about the way he does, jeezus) I mean it is kind of what happened but Jim couldn’t have known, he just couldn’t have. God that is so SO fucked up.

Things Jim is gives up to save Spock #2.5: The Enterprise, oh wow... there she goes. 😥

Thank god Vulcans are strong oh my god, I can’t imagine how panicked Jim must feel hearing Spock fucking scream like that oh my god oh my godddddd. Oh, Jim found David... this movie is so SAD holy crap. But also “it’s seems I’ve got all his marbles” is hilarious and on brand thing for Bones to say.

This fight choreo is very... James Kirk. But honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way! 🤣

SAVE YOUR HUSBAND!!!!!

Literally one of the most romantic, dramatic fucking scene EVER! If Spock was a woman they would’ve been RAVING about how this and WoK are the greatest love story of all time. But they didn’t but I CAN! I LOVE IT AND THEM AND ITS GAY AND I LOVE IT! 😍🏳️‍🌈

“Goodbye David.” 💔

Bones, this movie is wrecking me and youre making it worse ohhhhh my godddd 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

This is the Sponesiest McSpirkiest movie ever MADE “I choose the danger” Bones you are killing meeeeeeee, that desperate “please I love you both” sideeye from Jim ohhhh pleassssssse 😭

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈😁😁🤩

[angie-long-legs]

For a split second, Angel's body tensed in preparation to be aggressively manhandled as an arm curled around his shoulder - the second wince drawn out of the spider in the past few minutes, but a standard reaction to being up close and personal with Valentino. However, the predicted ferocity of the gesture never came. Once again, the spider was only met with unexpected softness.

It had been a long time since Val had shown him physical affection like this. Be it swung fists or groping fingers, the moth's brand of touch was forceful, impassioned, ruinous. There was always an intention, always something he wanted from the encounter, and what he inevitably wanted was either to break his star, or to take what little was left of him.

Neither of these appeared to motivate the moth as he gently squeezed his date closer, rocking ever so slightly back-and-forth in an almost soothing manner. He didn't want anything from Angel, he wasn't trying to do anything to him. He was just... there. Close. Reciprocating Angel's head bump of solidarity with a tender gesture of his own.

The actor bit his lip. Between his inebriated state and the unforeseen sentimentality he was being shown, his mind was a bleary, conflicted wreck. He shouldn't get used to this. He knew that, from all the times he had made that mistake before. He couldn't.

But... he was the one who had initiated this exchange, right? He wanted to comfort the Overlord. Why shouldn't he make the most of this little sliver of fondness while it lasted? Why shouldn't he, for once, enjoy Valentino's touch?

Angel leaned into the pimp, his sigh of satisfaction masked behind an exhale of smoke. Warm from the alcohol in his blood and the moth's body heat, he allowed his eyes to shut, a curtain closing on the world that continue to spin behind it. His head rested against Valentino's shoulder, not quite on it, but close enough. This was good enough.

"Yeah, well, I ain't gettin' m' feet out in a store, Val," Angel grumbled, begrudging the smile that this oh-so-typically Valentino remark brought out of him. "I thought y' knew me!"

He did. Val really did know him. That was always what dragged him back down. Val didn't love him, he didn't even like him half of the time. He didn't listen to Angel, he didn't respect him, he didn't care when he hurt him. But he knew him. He knew what drinks he ordered, what TV shows he liked, what clothes he wore. He understood Angel's humour and his passions, his wants and desires, his failures and his faults. He knew how to build him up just to break him down, and he did it all so effortlessly, like it meant nothing to him. Like Angel was nothing to him. And then he was everything. And then he was nothing all over again.

To be known like that wasn't to be loved. Angel knew that now. But it was something. It meant something.

He needed it to mean something.

As if the porn star wasn't already at odds with his affections, then came the compliment.

As with the arm slung around him, Valentino had nothing to gain from this remark. "Beautiful" was seldom a word he used to describe Angel - "hot", "sexy", "gorgeous", sure, but beautiful? Val never regarded his looks in a manner so... dignified. Describing Angel Dust the person, not Angel Dust the porn star.

He couldn't get used to this.

"Pfft, Vaaaal," he blushed, giving the Overlord a weak and uncoordinated shove. The feeling of being flustered around Valentino like this sent him lurching back into the past, when Angel was still so fresh-faced for a dead thing and the moth had been all sugared words and sweet nothings. And Angel had eaten it up so eagerly. So willingly.

"Stoppiiiit," he groaned. "Yer embarassin' meeee."

But embarrassment was nothing compared to the sheer shock of Val's next statement.

Angel was suddenly rigid in the Overlord's soft grip, as though even the slightest movement would alert him to what he had just uttered. Did Val even notice? Was he aware he had just nonchalantly told his star that he would one day wiggle out from his iron grip? That he was already slipping away?

There was nothing Angel could say, nothing he would even attempt to come back with for fear of shattering this precarious illusion where Val seemed blissfully unaware of what he had admitted to. Any acknowledgement on Angel's part was a death sentence.

He almost felt... well, guilty.

Val wanted him to stay. Angel wanted freedom, autonomy, relief from Valentino's unrelenting cruelty.

But right now, in this moment, he had at least one of those.

Was this as close as he would come? Was this good enough?

The distraction of Val's next question was unexpected but deeply welcome. Angel could not restrain a chuckle, his body relaxing into the Overlord once more. Briefly, he lifted his head to gaze back inside at the swarm of swirling guests, elegant and refined as they danced the very dance that Val was evidently unenthused by. Discarding the remainder of his cigarette, the spider turned towards his date, lowering the arm around him so that it cradled his waist and his own mirrored arm raised to Val's shoulder.

"'Course I can. Y'think I maddit through the thirties w'thout learnin' how t'waltz?" he teased, slipping a hand into Val's to assume the position. "Though I ain't all that experienced doin' th' girl part. Might step on y' toes. Heh, betcha glad I ain't in heels now," he smirked as he guided his partner into the footwork. Leading him, despite being in the role of the follower. Soon, the pair were swaying in time with muted music from the ballroom, a pale mockery of the grace those inside it exhibited as they stumbled uncertainly, Angel barefoot and intoxicated while the inexperienced Valentino did his best to mimic his steps. Angel couldn't help but laugh - they were so not the type of guest that masquerade balls attracted. There was nothing elegant or refined about the way the pair staggered around the patio, snickering childishly at their shoddy attempt to match the decorum of their guests.

"Not bad," Angel giggled as they swayed, breathless from the swirling waltz choreography as well as the bouts of laughter.

"Keep this up and y'll be bustin' out these moves in th' club before ya know it."

As Val's voice dropped to a pitch that Angel only recognised from violent outbursts, the spider froze, instinctively expecting things to turn sour.

Only they didn't.

To Angel's astonishment, the sentiment Val was expressing was... sincere. Vulnerable.

Val was insecure.

Angel swallowed, staring straight ahead as he took another measured drag of the cigarette. He didn't know what to say. The porn star knew better than to acknowledge what Valentino undoubtedly viewed as a weakness, or to try to relate to his struggle - no matter how familiar he was with the turmoil of being seen as nothing but some cheap whore.

The last thing Val needed to hear was that he was like Angel.

Instead, Angel closed the gap between them, side by side against the railing, and rested his head on Val's shoulder.

It was a simple gesture - something you might do to comfort a friend. Without his heels, Angel wasn't quite tall enough to do more than bump his head against it, but he hoped it would portray something genuine. Not camaraderie, not even affection. Not in the way Val understood it. But Val, like Angel, was physical in how he expressed himself, be it fits of rage or sensual caresses. When it came to the spoiled wreckage that was their relationship, actions spoke louder than words.

Still, the words followed.

"Y'ain't just some cheap whore, Val," Angel said quietly, a puff of smoke disapating into the night sky as he spoke. The slur of his words reminded him that he was still less than sober, but the cool air and the cigarette seemed to be doing a half-decent job of convincing him that he was. "Maybe y'were, once. But y'made it out. Don't happen t'many of us."

Since relating to Val was off the table, Angel swung in the opposite direction. Val wasn't like Angel, after all. They weren't the same in any way that mattered - not anymore. Maybe Val had thought they were, once. That was, until the cracks started to show and the Overlord saw who Angel really was. If Val ever saw himself in the actor, he was merely seeing his own shadow: the dim, two-dimensional version of himself that lacked colour and substance. An outline of the moth that contained nothing but vacant grey darkness, ugly and repulsive and refusing to be controlled.

Val caught Angel like a brilliant light illuminating the dusky heart of the spider, and when those cracks gave way to darkness, Val punished him for being everything he hated about himself.

Lost in his own thoughts, Angel was relieved when Val brought the conversation back to a lighter topic, snickering at the mention of the awful burgers. "M'still mad atcha f' that," he pouted, elbowing Val in the side in an uncoordinated but playful gesture, his head still resting on Val's shoulder. Honestly, it was nice. He was tired and dizzy - why shouldn't he lean on his date for support?

"Hey! A-had those shoes ordered 'specially!" he protested, giggling at the memory of his embarassing tumble. At least he was drunk enough that it didn't seem as humiliating as it would no doubt feel tomorrow morning. "Should get m' fuggin' money back... Goddamn... shoe criminals... sellin' me cheap fuggin' knockoffs or somethin'..."

[is-nini]

Albedo x reader (school AU)

Sweet relationship

A (h/c) colour girl sigh and look around the cafeteria, no sign of her boyfriend, whatsoever. She doesn't really mind that he's always being called by the teacher, he is one of the most clever students they have but..i feels lonely without him at times.

You keep poking your food and place your head on the palm of your hand trying to not get bored or lonely in this time of the day because after this the material of today's subject will wreck people's brain and albedo once told you that "food is important for your brain too so eat properly or else this material will not stuck to your head".

He said the exact word.

"Hah....".

Sighing again, kind of missing your boyfriend you decided to finally eat your food, when you're just about to eat you heard someone calling your name.

"(Y/nnnnn)".

You look to the direction of the voice and saw sucrose going closer and closer to you with a shy smile on her face. Your mood turns upside dow and you wave back to her with more energy.

"HELLO SUCROSE!".

You shouted, which gain some people's attention. You clear your throat , apologize and sit back down but this time sucrose is here to save your day from boredness!.

She scoot closer to you and gave you some kind of letter that has a little star on the middle of it. That's when you know that it's from albedo.

"He ask me to pass this to you".

Sucrose whisper to you which makes your heat beats up and smile back at her.

"He would not stop worry about you, and would constantly talks about you. He really miss you the teachers explanation is just a way for him to get his mind off you, but he failed miserably".

Sucrose whisper to you and giggle knowing that it's what you've been looking for the whole day.

The only time you both get to spend time is before class and the rest of the day the teacher is calling albedo as if they are his girlfriend... And yes you are salty about it.

You smile back at sucrose and hold her hand while looking at her with sparkling eyes.

"Thankyouu sucroseee you're the bestest friend!".

You exclaim, not loud enough for people to complain. Sucrose found herself shying away from your touch as she heard your compliments. And so...the compliment war began between the both of you until the bell rings.

"Thankyou sucrose, see you soon!".

You wave back to her and saying your goodbyes because both of you, unfortunately have the different class. She wave back to you and mouthing you a quick 'goodbye' before running off to her class.

And now you're back to the withering (y/n) the usually sunshine full of energy (y/n) is now replaced with kind of gloomy and bored (y/n).

On the way to class you went passed the teachers office and saw that the door is opened a little bit, knowing that albedo is inside you decided to take a peak and look at him.

There he was in all his glory, sunshine is bright behind him, making him look like an angel with his face facing the door.

Albedo feel a presence that watches him, so his first thing to do is look at the door, there he saw you, peaking to look at him, he smiled brightly at you and straighten his body and wave at you a little, your face lights up by looking at him and so you wave to him back.

Ah.... albedo's heart just shattered at the amount of cuteness you have and his face turns pretty red but still keeping up that smile that you love even until now. The smile that's only presented just for your eyes only.

"Ahem... Miss (l/n).. stop disturbing the student here please and go back to your class".

...whops..the teacher caught you, you pout and look at albedo one last time with a sad smile and left to go to your class.

When albedo see your sad smile, his heart shattered with sadness this time. He is aware he has been busy...but the teacher keep calling him to do academic race here and there. He barely have time to see, touch and even call you, this time albedo is the one who sigh. He really wanted to talk and touch you... it's been too long.

It's... boring..on the class turn's out the material that the teacher taught is the one that albedo has taught you weeks ago and so because you don't get the chance to open the letter that albedo gave you, you decided to open it now.

Dear (y/n),

How are you? Im sorry i have been busy but i do hope that you have been take care if yourself. Did you eat? I hope you're not playing with you're food... Also don't worry about me, the teaher has been nice enough to buy me food and drinks.

The lesson today will be hard..but I'm sure you'll be fine. I have taught you about this weeks ago after all.

To be honest i didn't thought that it will take me this long... I hope you don't mind waiting for me love. I will make sure to make it up for you okay? Until then wait for me angel.

Love.

Albedo <3

You read the entire message with a smile on your face, him calling you love and angel really makes your heart beats so fast.. he even put a cute little heart... He is truly the best boyfriend anyone could ask.

You smile while think about albedo again... Day dreaming until the bell rings, meaning that it's time to go home. The sigh of relief is heard all throughout the classroom.

"It's your turn to do the cleaning today okay?".

One of your classmate reminded you, your response is just smile and nod at her not even bothering to give her a responde.

Knowing you are in a little bad mod she just smile and pat your shoulder and left you alone in the classroom.

"Hah...".

You sigh once again after putting all of your books inside your bag you proceed to clean the board.

The hardest part. The board is just...tall.. usually your other friend is suppose to do this but he is sick so now you have to do it alone.

You jump and try to use the small stair everything you could think of but all of the results is negative. When you're about to put the eraser back to it's place another hand overlap yours and took the eraser off your hand, startled by the presence you look back and saw albedo with a smirk on his face that makes your face heats up.

"Cannot reach the high parts dear?".

Albedo whisper in your ear and giggle when he saw how red your faces are and kiss your lips, you can feel him smiling and so you kiss back, the kiss last for a while and then you pull away to take some air and pout.

"I could reach the high parts....".

You say with a heavy amount if hesitation on your voice but albedo just laugh it off and peppering your face with kisses.

"Sure, sure you could".

He says, giggling at the end, you just roll your eyes but you smile and giggle with him anyway.

"Why are you here? Are you done with your busy clever people stuff?".

You asked, curiosity lacing your voice. Albedo just stare at you with a sad smile and then pull you close and stroke your head, he move his head towards your ear.

"The teacher has a surprise stuff to take care of".

He whisper in your ear while stroking your head slowly, Albedo let out a sigh and kiss you again. He smile at you and take your backpack from the seat.

"Let's get you home shall we?".

Albeda said, while holding his hand out for you to grab, you smiled at him and take his hand. You try to take your backpack from his grip but he is quick to dodge your hand, you look at him pouting a little and then started to whine.

"Albebeeeeee give meeee!! My backpack!".

You say while trying to reach your hand to take your backpack. Hearing his nickname albedo laugh and pinch your cheek.

"Albebe? Who is albebe, hmm?".

Albedo laugh at the end of the sentence, amused by the adorable little antics that you make.

"Albebe is you of course! And the best part isssss onlyyy i can call you that".

You explain, causing him to laugh more. You both are starting to make your way to your house, on the way there the road just filled with laughter, teasing at times, but from a stranger's perceptive they can see the l-o-v-e whafting through the air. Everything about both of you is sweet and wholesome and the both of you will not have it any other way.

[mad-girl-without-a-box]

NO I SAW U TALKING ABT PRINCE OF THEIVES ON LEES PAGE AND OH MY GODDDD THAT FIC WRECKED MEEEE THE LAST CHAPTER WAS SO HEART BREAKING😭😭😭 MADARA APOLOGIZING AT THE END AND AFTER THEY KISSED????? pls💀

WHY MUST YOU BRING IT UP AGAIN. I READ IT THREE TIMES YESTERDAY.

I LOVE THAT STORY SO MUCH, I FEEL BLESSED EVERY TIME THERE'S AN UPDATE.

But WAIT: have you read chapter 10 yet?? Madara apologizing was in 9, and there has been an update yesterday (it's horrible and glorious and PAINFUL, I'M TELLING YOU). Because I mentioned some points of chapter 10 below, just in case.

THAT WHOLE TAKADA STORY LINE, I AM SCREAMING. IT'S HORRIBLE. (For real though, when Senbi found Takada on the gates I was just like "I feel insulted, how dare she, this witch. She takes Madara, she takes the spot on the gates, what's next??? She becomes the shrinekeeper's bff, takes over Senbi's job, and ultimately harvests her skin to wear as a cloak?!?!?! Does she ever stop?"

I LOVE THE ANGST SO MUCH, NO JOKE. AM STILL HOPING FOR HAPPY THINGS SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE THOUGH. (But also: Madara seeing her with the shrinekeeper, and Izuna being "She's in love." I felt. So. Sorry. For Madara. Ugh. That man. My heart broke for him. When he got the kimono back. There are tears in my eyes...)

Glad I'm not the only one obsessed with this thing btw! I really enjoy screaming about spectacular stories with other people, so thanks for the message!! <3

[fluffomatic]

ah yes, a continuation

protagonist cant back out now, unfortunately. the done has been done.

(even worse, server controller, that pink glowly girl, happened to inform dip of protag's worst spot. will he find it out? who knows?)

OH OH OH! HE'S GONNA GET WRECKED! Tell meeee his worst spoooot!!

[hope-for-olicity]

Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - January 31st, 2020

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them. This and all previous Fabulous Olicity Fanfic posts can be found on my blog. Please reblog and share these awesome writers’ works!

Falling in the Midst of War multi-chapter WIP by @mindramblingsfics​ - At nine years old, Felicity witnesses the murder of her parents. After their death, she relocates to Russia under the care of Bravta Godfather, Anatoly Knyazev. Over the years, and quietly under the radar, she hones her skills and transforms herself into an accomplished and respected member of The Bratva with one goal in mind...revenge. Oliver Queen takes over the US branch of Bratva when his father decides to step down. His reputation of ruthless enforcer precede him as he makes a name for himself. Two strong personalities are thrown together when Oliver and Felicity wind up on the same path. https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120527/chapters/30016071

The Voyage to You multi-chapter WIP by @obibaldwin​ - Felicity Smoak didn’t want a complicated life. She enjoyed helping people as a nurse at Starling City General Hospital and spending time with her best friend Sara. When a John Doe arrives on the fifth floor of the hospital, she finds herself being dragged into a world of mysterious oaths and visions. The only thing she can hope is to stay strong enough to resist the man who has traveled to find her. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596788/chapters/38895977

Helplessly Wrecked multi-chapter WIP by @cruzrogue​ - A very smart, passionate, woman. Worked to get her dual masters from MIT, it may have taken longer being a mother of triplets but at least she has her mother’s support. Oliver Queen still has a yacht incident and was marooned for shorter time frame on a real deserted island. He never flunked out of his Ivy League schooling and is a very sought-after bachelor. His relationships never last more than half a year and is known to throw himself into his work. His motto ‘work hard play harder’. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194103/chapters/45628978

Bloodstained Leather multi-chapter WIP by @mindramblingsfics​ - Felicity finds Oliver shot and feels compelled to help him. In helping him, she ends up being involved with Bratva. As things intensify, Felicity knows that she should not only run the other way, she should stay away from Oliver...but she doesn't seem to be able to or want to. ~~~~~~~~ Felicity swallowed thickly as Oliver's eyes peered down at her. She took his hand in hers linking their fingers together. "Oliver, I found you bleeding outside of Big Belly Burger and ever since that moment, my life has not been the same. And I don't think it ever will be." https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296337/chapters/27952350

It's in the Air multi-chapter WIP by @emmilynestill​ - December 23, 2016. It’s Mayor Queen’s first holiday party and love is in the air. No, wait, that’s tension in the air. Bitterness. Regret. Painful longing for one’s former love. Awkward interactions with current significant others. A little humiliation mixed in. Yup, this was one great party. Then the gas came. Maybe love was in the air Afterall. Just my usual lock Oliver and Felicity in a room with a mind-altering substance with a dash of holiday magic thrown in. And, by magic, I mean Sex Pollen. And maybe a little Truth Serum to stir things up. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552481

We Ended as Lovers multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert​ - Three years ago, Felicity’s life was perfect. She was offered a job at two great companies. Her boyfriend just started his own fashion label, and they picked a perfect apartment to live in together. The more heartbroken she was when Oliver got cold feet and it all ended. Now, Felicity is coming back to Starling City, well aware that she is destined to run into her ex-boyfriend there. While old feelings revive quickly, the pain still goes deep. Besides, for some reason Oliver seems to be angry with her. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034827/chapters/52587292

That's The Way It Is multi-chapter WIP by @stephswims​ - Felicity Smoak was arranged to marry Oliver Queen and uphold the Queen values and image. She complies to protect her own family name, but it's not what she really wants. Just for once, she wants to be able to decide her own future. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288078/chapters/45874270

The Best Holiday multi-chapter WIP by @green-arrows-of-karamel​ for MEEEE - Felicity Smoak goes to Aspen for the holidays with her family but she's not thrilled about it. When she meets gold-medal winner Oliver Queen her opinion about the vacation changes drastically. She never expects that what she thought would be a lousy time becomes the best holiday of her life. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200871/chapters/53004364

Just Something About You (Olicity One Shots): Getting To The Church On Time by @spaztronautwriter​ - Breakfast, a lost cellphone, and a wedding bring Oliver and Felicity together meet-cute style. https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104462/chapters/53716399

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper// @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 // @laxit21 // - let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged! 

[oh-shit-a-baby]

Black Friday thoughts

(All the spoilers beware!!!)

with lala n ari (hi I’m @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces if yall dont know me)

These were our thoughts the first time watching my digital ticket through. It will be long. There will be spoilers.

ITS JOEY

ITS KURT MEGA

I can’t remember how to spell her name but she looks like an excited child and i just Acting (it’s Jaime yall dw)

i was on board until fifty quid was an only

Robert forgot the choreo and lala just went OH MY GOD WHAT A DARLING so

DAN AND DONNA?????

E M M A A N D P A U L

I wanted a salad, but, now I have a child

Emma my darling I’m so sorry about ur sister

DUMBLEDORE????!?!?

BY GRACE DO U MEAN GRACE CHASTITY?!?!?!?!?!?

LADIDADAH DAY OH MY GOD

Paul ur such a mess ily

Emma shows up had an hour late with Starbucks

i dont really like getting hit by cars any more

i dont get flashbacks i remember bad things vividly

Both of the above are moods but who hurt them

PLAID

@drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces saw plaid and immediately said ‘is he a lesbian? Wait no’

What do you mean I have to look after a child

ITS THE OKAYS

Tim’s a mood

and even if I did, HOW WOULD IT FIT INTO THE SEDAN?!

Paul’s buddy bill

Well I will be GODDAMMED if he doesn’t have a merry FUCKING Christmas!!!!

We stopped for like ten minutes to watch @dialovesyellow being an idiot but we love her so it’s fabulous

At the same time though were not going to be able to do this in one sitting bc we spent like 30mins chatting to dia and heeter

Dumbldore grew a beard?? No??

No comment

He’s a chaotic mess but we love him

(Heather started playing the mii song on the piano while he was singing which was fUn)

FLASH! BANG! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!??

But dumbledores voice is still stunning

How does he hit high notes whilst still not opening his mouth like at all

Jeez Corey that’s dark

Corey everything ur character says to lex is m e a n

MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEEEEY!! JUST FOR MEEE!!!!!!

why does anyone want this

no it isn’t cute

get away from it stop it

Lala: ROBEEEEEEEERRRRT

I want his jacket

WEAR ANOTHER GLOVE ETHAN

Fuck Ethan lost lexs sister

@drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces : Everyone’s wearing plaid they must be lesbians

Now we gotta talk to the imaginary spider from outer space

Not crazy but creative

A certified mess

Don’t u fuckin laugh

SEVEN FUCKING THOUSAND DOLLARS

CALIFUCKINGFORNIA

MY MOMS A BITCH

The new lil girl can’t dance but we love her

Califomia sounds like speed run from tto conspiracy theory

Nuff said

That’s not how cameras work babe

Legend

Jesus Robert and the girl who plays lex can s i n g

LINDA

Linda bribing people is a mood

Becky Barnes. Nuff said.

Linda’s buying four what the fuck

IN SO MANY WORDS YESS!

I HOPE YOU DONT GET A WIGGLY! I HOPE YOU FUCKING DIE!!

Well my children were accidents!

Becky is stunning but Linda’s also a bitch

Becky we love you

Becky my darling I’m so sorry

YEAH GERALD

Becky wants to fuck dumbledore

Jesus they’re both a mess

THE HOMELESS DUDE???!!??

OMG IT IS THE HOMELESS DUDE!!!!!!

They all just,,, got out of the line to dance around Becky and dumbledore

Oh my god it’s a train wreck!

(My favourite)

What do you say?!?!?!

Oh my god they’re a mess

Opening the doors!!!

DID YOU KNOW IF YOU SPEND MONEY, YOUR KIDS WILL LOVE YOU MAYBE??

Gotta love some capitalism

The cast is huge what is this witchcraft

COREY FINALLY GOT HIS OWN SONG ITS BEEN SO LONG

but his dancing there ?? stop it

GIVE US YOUR FUCKING MONEY! GIVE US YOUR FUCKING CASH!

Jaime up in here buying all of the fucking dolls

Linda u melodramatic bicth

ARE YOU HEARING THIS GARY!?!?!?

Linda’s like,,, ‘well shit guess I can’t buy four’

Gary really????

Shut the fuck up!

Fuck you! (Dramatically)

Kurt fucking up and stole a wiggly that’s a yike

Jesus this song is a bop

They spent approximately all of their budget on wiggly dolls and none on choreo

THATS where that comes from ooohhhhh

Joey only ever plays a douche with voice cracks especially in this show

Santa Claus is going to high school

Yikes what did he do to get banned from the mall

hes being a good father figure though

I get the feel he’s being slightly manipulative tho idk if that’s intentional

This is so sad lex play despacito

Yikes who’s beating Ethan up

GET IN THE KIDDIE TUNNEL

BECKY NO

TOM YES

Holy shit is Ethan dead

Jesus I’m going to cry Ethan no

NO!!!!! YOU CANT DO THAT!!!!!!!!

(Said in a Jeff voice) GET ME THAT FUCKIN DOLL IM JN A HURRY

I have pepper spray and I can use it more than you can ever imagine

(Said in a joey voice) I don’t know if u wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna fuck with meeee

And YOU are the most special person in it. I KNOW THAT!

Joey either plays characters with all the voice cracks or dramatic low voices

Did joeys Randi character kill Linda

YES I FUCKING SEE HIM

The Black Friday from hell

Shopper mania and a fuck ton of it

Yeah bob,,, are you serious

Jamie’s in love with the wiggly immediately

Kurts character gets it

Jaime can do background acting much good

President kurt is a yike

ITS GENERAL MACNAMARA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

FUCK YEAH WE CALL IT PEIP

Just me and a few of my peeps

ok so this is a Thing

As in crisis and mcnamara

The crowd went fucking wild when macnamara showed up and so did I

Jeffs falsetto song is a whole bop

BOP

And these eldritch forces are rising

Jeff just yeets the wiggly ookay

President kurt is having a meltdown

Is this spies are forever

INTERMISSION

bop

jeff doesnt look like a child

What does this have to do with anything

I mean the high school song is a bop but

Christopher cringle

Mr humbugger

Jingle! Jangle!

If anyone sees two elves in my locker I’ll get expelled for sure!

What the fuck

height difference in elves

Also what the fuck

Is Robert Santa now

OMG I’m calling it this is the film they were talking about

good choreo !!

Robert Lauren and the new guy who I thought was Corey for like the first 20 mins are all good dancers

This song is still a bop

What the fuck am I watching (Tom not me)

Omg I was right

Santa turns into a teenager so he can reconnect with the youth?????

okay What is this and can i punch it

their expressions whilst watching the shitty film is a mood

Beckys the only sane character

Becky and Tom are such white names

Plot twist Tom killed his wife

(lala that’s mean I’ll fight you)

WHITE NAMES AND QUARTERBACK AND CHEER CAPTAIN IM

why can i see tears in her eyes from this far away this is so sad alexa play haus of holbein

Holy fuck did she kill Stanley

Well yikes

You say you killed your family, I hope I killed mine

Well that’s that we got exactly halfway through imma post this now

[rrrawrf]

i had some shower thoughts and now it’s Mormon On Main time y’all

so! it was a long and convoluted thought process, don’t ask me how i got here, but i started thinking about how God like. “operates” in this world/with us/etc etc, and

so like. people like to ask “why does God let bad things happen” and people also like to say “well why do YOU let bad things happen” and people like to say “this is God’s plan for me” and “it was just a coincidence” and anyway i think everything is like. one huge mix of all of that.

(lots of mormon lore and scripture references and stuff under the cut that you might not get if you aren’t mormon but like i’m not saying you shouldn’t read it if you still want to, just that i’m not explaining references in this post but i’m totally up for answering questions)

so my car just broke down. what happened was, the brakes went out. now, this did not happen randomly, or out of the blue. i knew this was coming, i just didn’t know when.

this is not a “God let this terrible thing happen to meeee oh woooooeee”

this is not a “your God doesn’t care about you or else your car would have worked”

this probably isn’t even a “blessing in disguise”!!!

what this is, is *shrek voice* layers

so i have not been maintaining my car. it’s 19 years old and i haven’t been taking good care of it. i forget oil changes and i ignore the idiot lights and i definitely totally ignored the horrific grinding noises every time i drove to work for a month. so, naturally, my brakes gave out.

they gave out in the parking lot at work. literally just before i turned into the road.

they could have given out in the road. they could have given out on the freeway. i could have been in a wreck because of it. i could have died. instead, they gave out in the parking lot, so i could back up, stick it in a parking space, and get a ride home with my boss.

did God look down and decide to nuke my car that day? no. the brakes giving out were my own dang fault. bc i chose not to deal with them, i chose to run this car into the ground, i chose to kept driving it and ignore all the warning signs.

but i do, wholeheartedly, believe that God had a hand in the timing of when they gave out.

and like. i think that’s true for everything? and i also think that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints often like to take even this concept and think of it as wholly black and white.

okay i put the real name of the church in my post, from here on out i’m using mormons and mormonism, my apologies pres. nelson. luv u buddy. #sustained

but so in my lovely shower, where i have my most intelligent thoughts (honestly, the only place i have intelligent thoughts), i mixed this up with some thoughts i’ve been having for a while, about things like america being “the chosen land” and native american genocide and pioneers and history is written by the victors and and and.

no, i do not presently have scriptures to back me up. i’m a bad mormon. but if you’re mormon, and you’ve lived in america for at least one fourth of july, you can probably guess what scriptures in the book of mormon i mean.

i’ve noticed a lot of lack of nuance among members. and that’s not just a mormon thing, that’s an everyone thing, people like black and white thinking, and we have all been guilty of this, no matter how sophisticated or intelligent or woke you are. own up to it. but like, it can be a bit more of a problem when this is what we actually teach and discuss in church, and avoid nuances.

i feel like a lot of people think of the things that happened in the book of mormon as God-given prophecies? which, yes, is true in a lot of cases. but then they go on to say that things like friggin columbus finding america and the revolutionary war and all that, that all that was “prophesied,” and when i say “prophesied,” i mean “God made it happen.”

my point of view isn’t necessarily that God made it happen, but that They saw it happen, and told the prophets in the BOM about it, and said “this is what will happen to your descendants.”

i don’t necessarily think that God 100% punished the nephites by making them dwindle in disbelief and also get murdered in war. i think that, again, They saw it, They told prophets what was gonna happen, They knew it, They know everything, right? but like. i doubt that God had any pleasure in watching the “””evil””” people die in a war, regardless of who started it or why. but They can’t necessarily intervene all the time because agency (a whole nother argument there). and yeah They made that promise to enos (i’m pretty sure it was enos i told you i’m a bad mormon i don’t have the proper handle on my theology that i should) about enos’ ancestors, etc etc, and They made the promises to noah about the flood and everything, and to other people and cultures and even religions. and i believe They’ll keep the promises they made, but also like

if you don’t maintain your car, it’s gonna break, and that’s your fault? if you raise your children to bake a cake a certain way and it isn’t as delicious and they do it all their lives, that’s still (partially) your fault? if you are given a position of authority and continue to preach to a congregation a certain way and they follow that path, that’s still partially your fault!!! it’s your influence!!! it isn’t always 100% God’s!

and yeah They speak through people, and They act through people, and They keep my brakes from going out at 50 miles on the freeway before i rearend someone, but the brakes going out in the first place was my own fault.

so wow this is getting long. i’m not apologizing. if you read this far, i’ll bake you cookies (but you have to come to my house).

back to the point i wanted to make when i sat down. (american) mormons like to bring up the verses about AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL as if like. God magically laid down the yellow brick road for george washington to chase the british out on. i believe that yeah, God had a hand in the religious freedoms that allowed joseph smith to found the church here.

i don’t believe God had a hand in the genocide, wars, murder, and slavery that built this country.

full stop.

manifest destiny is echoed when we spout off those verses we assume are about columbus and the founding of america and all that. we’re really good about ignoring things like when our pioneer ancestors killed native americans to settle out here in the west. and again - yeah, we were guided by God to get out here to utah. but i don’t think God was there saying “oh also kill those other settlers” in the mountain meadows massacre (also i don’t think good ol’ brigham young said that, either. what a problematic fave he was, though). 

and idk i just. i feel like (american) latter-day saints (is that our preferred identity term now? i forget) sometimes just like want to believe that all our prophets and apostles and all our scriptural “heroes” are wholly infallible people who never made a mistake. i think we like to forget that history is written by the victors, and things like the war chapters in the BOM were definitely written by the victors. and i’m not here tryna say stuff like, #nephiwastheworst #lamanandlemuelforever, or whatever, but like. joseph smith screwed up and got the plates taken away. we know that. i don’t think nephi (any of em) was 100% without fault. captain moroni likely did some pretty awful stuff (or allowed others under his command to do awful stuff) during the wars, but no one is gonna wanna talk about that, and so they never did in the scriptures. (the thousand[plus sixty] stripling warriors never did anything wrong in their lives tho and this is the hill i will die on).

i think that we just need to put in some nuance to our studying. people screwed up. they were still heroes. they can still be our heroes. but i think that by using this black and white thinking and avoiding discussion of history, of cultural differences between now and then, of condoning nephi killing laban and then saying murder is wrong, and then saying we shouldn’t have gun control, of avoiding all that difficult thinking, we’re really doing a disservice to ourselves, and to the generations after us, and to the generations that came before us.

[caddy-whump-us]

1 13 17 24 and 25 for all of them

“All of them”…oh no, Anon. what are you doing to meeee? I’ll do my best here. If I don’t answer for someone, ping me, because I’m hitting the high notes here but some of the OCs will have to be left out.

1. Their smile

Etienne: He can do that damn looks-at-you, looks-away smile. Sometimes smiles with his mouth just a little open, sometimes smiles without showing his teeth (one extreme other the other, usually). He’ll do that straight-mouth closed-mouth half-smile sometimes too. Charming but reserved.

Nikolai: Nikolai’s smile starts in his eyes and then spreads down to his mouth. It’s like sun coming through clouds. Boyish, charming, bright. Sometimes he’ll grin with his eyes squinted shut and his nose crinkled up. He also has a wicked half-smile with a sidelong look when he’s being sneaky~

Jonathan/Avery: Steady and warm. His smile might start off reserved but it warms up after a moment. Tends to breathe a little laugh as his smile breaks open. He’s accustomed to having to maintain a certain amount of dignity or bearing, so he has a “formal smile” (closed mouth, not too expressive) that will slide into something brighter if he’s really happy.

Julian/Nick: Shyer, smiles while looking down, eyes closed or lowered, fairly small smiles, usually only shows his top teeth (but with his head down it’s hard to see). Will sometimes do that obnoxiously cute thing where he flicks his eyes up while still smiling.

Lucien: Cold and wicked, a little provocative. He’s not as inclined to smile as some of the other OCs here. Often when he does smile, it’s an act to get what he wants: pouty smiles, suggestive smiles. He’s got some major, major psychological damage and is not inclined to smile out of happiness. He may smirk from spite or malice, he might grin a little at someone else’s suffering, he’ll smile sweetly if he thinks it’s expected of him or will get him what he wants, but he’s just not…smiley in general.

Gravesby/Riddle: Gravesby was much more expressive than Riddle: open-mouthed grins, laughing with his mouth open and eyes squinted shut, big smiles with top and some bottom teeth. I mean, he was kind of a funny dude. Riddle is more shy. Much like Julian & Nick, he looks down when he smiles. His owner likes Riddle to keep his mouth soft and softly open, so when he smiles it’s a bit like the tiny smiles makeup gurus on social media use: the faintest pulling up at the corners of his mouth, a cute head tilt, but not much more. Very small and rare smiles. 8204 generally did not smile at all.

The vampires have pointy teeth when they smile. QED.

13. Their embarrassing memory from years ago

I think Julian/Nick/Gravesby has done stuff like calling teachers “mom” a few times. Most of his cringey stories are cringey to him more than anyone else: saying the wrong thing, getting laughed at. He’s shy and he’s got some anxiety in him, so what embarrasses him may seem minor to other people.

Avery was totally fascinated with this well-known researcher who was working on campus. It was sort of Known that you would see this researcher around, but you really shouldn’t try to talk to him. He would do special lectures and presentations–go to those. But Avery was still sort of star-struck and would kind of stare (from a distance) if said researcher was walking around campus. Anyway, one day, Avery’s in a coffee shop in town, getting hot chocolate because he was trying to cut down on caffeine. There was a line forming behind him, so he didn’t get the lid on just right, and he turned around to leave and the person behind him got up to the counter faster than Avery could get out of the way, and he spilled his hot chocolate all over…this famous researcher. Naturally Avery apologized, helped clean up, paid for his coffee, &c. But, wow, he was totally embarrassed. It’ll be funny someday, but it’s killing him for now.

(Modern) Lucien got “white-girl wasted” at a party once, long before he could legally drink, and then was told what he did the next morning, which was Not Fun At All. He made a complete fool of himself, did a stripper routine on a table, was incredibly obnoxious, and probably texted an ex (among other things). 

(Vampires) Lucien would deny that he’s ever done anything embarrassing ever. But the truth is that when he’s been scolded by Viktor, he’s felt extremely ashamed of himself. And it was especially bad after he’d been in the house for a while and thought he knew what he was doing and, surprise, he made a mistake–brought the wrong book, didn’t know where something was, &c–and was scolded for it. That brings him lower than low and he’s just so ashamed of himself.

Nikolai, I think, has at times tried to be funny, but his sense of humor is a little different from a lot of people’s. He has, on several occasions, said things that are funny to him but not at all to others (that is, what he said is rude is shocking). Sometimes he likes to be brash and shocking, but he also wants (so much) to be accepted that seeing how badly something he said has gone over leaves him unbelievably embarrassed.

Jonathan said a Very Bad Word when he was a child–he couldn’t get his shoe on or couldn’t get a button to go through or something–and his mother heard him say it and I suspect she had an outsized, dramatic reaction to it (shock and tears, not anger). Jonathan’s father thinks the story is hilarious and will bring it up from time to time, sometimes with Jonathan present, and that’s pretty awkward…

Etienne will make assumptions about others sometimes, which can come back to bite him. Like talking about someone behind their back and then, whoops, turns out that they’re a well-known editor of a literary magazine or something. He also likes to think he’s the smartest (or at least the most clever) person in the room, so when his cleverness is called into question or someone corrects something he’s said, that just kills him inside.

17. Their ambitions

Etienne is all about that literary and artistic recognition. He likes to imagine what the reviewers will say about his latest novel and so on. It’s not fame he wants but acknowledgement.

Lucien, at this point, would kill someone (many someones) if that’s what it took to become Viktor’s black swan (though there are some complications to that). He wants that in-between role, and he wants to be patiently waiting for his chance at being a vampire (he’s got some deep, deep motivations for this).

Nikolai honestly wants that kind of cute cottage life that you see on Tumblr a lot. A few goats, an herb garden, a cottage, no worries, no requirements, no obligations. And Jonathan has to be there too, of course. Just a quiet kind of life out in the woods without all these social expectations and stuff. He agreed to go to the university because 1. it was expected of him and 2. it’ll get him out from under his aunt and uncle. But he really wants to get back to the woods and fields.

Jonathan, being an only child, hopes to take on the responsibilities that his parents will leave him and to do well by them. Since the setting is sort of 19th century England, there are renters and cottagers working land that his parents own, and Jonathan wants to do right by them. It’s simultaneously an expectation and an ambition. Also, he just wants to be with Nikolai, however that has to be made to happen–he’ll make it happen, they’ll make it happen.

Julian (et al.) isn’t terribly ambitious. He’d like to be content, have enough money to not worry, get to do things he enjoys, have room in whatever profession he chooses to keep up with his curiosity (the boy may end up a research librarian, to be honest). He’s got those breakfast-on-a-Saturday-with-Avery-in-their-apartment-with-big-windows ambitions. He’s just not terribly ambitious by nature, really. Things some people would identify as ambitions he sometimes thinks of as responsibilities or general expectations (good grades, good job, &c).

Avery is also not terribly ambitious. But he’d like to do some good in the course of his life. I can’t remember right off what I said he was studying, but he’d like to use what he knows to do some good for other people. I think he wanted to be a doctor at one point, but realized he probably couldn’t deliver bad news to patients and families, so he may slide on over to public health or something related.

Gravesby was still sorting out his ambitions when he was kidnapped. He was a college student, after all. He was torn between majoring in History or English and was still thinking about what the fuck he wanted to do after graduation. So his immediate ambitions were good grades and the like. Ha ha, that got wrecked.  And now Riddle has no ambitions. He’s an object, a possession.

24. What motivates them

What motivates them sort of depends on where they are in their story, you know? But I can get at a few core patterns for some of them:

Etienne wants freedom–whether physical or intellectual or creative. 

Nikolai likewise wants freedom, but it’s more of a personal freedom, a kind of freedom of self-expression (he’s been repressed for a lot of his life)

(Vampires) Lucien wants power and control–two things he hasn’t had much of in his life

Julian (et al.) is really curious–about everything, pretty much. So he’ll run into figuring things out, exploring ideas. He can be a little standoffish about trying things sometimes, but he’s curious about things all the same.

Avery (and Jonathan) is generally motivated by his relationships to others. He’s not really “the mom friend” but he is sort of the “loyal guard-dog friend." 

Riddle is only motivated by his master’s wants and desires. Gravesby isn’t there anymore, so whatever motivations he had are long gone. That’s all there is to that.

25. Why you enjoy them

I enjoy them because all of my OCs (even the bad guys and villains) are coping mechanisms. 

I got into this a lot deeper at first and it was too much. Suffice to say I’ve got some damage™ and these OCs are ways for me to cope or endure or escape.