#but also all the adult men gimme i so want! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makoodles · 1 year ago

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

part one | part two

🍓 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.”

#ahem... hello 🥺👉👈#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod mw2 smut #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley smut

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wires-and-hellfires · 8 months ago

Text

Alastor & child! reader headcanons: First Meeting

Pairing: Alastor & child! reader

Description: Alastor finds a young child wandering around hell and wonders why they were sent here - he quickly finds out.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, straight-up murder, manipulation, Alastor as a warning in itself

Author note: First time writing for Hazbin Hotel! Might expand on this, gimme your thought, also this was written at 3am so be gentle with me please-

Your life before hell wasn't... ideal

Always taught to be quiet, to stay out of the way, to stick to the shadows, to be a good child

Trained how to make the adults around you happy, when to say sorry even if you did no wrong, when to cower, when to run

So when you finally snapped and exterminated the vermin that was your parents and every one of their disgusting "coworkers"-

Well, you weren't apologizing for that one, even if your actions led to your own death at the young age of 8

It was almost fitting that upon your arrival to hell, you quickly realized that the shadows bent to your will and people around you seemed inclined to do what you wanted if you just... asked nicely enough

The skills of manipulation and a quick escape never grew out of style, apparently

Upon learning of the exterminations that take place in hell, the irony of being sent there over some pest control of your own did not escape you

After the newest extermination was a good time for you!

You danced in and out of the long shadows on the walls cast by the VoxTech tv's and pickpocketed what you could from his dazed victims

Suddenly stumbling over a curb, you knocked into one of the sinners gathered outside of the store, gaining a snarl from him as he grabbed your arm

With a quick whisper of "Please let me go, you never saw me" his grip slackened and released, eyes dull as he turned back to the screen

You didn't see the famed "radio demon" across the road exiting the tailor, but he saw you

A young sinner taking advantage of the vulnerable? Why it warmed his heart

And when you disappeared into the shadows? Well wasn't that curious...

After his broadcast, he himself slipped into the darkness, letting them guide him to your location

After all, he could recognize what shadows felt like when they were manipulated.

And what a show he walked into!

One man sat slumped against the alley wall, neck bent forward at an unnatural angle

Another lay on the ground, seemingly still alive (for now-), blood pooling out of the gaping hole in his stomach

The last of the group was on all fours, gasping out apologies through bloody lips to a small figure standing over him

The child leaned forward and grinned at the sinner in front of them

"Why don't you try begging a bit more and maybe I'll forgive you? Go on, say sorry again."

Alastor felt his smile slip into something a bit more maniacally pleased

Why, weren't you such a delightful surprise?

The demon before you managed to plead for a total of 15 seconds before you let out a disappointed sigh and a shadow surged forward, severing his head from the rest of his body

"Well, well, well! What a performance! Encore, encore!"

Wide eyes snapped to his as he strolled forward, and though you may not recognize his face after his little... absence, his broadcast earlier was heard clearly all around hell

Even in dark alleys where children lured bad men to their deaths

Before a word slipped from your lips, Alastor held out his palm in a silencing gesture

"Now, now, no need to be afraid, little one! I was just seeking some entertainment for the night! And what a show it was, truly! Bravo!"

And, well, when was the last time someone told you did a good job?

Maybe that's why you didn't even try to talk your way out of the situation.

Or perhaps it was the pounding of your heart, the rhythm of a predator sizing up another creature and weighing their chances against them

Frankly, you weren't confident there was a way out of this situation other than doing whatever it was the radio demon wanted

"Oh my, where are my manners? Alastor, dear, the name is Alastor! You may recognize me from my radio show?"

Despite the blood coating you, he held out his hand to shake

Hesitantly, you grasp it with your own, giving the demon your name

"Lovely, just lovely! Say, what do you think of allowing me the absolute pleasure of a late-night stroll through cannibal town? We could discuss your future aspirations and perhaps even come to a... deal of sorts!"

At the expression on your face, Alastor out a bark of staticky laughter

"Oh no, no, not for your soul, child! Though I would just love ownership of such a thing, I understand that you may feel a tad hesitant! Let me explain and then decide, hmm?"

You stare at him and his unyielding grin

You learnt all the truths your parents shoved down your throat before until you sent them down to hell

Perhaps now you could learn even more valuable lessons from Alastor

You nod at the overlord before you and his grin somehow stretches further

"Fabulous! Come along now!"

Following the radio demon out of the blood-stained alleyway, the shadows thrash against the walls in approval as you feel a smile of your own begin to form

#alastor & reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #child reader

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abstractpenny · 8 days ago

Text

here's a very unedited rough draft first chapter of a fic I'm working on

Its Kai centric, post-season 3

Strong TWs for: Rape, Suicidal thoughts/attempt, Depression, Alcoholism, and just General Adult Themes

(hopefully capitalizing it so weirdly will help you notice it)

(also, if you find anything awkward or hard to read, lemme know please please please please please please)

sorry its so cringy for like a good amount of it. I feel like putting OCs in fic is just like that. but the ocs are there to propel kai's suffering so its fine right? right?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Zane died, Kai tried his best to be there for his family. For his sister. He did, he really did. But when Jay and Cole wouldn't stop bickering, and Nya wouldn't stop yelling, and Lloyd wouldn't stop crying, Kai couldn't do it anymore. Wu definitely wasn't helping either, nor was Garmadon. They just. Locked themselves away.

So Kai got fed up. After a particularly nasty fight with Nya, he packed his bags and left. Left where? He'd find out later, when his feet carried him through Ninjago City as he tried to find an outlet for his emotions. Anything.

When night came, he found himself wandering down an alleyway. At the end of it, he heard people talking and smelled cigarette smoke. Kai kept his guard up as he approached two men, people he would definitely beat up and haul off in cuffs if he were currently a ninja. They turned to glare at him, and he glared back.

"You guys know where a guy could get a few punches in on someone?" He asks through gritted teeth. He really didn't want to beat someone up because he had absolutely zero anger management skills, but here he was.

One of the men laughed, a raspy and mean laugh. "Why ya askin', kid? Those silly lookin' pajama men finally dump you in the guttah?" His face was cruel, even in the darkness.

"Or did ya finally realize how fucked up they was?" The other one piped up. "Throwin' poor guys like usses around while they enjoyed they's glory?"

The first guy got back up in Kai's face, second hand cigarette smoke poofing into the poor boys face as he coughed. "Yur not here on a spy mission, is ya? Cuz we won't tolerates that. Not one bit," he sneered.

Kai rapidly shakes his head. "Nah, man. I swear. Just here to blow off some steam, no ninja shit involved. If they knew I was here, they'd beat my ass and I honestly don't wanna deal with that."

He stood awkwardly as the two men considered him before the first guy relaxed and laid an arm around Kai's shoulders. The fire elemental tried to keep his flinch to a minimum. "Ya not too different from us, y'know? Come on in, boy. Yuh free to do whatevah. 'cept rat us out, 'f course. We'll have eyes on you constantly, don't fuck it up." As he spoke, he walked with Kai to a set of stairs, leading down to a padlocked door with a tough looking man beside it. The second guy followed them as they walked down the stairs. When they got to the door, the man with his sweaty arm around Kai smiled a toothy grin at the bouncer. "He's all good tuh come in, Derry, he's with us."

The bouncer looked Kai up and down for a moment, suitcase and all, before opening the door and moving to let the trio into the loud building. As soon as the door opens, the stench of sweat, cigarettes, blood, and something else hits Kai's nose. It wasn't soon before that something else became very familiar.

The first man led him in and over to the bar. "Ey, Ritchy, gimme a couple shots. Don't care what, just make it light. Kid here ain't have anything much before."

Kai glares over at the man in the seat to the right of his. "How would you know? You don't know if I've drank before." He hasn't, but the guy doesn't need to know that.

He's met with a look, one unamused, from the other man. "It's pretty fuckin' clear, kid. 'sides, it's a compliment I'm yur first." He chuckles raspily. "It's a treat, I promise ya."

Kai continues glaring at the guy before four shot glasses full of a clear-ish liquid are laid out in front of his group. He looks over to his left to find the second guy from earlier is gone, shrugging at the realization. Less stupidity to deal with on his part.

Kai's hand picks up the shot glass as he brings it up to his nose. The scent is strong and his nose scrunches up. "I'm seriously supposed to drink this shit!?" He says a bit too loud.

The guy next to him cackles. "Why'dya think they come in such small glasses. Easy downing. Alls in one go, like this-" He brings the glass up to his mouth and tilts his head back quickly, pouring the alcohol down his throat. When it's all down, he slams the glass on the bar top as he swings his head back down. "Now you try, kid."

Kai hesitantly looks down at the glasses in front of him. No going back now. He lifts the glass and, before he can smell it, slams it back. The vile liquid fills his throat and he almost gags. But it's down as soon as it started and he slams the shot glass back down on the table as he looks back forward and gasps. "Fuck, that's nasty." He sticks his tongue out before immediately putting it back in his mouth at the idea of all the shit that could be in the air.

The man laughs at him. "Yeah, yeah, you'll learn tuh love it. Now, don't waste my money. Ya still have two more." He gestures towards the last to full shot glasses on the table.

Kai gapes at him. "Aren't you gonna have another one?" He groans as the man shakes his head. "Fuck, fine. At least tell me your name, first. I feel awkward taking shots next to a dude I don't even know."

The guy flashes him that stupid fucking toothy grin. "Nevah ask anyone's name here, kid. But since I like ya, I'll give you one of mine. Rippah."

Kai raises an eyebrow at the cringey name. "Ripper??"

The guy- Ripper- laughs loudly. "No shit kid, that's what I just said." He pushes the two glasses closer to the fire elemental. "Drink up, kid. Didn't buy ya them for no reason."

The alcohol shimmers in the lights of the building. Kai scowls down at the glasses before taking one in his hand and downing it before he can overthink it. His throat burns, but he finds he doesn't mind as much as last time. When he's done, he looks back towards the other man. All Ripper does is look at him expectantly, so Kai grabs the final shot glass and gags before downing it.

When he's done, he feels like vomiting. What the fuck is he doing here, he shouldn't be here. He doesn't know what's in these. He doesn't know how strong they are. He's messed up, he should go.

Go where? It's not like there's a home to go back to.

So, instead, he just looks back over at Ripper, a slight frown on his face. "Is that all you brought me here for? To spoon me alcohol? Because that's kinda fucked up, man. You do know I'm still, like, literally a kid." His fists are clenched on the table and his frown has gotten stronger.

Ripper just shrugs nonchalantly. "No need tuh get ya panties in a bunch, kid. I know how old ya are. 'sides, that's not the only reason I brought ya here. Ya obviously need a place tuh stay and ya said ya needed tuh get some punches in, so heres ya go." He gestures towards a big circle in the middle of the building, surrounded by chairs and people. The floor of the circle is dirt, and there's currently two people in the ring, fighting. One of them hits the other over the head, definitely giving him a concussion, and the crowd cheers.

Kai looks back towards Ripper with an intrigued expression on his face. "What do I need to do to get in?"

The Ripper smiles.

----------

Kai walks into the ring in this stupid fucking embarrassing tight outfit as the announcer shouts his name.

'Vs. The Red Shogun, a first timer. Let's see how long he lasts!" The excited voice yells with a bit of sadism in his tone. When he finishes, a horn goes off, signaling the start of the match.

The guy Kai is fighting is a scarred up Hypnobrai who scowls and hisses at him as they circle each other. Finally, the snake goes in for the first punch and Kai moves out of the way, dodging like second nature. That seems to piss off the snake as she attempts to land a few more punches. Emphasis on the word 'attempts' because she lands a grand total of zero.

Kai laughs cockily at her, grinning widely. "Are you supposed to be, like, hard to fight or something? I thought they were gonna pair me up against someone actually threatening for my first go ‘round." He shrugs as he lands a sneaky kick on her hip. "Guess not."

She hisses even louder and lunges towards Kai. There's a struggle for a few moments as they wrestle, the snake trying to get in as many punches as possible, but Kai ends on top, pinning her down. He's finally given the freedom he needs to let off some steam.

It starts off with a simple punch across the cheek, but it quickly escalates to the point where he's absolutely beating the shit out of the Hypnobrai. She's hissing and growling, but it's doing her no good. There's blood pooling by the side of her head and she's definitely lost a fang, but Kai keeps punching until the horn rings out.

"And the winner is the Red Shogun, by a wild margin! There you have it folks. Maybe we have a new threat to watch out for!"

Kai punches the Hypnobrai across the face one more time, letting her blood soak his hands as he probably dislocates her jaw with a snap, before he stands up and walks away, leaving whoever to take care of her broken and trembling body.

He's shocked at how little regret he feels. Maybe it's because of the growing warmth in his chest from the alcohol, but a little part in his mind knows it's not. He's a bad person, beating up people. At least they aren't innocents, though. They're as bad as him, if not worse. Does that justify it? He doubts he'll ever know, but he needs this right now, so he doesn't care.

Kai walks back over to the bar and sits next to a grinning Ripper. The bartender offers him a towel to wipe the blood from his hands and drink, larger than the shots and definitely more potent smelling.

"Good job, kid. Knew ya had it in ya," the Ripper says in his snake-like voice.

Kai snorts as he picks up the drink, taking as big a gulp as possible. It's easier, now that the alcohol from earlier is setting in, but he still gags. It's nice knowing it'll add to the foggy feeling he's experiencing the world through, so he swallows most of the nasty drink before speaking. "I thought you said they'd throw one of the highest ranked opponents at me immediately." He gulps down the rest of the drink and savors the burn as it goes down his throat.

Ripper laughs loudly. "Kid, they did. That was one of tha top guys. Ya powerful, ya know. And you was holdin' back, we could all tell." He gestures the bartender to get two more drinks.

Kai smirks, a facial expression he's done a thousand times, but now it just feels wrong. Dirty. "Cool." The drinks are placed on the counter. "Uh, am I fighting anymore tonight? I'd like to head back up to that apartment soon. Didn't really get a good chance to figure my way around, y'know? Besides, I need a shit ton of sleep after the day I've had."

Ripper pushes one of the drinks towards Kai, who graciously accepts it and starts drinking it. "Nah. Ya can head up whenevah, kid." He raises an eyebrow as Kai sips his drink, letting the alcohol sit in his mouth before he swallows. Ripper grins wider at that. "Y'know, kid. Yur a natural at this shit. Have a feelin' you'll be chugging it down in no time."

He's met with a glare from the fire elemental. "Yeah, yeah, no need to make fun of me."

"Kid, I'm not makin' fun of ya. Yur downing that 'lmost as well as ya fight. Almost," Ripper laughs.

Kai considers him for a moment, before shrugging and downing the rest of his drink. "I'mma go back. Thanks for hooking me up. I owe ya big time." He stands up, heading out of the room.

Before he's all the way out, he hears Ripper's voice call out, "Say hi to my buddy for me!" And then the cold air of outside is hitting Kai's, shockingly, flushed face. Maybe that alcohol hit him harder than he thought.

He walks down the alley, stumbling every few steps. Okay, definitely hit him harder than he thought. But soon, he's in the apartment building, up the stairs, and knocking on apartment 212. The door cracks open and an eye looks out to Kai. After a few undoings of locks, the door is open enough for Kai to walk in.

"How'd the suit work, kid?" His new roommate asks.

Kai shrugs and starts stumbling down the hall. "'s good." He yawns. "Fuck, I need sleep."

His roommate laughs, a mean undertone to it. "Get some sleep, sunshine. We'll talk in the morning." And before Kai knows it, he's in his room, the door shutting behind him.

The first thing he does is flop on his bed. The next thing he does is wait for the emotions to hit. But they don't. At least, not as much. The alcohol suppresses them, makes his head drown them out along with every other thought.

Kai might not mind this as much as he thinks.

----------

The first time Kai gets blackout drunk is the first time the Ripper pats him on the back.

It had been a rough day and Kai was just ready for the club to open. When he gets in there, the familiar and comforting stench of cigarettes, alcohol, and blood hits his nose and he smiles. He's in his Red Shogun suit, he always is. It does a shockingly good job at keeping people from knowing his identity. He walks over to the bar and sits in his usual seat, eager for the release the drinks usually give him. He knows it's unhealthy and that he's maybe possibly probably getting a tiny bit addicted, but he can't really care at this point.

He pays for the drinks with the money he's been winning. When the shots get to him, he downs them. They're more bitter, more potent, than the ones on that first night. He feels them setting in quickly. When his name is called for the next fight, he's ready. He stands up and walks over to the ring.

It's a human today. Not that Kai really cares. At least, he doesn't care yet. They circle around each other in the ring when the horn goes off.

The fight goes longer than it should, but the Red Shogun never disappoints. When he gets the chance, he leaps in, slamming his opponent on the ground.

He expects the other man to struggle, especially after his head bounces on the tough dirt below, but... He doesn't. He lays there, unconscious. Kai hesitates for a moment before he hits the man. He's not just here to win, after all. He's here to blow off steam. Hit after hit on the unconscious man, reminiscent of his first day here with the Hypnobrai girl. But, this time, he's more aggressive, pounding in the man's skull, almost literally.

The audience gasps and groans for the man, cheering on every particularly nasty hit. Finally, Kai's hand hits the man hard enough across the temple that something happens he wishes he never saw. An eyeball pops out of its socket and rolls, the stringy bits of it following.

In shock, Kai stares down at the man. It's then he realizes the bloody mash on the floor isn't breathing. He feels like vomiting, so when the horn goes off, he leaves the ring rapidly. Now, a smart idea may have been to walk outside and get fresh air, or to go to the bathroom. But Kai doesn't. Instead, he walks over to the bar, getting a familiar towel handed to him as the bartender, Ritchy, looks him over before handing him a few shots of potent alcohol.

While Kai wipes off his knuckles, he looks down at the glass. He can almost smell it from here. It's clearly one of the more potent alcohols they have. Once Kai's knuckles are cleaned off, at least to the best of his ability, he grabs the glass and downs it all at once, his throat burning with the awful liquid. He gasps for air when he swallows, the drink much stronger than what he's used to.

Ripper comes and sits next to Kai, a proud smile on his face. He pats Kai's shoulder, firm and strong. "Ya did good, kid," is all he says before ordering a few more shots for each of them. "Strongest ya got, Ritchy. On me. Kid deserves it." The shots are quickly served and Ripper downs one of them immediately. Kai looks down at the drinks as Ripper nudges one towards him. "Drink up, kid."

Kai's hand wraps around the small glass as he downs the shot. Then another. Then another. He's quick, just getting it over with. This part is the worst, it's the later he's excited for. When all his feelings get so fucked up and mixed together with the alcohol, he can't think straight anymore.

And that feeling is quick to come, much quicker than with anything else he's drank before. And as the world starts spinning, only a half hour after those first shots, Kai doesn't stop. He keeps drinking, paying the bartender whatever he asks for the drinks. It's late into the night when Ritchy cuts him off. Ripper has already left, and it's just Kai, drinking his last beer in the rowdy fight club. Nothing's really making sense, the room is spinning. But Kai keeps drinking.

When he finds the bottom of his cup, he groans. Maybe it's time to head home. So he stands up and immediately stumbles, almost meeting the ground with his face. He growls and walks drunkenly to the door, leaving the chaotic environment. He finds his way into his apartment building and heads up the stairs, eventually finding the apartment he's been staying in for the past few weeks.

He knocks, the door unlocks, and there stands his roommate. "Ah, welcome home, boy. Good to see you made it back in one piece." He takes in Kai's ragged appearance and frowns dramatically. "You've had quite the night, haven't you. Come on in, I'll take good care of you."

Kai walks into the apartment. He doesn't remember much after that. He knows Ripper was there. He knows he was handed water. He has glimpses of hands roaming his body. But he can't seem to remember the rest of the night.

The morning comes and Kai groans, rolling over. He's shirtless, which isn't too odd, but his pants and boxers are gone. Peculiar. He never sleeps without boxers. He sits up with another groan and a wave of nausea overtakes him. "Holy shit, what happened?" The night is a blur to him. He doesn't remember much past when Ripper bought him those drinks after the fight.

God, that dreaded fight. Kai wishes he forgot that part too. Another wave of nausea hit him, but not from the hangover. The imagery of the man's eyeball rolling on the dirt floor is clear in Kai's muddled mind.

Instead of thinking about it too much, though, Kai ignores it. That's one thing he's gotten good at since Zane's death. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Bottle up your emotions until you can take them out with anger.

Until you can take them out on a guy in a fight club. Until you can kill a man.

Kai shakes his head lightly. No. No thinking about that. He looks around the room and finds a fresh bottle of water. He picks it up and drinks it. It's still a little cold. His roommate must have left it for him before leaving for work.

After taking a while to wake up, sipping on water, and eventually vomiting into the trashcan by his bed, Kai stands up, wobbling as he walks over to get dressed. It's strange that he's naked, but he doesn't put it past himself to strip to his ass while fucked up drunk.

He's quick to throw clothes on and leave his room. The headache is killing him and he feels like throwing up again, but he manages to throw some toast in the toaster. As he nibbles on it, he looks out of the window, to the town below. People are going about their day, families walking happily. None of them know Kai took a life las-

Not thinking about that. With a sigh, Kai finishes off his toast and grabs a beer from the fridge, heading over to the living room and turning on the TV. Not much else to do until the club opens tonight.

----------

Hands grope his body, and Kai's upset this isn't as unfamiliar as it should be. Ripper whispers something in his ear, but Kai can't hear him. He's in another world.

He knows he's not in his right mind, the alcohol overtaking his thoughts, but he doesn't stop them. Maybe he wants this?

It's been a month and half since he first killed a man. He's killed more since. And since that first night, his roommate and Ripper have started touching Kai more and more. It's become almost familiar, part of routine, for Kai to come home and for the two men to immediately jump him.

After he realizes this is going to be a common occurrence, he starts staying at the club later, drinking his sorrows away. Sometimes he'll cry, sometimes he'll fight. But it's always the same when he comes home.

He's pinned to the bed and his roommate takes off his clothes. "Now, boy, you're gonna do something nice for Ripper here. Get on your knees and suck him nice and good."

Kai doesn't want to, but his body moves against his will. He knows how rough they get when he disobeys.

The sex goes on for way longer than Kai even knows. The two men use him, taking turns at some points, sharing at others.

The night ends with Kai riding Ripper. His tongue flops out of his mouth, covered with drool, as he bounces up and down. His roommate makes sure to take a picture of his pretty expression.

When they're finished with him, they leave him laying on the bed, trembling and covered in various fluids.

-----------

Kai misses his family.

He misses his sister’s snark, Wu’s weird and mysterious riddles, his brother's laugh, Cole’s smile. Hell, he even misses Jay and his motormouth.

Most of all, though, he misses Zane.

The last First Master knows how long had made the cavern in his gut grow by ten times the size. Now, staring at the shattered skyline of Ninjago City as it’s rebuilt into New Ninjago City, Kai feels nothing but pain. The alcohol in his blood makes him sway on the side of the building, almost falling, but not quite, only just enough distance between him and the edge to keep him from plummeting.

It’s funny. Kai always imagined that people would do something like this when the sun was setting or rising or even completely out of the sky. He never expected to be in this position, not really, but he especially didn’t expect to be here on such a nice day. It’s one of those days where the wind blows just right, where the temperature is just warm enough, where the sun shines just right. One of those days that remind you of when you’re five years old and free.

Fuck, Kai wishes he could go back. Mom and Dad were still there, still alive. They cared- or at least seemed like they still did. Nya was so giggly, so unserious. She let herself play with pretty pink things sometimes. She didn’t anymore.

A gust of wind blows through Kai’s unmanaged hair. He stopped putting it up a while ago, he doesn’t know exactly when.

The fresh air on his face brings him a breath of clarity. Of peace.

Kai stumbles closer to the edge.

This was his only option, wasn’t it? To fall and fall until the ground caught him and he stopped breathing. If he didn’t, he’d just go back. The club would open and he’d go back and drink and fight and then he’d come home and Ripper would be there and then he’d sleep and rinse and repeat.

His toes are on the edge now. It’s funny. Kai remembers when Mom used to pretend to eat his toes. Oh, how he’d giggle and squeal. The goofy fake eating noise she made when she’d bring his little baby toes up to her face. Fuck.

Oh, his toes are hanging off the edge now, aren’t they. And he’s swaying, isn’t he.

He feels himself going off balance, falling, when rough hands grab his wrist and pull him back. Kai looks back to see Ritchy’s scared eyes looking at him. Why’s the bartender here?

Y’know, the bartender always reminded Kai of Cole. A big buff black dude, quiet but still caring. In Kai’s experience the bartender was sweet on the inside despite his intense job at the violent bar. The fire elemental is pretty sure Ritchy said something about the job paying well, about needing to pay for his daughter's cancer or something, but that definitely could’ve been some alcohol induced dream.

The man’s dark eyes stare into Kai’s and, for just a few brief moments, they’re nothing but two humans, connected beyond words.

Then Ritchy’s letting go of Kai, who found safety near the middle of the roof, and he’s leaving. The air feels warmer now, more safe. Kai stands in it and just breathes.

He’s alive, and that’s more than enough for now.

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rheaitis · 2 years ago

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also, apropos of nothing, my nonexistent kingdom for stories where Draupadi is into all of her husbands and they’re all extremely into her. please please please.

And yes, I do mean all of them. What is the point of Shiva giving Nalayini five men to fulfill her ache for the perfect husband if they’re not all appealing to different aspects of her? Like, fine, if you want her and Arjuna to be MFEO, that can be the Love At First Sight part of her life. But he’s... gone for twelve years, and then gone again for months. Arjuna might be the Love of Her Life, but his brothers are the ones with whom she’s setting up a household for years and years. Please please don’t exclude them from her romantic and sexual life. What an awful fate for Panchali, to live with men she doesn’t want for a full 80% of her marital life and adult existence.

Just. no. nope. boring. pass.

Instead

Draupadi and Yudhishtira seamlessly transitioning from debates to making out back to debates;

Bheema lavishing all the care of his too-tender heart on his Princess, his rib-crushing hands so careful on her body;

Arjuna and Krishnaa travelling to Dwaraka without an entourage, falling back in love after his long absence;

Nakula teaching Yajnaseni to be comfortable on a horse, stroking her ankles as he helps her mount and dismount;

Sahadeva holding Panchali as she comes apart in his arms, because he knows what it is, to be the younger twin, to be the youngest sibling, to feel burdened by love

Hell, gimme Draupadi/Subhadra while you’re at it, two of Krishna’s favourite girls using their mutual adoration of him to find their way into loving each other.

Just, fill her days and nights and skies with love.

#mahabharata #draupadi #polyamory #polyandry

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starryevermore · 4 years ago

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innocence & experience ✧ ransom drysdale

masterlist | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: hey yeah you should write this😩 (“if anyone reads that and wants it.. slide into my asks and say ‘bitch gimme tatted mob boss ransom ya hoe” - in response to this ask) - @rebelemilu

pairing: tatted mob boss dark!ransom drysdale x fem!reader

summary: you’re the perfect little doll that ransom can’t wait to play with.

word count: 7,638

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, this is a dark fic so read all of the warnings before you choose to read this, you are responsible for your own media consumption, noncon, stalking, male masturbation, manipulation, bribery, cheating, somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), kidnapping, size kink, mention of alcohol, not proofread

note: given the nature of the fic, i've decided to not tag people as i usually would in case this is not something they want to be subjected to.

In Ransom Drysdale’s line of work, having good connections is paramount. Sometimes, knowing the right person in the right circumstances can make a difference between life and death. That was why Ransom took great pride in making sure that anyone and everyone he meets would bend to his will. And perhaps the best place to start with that? The young men and women pursuing a higher education. There was an interesting idea that was prevalent among people that adults, once they passed the inglorious days of high school and officially gained their “adult card”, were capable of discerning whether or not they were being manipulated. Hell, victims were often labelled as “liars” for the simple fact that people perceive them as being “too old” to be manipulated. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Anyone at any age can be manipulated, and there were no better targets than those young people pursuing their education.

The trick to achieving those ends was in coming across as innocent. As someone who would cause no harm, no matter the circumstances. And how to do that? Seemingly innocuous business fronts. Sure, Ransom had his fair share of seedier business dealings—clubs, bars, casinos, the works. Those got him dirtier clients and partners, the kind that didn’t mind a little mess. But sometimes that got too messy, and Ransom didn’t like messy. No, sometimes he needed something a little cleaner, something less obvious. That was how he ended up running a high end art gallery in the nicer part of town.

Every year, the gallery would be make a sizable donation to the local university. And every year, the gallery would host a gala, inviting department heads and their best, most promising students to attend. It was the perfect opportunity for Ransom and his associates to ensure that the brightest minds the university had to offer were properly wooed and wowed, to guarantee their alliance to him and ensure they did whatever he had asked of them. Tonight was the night of that very annual gala, and Ransom could hardly wait to be introduced to all of his future playthings.

The wealthiest and most well-connected citizens of that great city were in attendance that night. Ransom was used to rubbing elbows with people like this, knew just how to laugh and be witty and charm to get exactly what he wanted. But it was also boring. It was too easy. There was no challenge. And, if there was one thing you should know about Ransom Drysdale, it was that he loved challenges. It’s the only way to make it in his line of work. You don’t become the most powerful mob boss in the city by not liking a good challenge.

Tonight was perhaps the most boring night Ransom had experienced in a long time, and he was just itching for some excitement.

Enter the student representatives from the local university.

Dozens of students made their entrance, and Ransom was just itching to get his hands on at least one of them. For at least one of them to fall perfectly into his carefully laid trap. Out of the corner of his eye, while he spoke to one of the politicians in the city (What? Was he expected to remember their names? As if.), he kept a close watch on the young faces in the crowd. But none of them captivated his interest quite like the pretty little one in a shimmering gold dress—his favorite of the dresses he’d sent the university have the students representatives wear, alongside the tuxes for the men and the various accessories he’d chosen for the students—sweeping across the floor. You were positively dazzling, wowing the other attendees immediately with your bright eyes and sweet demeanor. Oh, yes. Yes, he was captivated. You were the perfect prey for him to sink his teeth into.

He watched as you walked over to the bar, ordering a drink, and he took that as his chance to pounce. As you waited for his drink, he excused himself from the conversation with the Mayor. (Or was it a Senator? A Representative? Eh, who gives a shit?) He walked over to you, slowly, like a predator stalking its next meal, before sliding up next to you, his voice smooth like honey as he asked, “Come here often? Haven’t seen you at one of these things before.”

You smiled up at him, batting your pretty little lashes while you drank in the ink littering his hands and neck. You had a cute smile curling across your face as you said, “Oh, no. The gallery sponsors my university, and they asked that they send some students to attend tonight.”

“Oh, so you’re a student?” he asked, feigning interest. “What are you studying then?”

“I’m getting my masters in arts administration. I actually graduate in about a month.”

“How exciting! I hope you don’t mind me giving you an early congratulations,” he said. Oh, he wanted to give her an early congratulations alright. Preferably with that pretty little dress pushed up her pretty little legs, her pretty little wrapped around his cock as he took her in the bathroom and—

“Thank you! I’m really excited to get out into the real world and actually put my degree to work. That’s actually why I came tonight. When I heard that they were looking for students to come to the gallery tonight, I jumped at the opportunity. Figured it would be a good chance to get networking.”

He raised a brow. “A woman who goes after what she wants? Oh, petal, you’re a woman after my own heart.” He extended a hand toward you. “I’m Ransom. Ransom Drysdale.”

You took his hand, and he had to bite back a moan as he realized how tiny your dainty little hand was. It awakened something in him, some sort of primal instinct to keep you away from the dangers of the world, lock you away in his bedroom and never let you see the light of day again. He’d been looking for a little wife for a long time now, and he’d never been more convinced that someone was “the one” until he laid his eyes on you. There was just something about your cute little presence in a world so dark, you somehow being untainted by the horrors of the world, that drew him in. Yes, he would have you. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said.

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, never breaking eye contact with you. He couldn’t help but smirk as your free hand covered your mouth as you giggled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, petal.”

As he pulled your hand away from his lips, still holding onto it, you asked, “So, what do you, Mr. Drysdale?”

“Oh, petal, you can call me Ransom. Mr. Drysdale is my father, and we’re not exactly on great terms,” he said. “I’m a businessman of sorts. I actually own this gallery.”

“Oh!” you squeaked, your eyes widening. Fuck, it took everything in him to not bend you over the bar and take you right then and there. “Oh, I hope I wasn’t being too presumptuous about the networking thing earlier. I wouldn’t want—”

“Petal, in my gallery, you can have any position you want,” he said. “But, other than the gallery, I own a club not far from here. What do you say we head out of here and take our fun elsewhere?”

“Oh, no I couldn’t—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout getting in trouble. It’s my event. If the school has anything to say about it, I’ll have it all smoothed over.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…Well, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea, Ransom. I actually have a boyfriend, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our relationship.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Though it was his instinct to go off about how he would be infinitely better for you, how he could provide for you and protect you and please you in ways that your current boyfriend never could, he also knew that he was playing the role of a charming bachelor. Slinking back into his instincts would be counter-productive, and it would only make what he was trying to do all the more difficult. So, instead, he said, “My apologies, petal. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” you quickly said.

“Well, I suppose I should get back to mingling. And I was serious about what I said. If you want a place in my business, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Thank you, Ransom. I’ll keep that in mind. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“You too, petal,” he said, before moving away from the bar and slinking back into the crowd, trying to find one of his men so he could let them know of the plan he was concocting.

A boyfriend, eh? Oh, that was no issue. Ransom could handle that.

And handle that, he did.

The good thing about being head honcho was that he was could delegate a lot of responsibilities down to the people below him. He freed his schedule, his workload, of everything but what was absolutely necessary for him to complete. Any and all free time he had was dedicated toward the pursuit of you. And, did you know the better part about being the man in charge? It meant that he could direct as many as his men as he wanted to keep an eye on you, to keep detailed records of what you were doing. His favorite job, though? Oh, it had to be looking through the pretty pictures that were taken of you.

One of his men, one that typically gathered intel about Ransom’s enemies to use as leverage, had been tasked with following you. And the pictures he got of you, oh they were magnificent. Ones of you walking across campus, scrolling through your phone while you walked from class to class. Ones of you in the library, your hair as mess as you tugged at your strands as you stressed over some convoluted concept you were expected to have memorized. Ones of you going out for drinks with your friends. One of you, carefully cropped to include only you, where you could be seen riding your boyfriend, your head thrown back in orgasmic bliss.

Those were his favorite pictures. Even though they were grainier, a result of them having been took through a window and having to be cropped so that your boyfriend’s face couldn’t be seen, they were perfect. When he closed his eyes, Ransom liked to imagine what that pretty little face of yours would like while he fucked you stupid. How your eyes would roll to the back of your skull as you’d scream, the way your cute little claws would rake down his chest until he’d grab in one hand and pin above your head.

One night, after having gathered enough intel on your boyfriend, some bastard named Oliver Langley who worked in I.T., Ransom sank into his silk sheets, ready for his own private celebration. He’d already rid himself of his clothes as he was the type of man that preferred sleeping in the nude. Once properly situated in bed, he reached over and grabbed the framed picture on his nightstand, the one of your riding your pathetic boyfriend.

Though he’d long since memorized the image, he couldn’t stop himself from moaning at the sight of you. Oh, you were so perfect. Perfect for him. A pretty little girl that he couldn’t wait to get his hands onto, to defile and ruin for anyone else. The thought of you being his little doll made his cock ache as he grasped it with his free hand. His moans got louder as he stroked himself, pretending that his hand was your tight cunt, that you were seated on his lap, bouncing on his cock. His movements sped up as he squeezed his eyes shut, sinking further into his bed as he came.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that his cum landed on the glass of the frame, perfectly covering your tiny body. He groaned at the sight, his already softening dick starting to harden once more as he imagined what it would like with your actual face painted in his cum. He gently wiped the frame of his cum, whispering, “Don’t worry, petal. I’ll be taking care of you soon enough.”

The next day, Ransom was in his office, leaning back in his leather chair as he waited for his men to return with your boyfriend in tow. He hoped to do this cleanly, to not have to make a mess of things. For, as much as he enjoyed messes, he also knew that it would be easier for you to sink into his arms after a betrayal rather than death. And, well, that would be easier for him, and he preferred to make things easy for himself.

“Where the fuck are you taking me?!”

Ransom smirked when he heard your boyfriend shouting down the hall. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door and Ransom shouted, “Come in!”

The door swung open and Oliver was carried in by two of Ransom’s bodyguards.

“Ah, Mr. Langley!” Ransom greeted him. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence!”

Oliver thrashed around as the men forced him into one of the leather chairs in front of Ransom’s desk. He tried to shoot up, tried to run off, but a large hand on his shoulder forced him back down easily.

“Now, now, there won’t be any running today. We’d find you anyways, and it wouldn’t be that good for you.”

“Why am I here?” Oliver asked, trying to mask the waver in his voice. Cute. He thought he could be tough. It’d be fun to see how quickly he would cave. “I haven’t done shit. But-but I don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah? Me neither,” Ransom said, leaning forward and propping himself on his desk with his elbows. “So let’s make this quick. You’re gonna leave your girlfriend.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t repeat myself, Mr. Langley.”

“I’m not gonna leave Y/N!”

“You seem to think it’s an option,” Ransom laughed. “Rest assured, it’s not. The method of which you leave her is entirely up to you. It can be done easily, where you live, or you take the hard route, and we start picking about your headstone. Which would it be?”

“Why do I have to break up with her? She’s done nothing.”

“No, she’s done nothing. Except caught my interest. I’m sure you’re well aware that she’s a pretty little thing, and I’m sure you can understand why I want her as my own.”

“She’s not property—”

“Perhaps. For now. But, like I said, you have no option but to leave her so that she can be mine. And you know what? My patience is running thin. Better make your choice quickly, or I’ll be forced to make it for you.”

“I can’t hurt her,” Oliver whispered, his hands falling to his lap as he clasped his hands together, his fingernails biting into his palm. “I love her too much to do that.”

It was cute, that he thought that. That he prioritized love so highly. But, Ransom knew that resolve would quickly crumble. It always does. Love’s a fickle thing, after all. It never lasts.

“Everyone’s got a price. What’s yours?”

He only scoffed. “You can’t pay me off. I’m not leaving her. Not willingly.”

“A hundred grand?” Ransom asked. Oliver’s eyes immediately shot up, before looking back at his clasped hands. Ransom couldn’t help but smirk. He was right, after all. Everyone had a price. It just mattered if it could be met or not. “Ooh, higher? Hmm, how about two hundred? Three?”

There was silence for a moment, and Ransom had a quip on the tip of tongue when—

“Five.”

Ransom couldn’t help but laugh. “Five and you’ll do everything I ask?”

“Only if you agree that once it’s over between me and Y/N that you’ll leave me alone.”

“Then we got ourselves a deal.”

The scene was then set.

For someone who seemed so reluctant to leave you, Oliver seemed far too eager to play the role that Ransom was forcing him into. When Ransom presented the man with his little black book, telling him to pick someone out so that you would catch him in the act of cheating, he took far too much care in picking out the “perfect partner”. It almost made Ransom laugh. And to think Ransom had almost considered Oliver to be a loyal partner. But he supposed he was right, that love always crumbled. You just had to know what someone was willing to take to give it all up.

The only thing that would’ve made this perfect was if Ransom could’ve been in the room when it happened, be able to see the way your little face would crumple up when you saw the person you thought loved you throw it all. Instead, he waited in his car, parked just outside of Oliver’s apartment building with a perfect view into the bedroom window.

The plan was set into motion. You’d just walked into the building, having gotten off work and made your usual journey to Oliver’s so that you both could go grab some dinner. A few minutes passed, and then he could see you opening the door, finding your once loving boyfriend taking a blonde with perky tits from behind. You were shouting, Ransom was sure of that by the way you were throwing your arms about and pointing accusatory fingers. You threw something at Oliver, then slammed the door shut behind you as you stalked out of the apartment and out of the building.

Ransom didn’t even need to tell his driver to follow you, the car immediately lurching forward as you stomped down the sidewalk. They tailed you for several minutes, until you stopped in front of a bar, before deciding to enter the establishment.

Oh, cute. You were falling perfectly into his trap. Bet you didn’t even know that was his bar. Oh, yes, this was going to be fun.

Ransom was practically buzzing as he watched you walk into his bar. Oh, it took everything in him to not rush in there and take you immediately. But he was playing the long game, and he wasn’t a big fan on changing the rules in the middle of the game. No, he liked to see it out til the end, just like how he’d planned for it to go. So, instead, he waited in his car for a few minutes, giving you enough time to settle with your drink of choice so that he could waltz in, seemingly innocent, before playing the next round of cat and mouse.

Casting a glance at his watch, he got out of the car, telling his driver that he’ll call if he needs him. Then he walked into the building, searching the small place, before his eyes settled on you. You were seated at the bar, nursing a drink, looking totally disappointed in the world. Just like how he wanted you.

“What brings you here on this fine Friday evening?” he asked, sliding onto the stool next to you.

You looked up, your pretty doe eyes all wide as you recognized him. Then you looked down, your shoulders slumped, and mumbled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey now,” he said, reaching over to grab the hand that wasn’t holding onto a glass. “Don’t be like that. I know we don’t know each other that well, but you can tell me if something’s wrong. I won’t judge you for it. Might even let you cry on my shoulder.”

“It’s just…” You sighed, squeezing his hand like you needed to know he was there, that the comfort he was offering was real. “My boyfriend…He, uh, I caught him cheating tonight. And, I don’t know…I thought things were going well. I thought he was going to propose. But, he just…He found someone that looked like a fucking model, and just…I don’t know. I shouldn’t feel sad ‘cause clearly he didn’t want me, but I…I wanted him, you know? I thought he was the one I’d spend the rest of my life with.”

“He sounds like a fucking idiot,” Ransom said, running his thumb over the top of your hand. “I don’t know you too well, but even I can see you’re a fucking catch. If he wants to throw that all away, that’s his loss.”

You chuckled softly. “Thanks. I don’t quite believe you, but…Thank you.”

“Listen, I’ll tell you every day if I have to if it means you’ll believe me.”

You smiled, taking another sip of your drink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Now, how ‘bout we work on cheering you up and forgetting that bastard ever even existed?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

And that was exactly what he did, telling you story after story after story to get you laughing. Never, not once, did that pretty smile of yours leave your face. And he really fucking liked that, liked knowing that he was the one bringing you joy. That he was the one responsible for your happiness. That you were his. You talked with him for hours, but it didn’t feel like it at all. Though he was playing pretend, playing the part of a sweet man, it almost felt natural. He supposed that was because you were something he really wanted. Something that he had to have his hands on.

And the best part? You never once let go of his hand while he talked to you. He watched as you traced your finger along the owl tattooed on his hand. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout there, petal?”

“Kinda wanna color it in,” you mumbled. You blinked, looking up at him, almost startled. “Sorry. I-I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s fine, petal. It’s actually real cute of you,” he cooed, turning his hand over so that he could hold your tiny one. God, it still did something to him to see how small you were in comparison to him. “Hey, it’s getting late and the bar’s ‘bout to close. How ‘bout I walk you back to your place?”

“That’s real sweet of you. You don’t have to do that, you know,” you said, smiling slightly before hopping off the stool.

“It’s no issue. I could never live with myself if I let you walk alone in the dark. Anything could happen, you know,” he said, placing his card on the bar to pay for your drinks.

“Wait, you don’t have to pay—”

“Shh, let me take care of you,” he said and you immediately quieted. How cute, how compliant. Oh, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you and make you bend to his will. The bartender came over, and Ransom winked, a signal that he was just supposed to pretend like Ransom had paid. After all, he owned the damn bar. It’s not like he actually had to pay for his own shit. Nah, he could just mark up the prices even more if it came down to it.

Once the bill was “paid”, Ransom led you out of the bar, his hand on the small of your back as you walked down the street. You told him the address, that it was only a couple blocks away. He pretended he didn’t know, that he hadn’t memorized every detail of your life already. But, as you reached the apartment building, a torrential downpour hit, forcing the two of you to sprint the last block to the building, you holding onto his hand while you ran.

By the time the two of you reached your doorstep, you were positively drenched. But he almost didn’t mind—after all, he could afford to replace his clothes. What he couldn’t afford was losing his moment. So, he laughed as he muttered some sort of joke about the rain, making you laugh, before he said, “Well, I suppose I should be finding a way back to my place.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna let up,” you said, listening to the rain pound against the building. “Do you…Do you wanna stay the night? I’d hate for you to have to get home in this sorta weather.”

“That’s real sweet of you,” he said, echoing your earlier words. “I really appreciate that.”

Oh, what a naïve little flower you were, letting the big bad wolf into your home.

You led him into the apartment, it looking so much cuter in person. All of your little knick-knacks perfectly lined up on a shelf, your fuzzy throw blankets decorating your couch. The cheesy little signs hanging on the wall—all of it so sweet, so innocent.

“I, uh, think I have a pair of pajama pants of Oli—of my ex boyfriend’s. If you’d like them?”

“That’d be real nice. Thank you,” he said, fighting the urge to grit his teeth at the thought of wearing something that once belonged to that bastard.

You disappeared into your bedroom for a moment before returning with the pants. “Um, you can change in the bathroom, if you want? It’s right down the hall.”

He nodded, before going to change out of his clothes and into the pathetic pants. He inspected them, some sort of polyester cotton blend. They were a deep shade of red, decorated with little Captain America shields. He scoffed. Only a fucking loser would have such childish pants as a grown adult. But it also made him realize just how much you needed him, needed a real man in your life. A little thing like you needed a firm hand to guide you through life, and he knew that he was perfect for that role.

When he came out of the bathroom, he found you in your room, changed into a cute little tank top with a butterfly on it and bright green booty shorts. He bit his lip as he drank in your legs, before clearing his throat. You spun around, looking at him, as he said, “I’ll just sleep on the couch so I don’t bother you.”

“No!” you said. “I mean, you can sleep in here, if you want. I’d hate for you to sleep out on the couch. I’ve done it before, it’s not that comfortable. Besides, we’re both adults, right? We can sleep beside each other without it being weird.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” he said, biting back his grin.

He settled in your bed, tucking himself under the comforter while you flicked on your box fan for some noise. Then you turned out all lights before sliding into your side of the bed. “Goodnight, Ransom.”

“Goodnight, petal.”

He laid on his side, feigning sleep, waiting until he heard cute little snores to escape your pretty mouth before he moved. He sat up, turning to look at you. Oh, you looked like an absolute angel as you slept, your hair splayed over your cotton pillowcases, your nose crinkling slightly as you entered your dreamworld. God, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. He placed his hand down on your hip, pushing down until you rolled over onto your back. Then he moved, adjusting himself until he was kneeling between your legs, careful to not make any sudden movements in case you woke up.

Hooking his fingers around the waistband of your shorts, he tugged down, pulling your silky panties down with them. He had to hold back his moan as he got his first sight of your pretty. God, it was prettier than he ever could have imagined, all pink and slick before he could even do anything to you. He wondered if you had gotten wet just by him being in the same bed as him. The thought made him smirk, convincing him that you wanted this just as much as he slip.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your clit before taking it between his lips and gently sucking on it. He pushed one finger past your entrance while he sucked on your clit, meeting some resistance as he pressed deeper. The moan he released couldn’t be stopped as he realized just how tight you were. He couldn’t help but wonder how much tighter you’d feel with his cock all snug inside you, how you’d be a whimpering, sobbing mess, begging for mercy while he had his way with you. He pushed another finger in, scissoring you as he lapped up your juices.

Above him, you moaned, yet never opened your eyes. Imagining the wet dream you might have been having, he sped up his movements, trying to bring you closer to your orgasm. He inserted a third finger, curling them inside you quickly as your already small pussy tightened around them. You let out a loud moan, panting slightly as your pussy tightened even more, spasming around him as he pushed you over the edge.

He pressed an almost gentle kiss to your pussy before he pulled away, sucking your juices off of his fingers. Once cleaned, he grabbed your shorts and panties and pulled them back up, covering up the evidence of what he’d done. Before returning to his side of the bed, he gave your clothed pussy one final rub then settled next to you, pulling you against his chest as he slung his arm around you.

When you awoke in the morning, you looked shocked, but almost pleased, to see him wrapped around you. At least, you certainly didn’t push him. No, you turned over to bury your face in his chest, all nestled in his arms like you belonged. He almost wondered if you’d secretly been awake while he ate you out, but he pushed the thought away. An innocent thing like you wouldn’t have been so willing to eat you out while you slept. No, you certainly would’ve put up a fight.

He still had a lot of work to do before you’d be fully ready for him.

Luckily, though, the storm continued to rage outside, the rain hitting harshly against your windows, reminding him that he was still to pretend to be trapped with you. Well, at least that gave him plenty of time to get you to open up to him, to trust him, so that he could win his game.

And that he did.

That entire weekend, he spent getting to know you. Learning the dirty little secrets he couldn’t get in a file. Learning what made you tick, what made you happy and sad and angry. And he filed it all away for further use. And he opened up to you, too. Just a smidge, anyways. Not too much. He couldn’t let you know everything about him until you were his for real, when he knew you couldn’t run away. But it was enough to make you trust him.

When the weekend ended, you considered Ransom a friend. When you weren’t in class or working your mediocre part-time job, you were with him. At the bar, at a restaurant, at your apartment. Always together. You once remarked that you couldn’t imagine a life without him now that he was in it. An innocent enough statement, but it was exactly what Ransom wanted, needed, to hear.

Soon.

Soon you would be his.

And, once you were his, he would never let you go.

As you neared your final exams, Ransom took great care in making sure that you knew he was there for you. You’d already gathered that he was a wealthy man, given that he enjoyed taking you out on extravagant dinners, he always wore the most expensive and well-pressed suits, and that he had mentioned on more than one occasion about the various businesses he owned around the city. But, he realized, you didn’t grasp the full extent of his wealth until you were seated in his rather large home. He had invited you there because you once remarked that it was hard to study in your apartment because the person above you always was stomping across the floor and the people on each side of you were either having wild sex at all hours of the day or constantly blaring heavy metal at full volume. So, Ransom was kind enough to extend you an invitation into his home, saying that no one would dare to bother you so long as you were there.

So, as you began studying for you finals, you set up camp at his dining room table—a large, magnificent mahogany table that nearly stretched from wall to wall. All of your books were spread out, your notes carefully laid out as you recited…whatever you were reciting. Ransom didn’t pay too much attention to what you were doing. No, he was more preoccupied in making sure that none of his men dared to disturb you, in ensuring that you didn’t catch wind of what his true business was. No, that was still a secret. He couldn’t let you know who he was until he was sure that he could have you.

Luckily for him, you were oblivious to everything happening in the house, too busy burying yourself in your studies to even notice that something wasn’t right. He was almost convinced that he could kill someone in the next room and you would be none wiser. He didn’t risk that, of course. But he was itching to test your limits, to start playing with his pretty little doll.

You finished your exams on the Wednesday of finals week. You were sat at his table, mindlessly clicking answers on your exam, and Ransom was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish so that he could take you out for dinner. You were so focused on your exam, totally unaware that he’d even finished. Then, you were throwing your arms up and cheering.

“You done?” he asked.

You jumped, now aware of his presence. Then, you were running around to the other end of the table to throw your arms around him, pressing your little body against him. He suppressed his moan at the contact, opting to just hug you back, as you said, “I’m done! I’m officially done!”

“Congratulations, petal,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Know your grades yet?”

“Just a couple. A’s, but I’m waiting on the rest. I’m sure I passed, though!”

“Of course you passed, petal. You’re positively brilliant,” he said, pulling out of the hug and moving to caress your face with his large hand. “And if you didn’t, you can bet your ass that I’d be at your professor’s doorstep threatening ‘em to change your grade.”

You laughed, unaware of the truth behind his words. “You’re too sweet to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, petal.”

“Oh!” you gasped, your eyes going wide. “I totally forgot about doing this earlier, but I wanted to know if you wanted to come to my graduation? It’s this Saturday, at 9am, and…If you have plans already, don’t feel pressured to come! I just…I have no one else to be there for me, and I just thought…I don’t know, that you’re my friend and it’d be nice to have some support there?”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’d love to be there for you.”

“Really?”

“I just wished you would’ve told me sooner, petal,” he said, pretending like he was going to turn down the offer. When your face crumpled up and your bottom lip wobbled slightly, he changed course and said, “I would’ve gotten you a nice, big bouquet of flowers for the occasion.”

“Oh, no!” you protested, your previous disappointment washing away as quickly as it came. “You don’t have to do that. You being there would make me perfectly happy.”

He pretended to consider your words. Then, he said, “Well, I’ll be there. I’ll be there with the biggest bouquet I can get on short notice. And I better not hear a word against it, petal. You deserve it for all that you’ve accomplished.”

“Well, thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, petal. Now, come on, I got reservations at that restaurant you mentioned wanting to go to.”

When Saturday came, Ransom made sure to show up early enough to get a good seat to see you, so you could see him. And when you walked out with your fellow classmates to take your seats, your place just lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July when you saw him in the stands. You had a brilliant, bright smile and you raised your hand to give him a big wave before turning your attention back to walking to your seat. Then, the cherry on top, you kept looking over to where he sat, a clear smile on your face every time you glanced his way.

God, this was perfect. This was going perfectly.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, after the graduates all existed the stadium, Ransom made his way to find you, a large bouquet in his hand. He quickly spotted you near the parking lot, looking around for him.

“Ransom!” you called out when you saw him, waving at him.

“Hey petal,” he said, pulling you into a hug, careful not to ruin the bouquet. Then he released you, handing you the pretty bouquet. “You looked amazing out there.”

“I didn’t do much more than sitting,” you laughed.

“And you were the prettiest girl sitting out there.”

“You’re too kind, Ransom. Thank you.”

Before he could respond, a voice behind them, a mother of another graduate it seemed, asked, “Excuse me, would you two like a picture together? You both look too nice to not capture this moment.”

Ransom smiled at the woman, passing her his phone. “Thank you.”

He moved so he was standing beside you, his arm wrapped around you waist. You leaned into his side, holding tightly onto the bouquet. You both smiled, and his phone flashed. Then she was handing him his phone back.

“That good?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Ransom said as he pulled up the picture. He glanced down at you. “Just like you, petal.”

You smiled at the praise, then said to the woman, “Thank you.”

The woman said “you’re welcome” before walking off with her kid. You leaned your face against Ransom’s bicep as he asked you, “You really like the picture?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Do you think…Could you send that to me? Wanna make that my lock screen,” you mumbled.

He smiled down at you. “Anything for you, petal. Now, c’mon, I got us reservations for lunch.”

“I swear, you’re trying to make me fall in love with you just ‘cause you keep me fed,” you joked as he led you to his car.

“Maybe that’s the plan, petal. Would that be so wrong?”

“As long as you keep taking me to great restaurants, it’ll never be a problem to me.”

No, that wouldn’t be the problem. The problem would be what he told you at lunch. As the two of you walked into the restaurant, as you were being led to your table, he sent a message to his men, telling them to be ready at any of the exits in the restaurant in case you tried to make a run for it. He couldn’t risk you getting away from him. Not when he’s worked so hard to get you to this point.

He kept on with his act throughout the meal. You were completely oblivious to the confession he was about to make, to the proposition he was about to give you. No, you still thought he was a good man. Oh, he couldn’t wait to shatter those expectations.

As you finished desert, Ransom set his fork down and said, “Petal, I got something I wanna tell you.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“I know we’ve been friends, but I can’t deny the attraction I feel to you any longer. I’d like us to be more than just friends, and I know you’d like that to.”

“Oh.” Shit, why weren’t you swooning? Had he not sufficiently wooed you? “Ransom, I-I didn’t mean to lead you on. I’m really not ready for a relationship now. It’s barely been a month since Oliver…you know. I do like you, really, but…I just need more time.”

He scoffed. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You…you’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad? No. I’m fucking furious,” he seethed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve done to get you where you are now?”

“What-what are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I meant. Do you seriously think that bastard would just cheat without a little persuasion? That I just happened to go to the same bar as you that night? Petal, you’ve been mine. You are mine. You just need to accept that, now.”

You blinked slowly. “I-I have to go to the bathroom. Can we continue this when I get back?”

“…of course. Take your time.”

As you walked away, he sent a message to the men at the back of the restaurant, letting them know you were about to make a run for it. While he waited for a response, he went ahead and paid the check, took his time getting ready to leave. Then—

Ding!

He looked down at his phone, seeing the text he’d received.

Got her, boss, the message read.

Perfect. Now the fun could really begin.

Apparently you’d put up quite the fight when you were grabbed by his men, and they had to knock you out in order to get you into the car. It was a couple hours before you woke up again. Ransom wished he could’ve seen it, the way you fought back so reverently. But, he figured he’d see that fighting spirit soon enough. He just needed you to wake first. In the mean time, he brought you into his bedroom, laying you down on his large bed. He changed you out of the dress you’d chosen to wear to the ceremony, opting to put you in one of the pretty outfits he’d gotten you. After all, if you were his doll, he needed to make sure every part of you was to his liking. Once you were changed, he got out the large gold chain, attaching one end to your ankle and the other to the foot of the bed. It was just long enough that you could walk around the room and get into the master bathroom, but short enough to keep you confined to the room. A little safety precaution until he was sure he could trust you wouldn’t try to run. Not that he would let you leave the room often, even when he did know he could trust you.

Then, when he had you just as he wanted you, he sat back in a plush chair against the wall, and waited.

You groaned as you woke up, your hands going up to rub at your eyes. When you could see clearly, you propped yourself up on your elbows and glanced around the room. “Where the fuck—” you mumbled.

“Language.”

Your head snapped in his direction, your mouth falling open. “Ransom—”

“I don’t appreciate you trying to run, petal,” he said, rising to his feet. “But I get it. It was very overwhelming, so I’ll choose to forgive you just this once. But let me make myself clear: you are not to run ever again unless you want to be punished for it. Do you understand?”

“Ransom, I—”

“Do. You. Understand.” he repeated.

“I-yes. I understand.”

“Good.” He sat on the bed, straddling you at your waist. You tried to scoot back, but he pushed down on your shoulders, holding you in place. He leaned down, his lips brushing up against yours. “I got a lotta rules for you, petal, but we can go over them in the morning when you’re feeling better. I’m sure you got a real bad headache now. Don’t you?”

“I-I do.”

“Yeah. That’ll be your only punishment for trying to run this time. But do it again? It’ll be a lot worse.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. “Now, let me make myself clear. You only have two options: either you play the part of my pretty little doll and I’ll make sure you are treated like an angel or you fight back and I make sure that everyone you love pays the price. Which will it be?”

You sniffled, screwing your eyes shut and trying to turn your face away.

He grabbed at your jaw, forcing you to face him. “I didn’t hear an answer. Better make a decision quick, before I’m forced to pick which of your loved ones I torture first.”

“I-I’ll be good. Promise.”

“Good choice, petal,” he said, pressing his lips to yours, forcing his tongue down your throat, kissing you breathless. When he finally pulled away, he looked down at you with something almost akin to love (or, perhaps, more accurately, obsession) in his eyes. “You’ll learn to love it here, with me. Promise.”

Little did he know, you were already planning on trying to find a way out of your cage, to find a way to get past him and get to your freedom.

You never did.

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nullio · 3 years ago

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Damn 5 whole followers 🥵🥵

Jkjk- it's time for more ranting abt Inside Job cause nooone else in my life watches it so I'm stuck with my myself and I 😔😔

The Gang(tm) throwing Brett a surprise party ,,,

IMAGINE IT THO

Brett for sure had some sucky birthdays, actuall ass of a time birthdays

So imagine it's Brett's birthday, idk if the crew would be the type to pull the "let's ignore Brett and pretend we don't care it's his birthday then surprise him" cause that would prob give him another complex

So instead they genuinely have no clue it's his birthday, and he doesn't bring it up cause he's just so used to dissapointment at this time in his life

Mayb Regan reads it in a file, maybe Myc reads his mind on accident or heck maybe he does let it slip that it's his birthday but he really downplays it "it's fine! Just another day in the year, yknow?"

But NO. That's un acceptable. Reagan IMMEDIATELY pulls the team (minus Brett) into a strategy meeting. She's had one too many sad/failed birthdays to let her friend willingly go party-less this year

I wanna say Gigi is on decorations, you KNOW she has an eye for that shit but I'd give that role to Andre (or maybe they collab)

He's the party animal, he knows what partying looks like and can adapt any room (think Tom Haverford) he's on lights and uhhh

It is at this point that I must admit to my audience that I don't go to parties. Ever. Anyway <3

•Andre (and maybe Gigi) on setup. •Gigi makes a plan to keep Brett distracted throughout the day. •Myc needs to decipher was Brett wants for his birthday. Either by digging through his thoughts or just by asking straight out and almost blowing their cover lmaoo. •Glenn is doing heavy lifting, physically heavy lifting. Putting up speakers, moving shit off desks, moving tables (btw they're either parting in the main office or in Reagans lab maybe) also fuk u, Glenn is the DJ, he has good music taste •Reagan is simply the head of operation (and the wallet of the operation) she just want to see her friend be happy. Gigi=shopping. Cake, drinks, she pulls a caterer out of her ass- she's doing this correctly or not at all

Hijinks absolutely ensue, nothing goes to plan. Someone drops the cake, Myc can't get a read on what Brett wants and is complaining about having to spend so much time with him (bonus points if the only thing he wanted was to spend time with his work family) Gigi and Andre can't decide on a theme. The caterer dies, shit is hitting fan

I'm too dumb and tired to come up with a good resolution but they cobble together a party, Reagan catches Brett right before he's supposed to leave and is like

"I'm so sorry, can you stay and help me with an assignment? It's an emergency"

And Brett being Brett agrees to help and he 🥺 he gets led into the office/lab and everyone there says surprise and Andre launches off one of those massive annoying confetti canons. Ppl are dressed up

Brett 100% stands in shock and just starts crying but dw they are the happiest of happy tears

Everyone hugs b/c I SAID SO and they party >:)

Here's miscellaneous stuff

They ended up getting him like 4 boxes of Legos, idk much abt men or adults but they seem to like Legos

The cake was dropped at some point so the frosting is smeared and omg. The cake decorator spelled his name wrong- that's my favoutie cliche gag every single show has ever done, spelling someone's name slightly wrong on a banner or whatever

"It says Happy Birthday Brent?? 👁👁??"

The punch bowl is not safe from Andre and the Gang knew that so the one sitting at the snack bar is a decoy (its water with red food colouring)

I think Brett is a Georgia boy so mayb they got a pitcher of genuine sweet tea (I think sweet tea is a thing in Georgia idk)

They have a makeshift dance floor and there are 💗multiple injuries💗

I'm sleepy, please take surprise party into consideration- gimme ur party headcannons >:( do it now

#inside job #andre lee #brett hand #reagan ridley #gigi thompson #glenn dolphman #magic myc #rant #positive rant #i just want them to b happy #im going slowly insane #i need season 2 rn #blease #omg #she speaks

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tottymatsuno · 3 years ago

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Requests FAQ NO MINORS ALLOWED!

im sick of tumblrs text editors so im just gonna link to tiny urls.

https://abiesfir.tumblr.com/post/674702675586236416/updated-info-minors-and-blmtsuproshpper-dni

Everyone has been very polite to me, and I apologize because I'm writing this in a frazzled and agitated state so if it comes off as rude I'm sorry. I'll update with more questions as they come.

MINORS DNI

The Basics!

Who are you?/What's your age/What's your race?/How much free-time do you have?

I'm Robin, I am 26 and I am a black transmasc/genderfluid adult. I have mental illness and talk about it a lot, this blog is literally my healthy coping mechanism because I am currently unmedicated. I will not disclose anything else further on the matter. I am also physically disabled so a lot of my stories are unbeta'd bc of it.

I have a small baby and a wife so my time is very divided. I can't spend a ton of time editing and fixing things up perfectly and I don't actually have a beta editor. I do this to destress and as self care. So me enjoying the requests is important. Don't make me feel obligated to do these free requests bc I will get pressured and won't do them anymore.

Will You block me for being under 18?

YES, LEAVE, GO, DO NOT COME HERE, I DONT WANT ANY MINORS INTERACTING WITH MY POSTS! Leave!!! Don't fucking come in here!!! Don't bother, please just for the love of fucking God this is my one thing, minors and 18 year olds, GO HOME!

I HAVE WRITTEN MULTIPLE TIMES FOR MINORS TO LEAVE ME ALONE! I DONT WANT YOU HERE!

Can you do a request for X non African American culture?

No, I like to write for black american girls. Whatever I write would be culturally insensitive and would be solely based off of the stereotypes I know of. I wouldn't try to be racist or malicious, but I do this for fun and am not going to research a culture for a request. Not trying to be funny but there's also the fact that black girls are thoroughly under represented in self inserting/fics so I'm doing my part <3

You should def write your own though and link it back to me!! I would loooove to read it! I highly recommend and encourage for people to make the content they'd like to see!

What race are the Readers? Can I imagine myself or my own cultural/ethnic background?

All black! Every request, every reader, every story is written with a black woman in mind. All of them! And yeah go ahead! I try to avoid major character descriptions but yeah I don't mind! Have fun!

Why don't you write more trans fics if you're not cis and hc Totty as trans?

Hmmm, that's complicated but mostly because I struggle with gender issues involving being perceived as attractive and I deal with a lot of shame bc of it. If I'm a man and I like a woman, in my head I'm not allowed to be interested in her bc I'm not passing or presenting masculine. If she's a lesbian then I feel guilty because I'm a man. If she's bi I worry she'll think of me as a woman. Annd the same with men!

And I headcanon Todomatsu as trans and I do not want to come off as a chaser or being solely interested in him for being a woman. I wouldn't feel comfortable writing trans Totty sexually either bc I don't want to be offensive or weird. annnd I don't wanna base his trans status off of my experiences with my wife so. yea

Is this a requests blog?

No! This is a Todomatsu blog that DOES requests for fun! And not only is it a Todomatsu blog, its my self insert ship blog for Todomatsu. This is all for fun beloveds and I have the most fun making content for Totty.

Are you comfortable with like/reblog sprees?

GO AHEAD! Not gonna lie tho, it is kinda funny but does hurt my feelings when I see some of yall doing that and then not follow me...I have a couple regulars who show up everyday for like 2 weeks and then don't follow me. Follow me???

And gimme comments and laugh at my jokes and let me know I'm being funny and praise me???????? pls?

Can I DM you/Be your friend/Talk to you?

GO AHEAD!!!! I want friends!! If you wanna specific anon name you can have one, but feel free to be my friend! I'm not really anybody but that guy who doesnt stfu. i dont see myself really as a content creator or writer i literally am possessed and when I say this is mental illness baby you better believe my therapist knows all about Todomatsu and has heard half the shit I say on here.

Don't feel intimidated, I wanna be your friend more than you wanna be mine! Let's talk!

Requests!

How should we ask for requests

Preferably indicating if you want a bullet hc list, a minific (with your matsuno of choice or all brothers), your pronouns and the scenario.

If it's an art request please say so! If it's an art request from a meme link me the meme as well?

Are you still working on my request?

Unless I replied to the request itself and said no, then yeah. If I make a post referencing the request saying "I'll alter the prompt" its usually for my own comfort. But yeah, unless I answer the request without any text than yeah I'm still workin on it.

Some might take time because I have a very active life outside of this blog. My baby is high needs, I have lots of doctors appoints, I get hospitalized a lot, there's family emergencies, there's IRL obligations. I'm an adult, ik it might seem like it bc I'm glued to my phone but I have an adult's life.

It's taking a while, why is that?

Did you request a scenario with ALL six of the brothers, was it detailed, was it kinda just vague, did I make a text post saying I was working on it and it'll be a minific?

If so please know I'm working on it! Most minifics takes me a few hours to mentally map out - I'm doing SIX of them btw. Then I need to make an outline, SIX of them again. Then I need to actually write all SIX of them.

You answered my Todomatsu request right away but not my all boys request?

Because I'm a Totty blog! I don't hate the others and I love the requests I get but Todomatsu is my favorite I'm in love with him clinically and he is the current target of my diagnosed erotomania soooo I'm dropping everything to answer, draw, write, obsess and lust after him. Thank u send more requests of him specifically if u want a fast turnaround.

What makes you do a bullet list vs a mini fic?

if the request leads into a mini fic I'll do one. It's actually harder for me to think of bullet lists than mini fics so I kinda prefer mini fics.

Can request 18!matsu? Or a scenarios where the Matsunos have a SO that thinks of his brothers like their own?

No. The short of it is just NO. The long of it is: I have PTSD. My fear of interacting with children - especially little boys stems from deep seated childhood trauma. The most painful aspect of this of this trauma involves my step brother and several younger cousins. I will not further elaborate but I'm sure y'all catch my drift. Don't do it.

In my personal real life I am so terrified of men and boys younger than me that I refuse to think about men six months younger than me as attractive.

Do not ask me for anything involving the 18 vers of them that isn't strictly platonic.

And when I write I usually in some way or another imagine myself so if you want a request about the reader viewing the others as brother you must request only ONE brother and that's it. Do not ask me to write switching POVs from a reader who sees Oso-Ichi + Todo as little brothers while dating Jyushimatsu to a POV of Karamatsu being the love interest and the rest brothers.

I will shut down requests for a week if anybody asks for Todomatsu being seen as the reader's younger brother or Todomatsu under the age of 25. If it happens more than once I will no longer take requests indefinitely.

I sent a funny nonsensical joke and you didn't get it/I sent an anon and you didn't understand it?

I like things that I understand and with a context. I'm not ontop of all the latest memes and it's very hard for me to grasp when things are jokes.

What NSFW are you comfortable with?

https://tinyurl.com/whatwillyouwrite

Do you take Whump requests?

No is the short answer. No because I find the genre and fetish very uncomfortable as a disabled person. I don't like the idea of romanticizing people's suffering. I don't like the fact the genre is about kissing someone's pain better and then causing them more pain.

If someone was getting off to me crying or having a panic attack or my chest hurting or me getting taken to the ER or me fainting or me being physically dependent on them I would actually be very upset. I don't want to write about that because recovery is painful, yes but it's not a smut genre to me at least. Ik some whump isn't a fetish but it's so tied together. Anyways uh, no. Don't submit anything like that.

If you do and it slips through just know I probably didn't interpret it in the way you'd like and it'd be a serious piece and completely tonally unsexy and unfluffy. So save us both the heart ache.

#faq for my fics #goin in the pinned post soon #edited real quick

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bassiter2 · 4 years ago

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believing that it should be difficult to get hrt or gender-affirming surgeries is 100% transphobic. believing that a trans person should have to spend weeks if not months *proving* - to a cis person, most likely - that we’re Actually Trans in order to get a service that can literally save our lives? is fucking transphobic.

yes, there are people who get hrt and later regret it or realize it wasn’t right for them. but why should that be the problem of the doctors who prescribe it? no one walks into a planned parenthood and just goes “gimme the gender juice” and then gets it immediately. it’s called Informed Consent for a reason - they sit you down and ask for your medical and mental health history, they ask you how long you’ve known that you were trans and whatnot, and most importantly they go over ALL the changes that are expected to happen on hrt. they make sure that you KNOW what will happen and you give them your signature to confirm that you still want it, just like any other medical procedure.

you also get your blood drawn and have to wait several days to get the results back and have your prescription called in, AND most permanent changes don’t start becoming noticeable for several months. you have plenty of time to change your mind.

not to mention how most of the changes ARE reversible once you stop taking it, for both testosterone and estrogen. and any that aren’t? well guess what, there are cis women with pcos who have all the traits that being on T for a year would leave behind. and there are cis men with no facial hair and breasts and small testicles and high voices. they find ways around it or deal. it’s not the end of the world.

in any case, adults have the right to make decisions about their own body, full stop. i could walk into a tattoo parlor with $500 and say that i wanted squidward with his cock out on my back, and because i’m an adult, they would give it to me. i’m not required to spend months giving my life story to someone who’s never even gotten a tattoo themself so that they’ll sign a piece of paper that confirms i REALLY want even such an objectively awful tattoo. so why the fuck should it be different with gender-affirming treatment?

i know why YOU think it should be different, at least. because you think that trans people don’t know what’s good for ourselves. because it hasn’t occurred to you that trans people often spend months if not years agonizing over our gender in total silence before even coming out, let alone pursuing medical transition, and so you think that cis people should be in charge of what we do.

which makes you transphobic.

#ok to rb

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Nine: Home on the Range

AN: I’m back! I had trouble writing certain parts of this chapter and at one point I gave up and started writing for the next two chapters. But finally this chapter is done. I also published a playlist for this story that had been sitting in my drafts. Listening to some of the songs I selected as you read through the chapters is just *chef’s kiss*. After this chapter I’m probably going to take break from the story since writing this particular chapter was so draining for some reason. But hopefully when I return I will be feeling rejuvenated and ready to write again.

Happy Holidays!!!

Word Count: 5.1k

Trigger Warnings: violence, racial slurs/dated language

Taglist: @nerds4life246

Chapter Ten: The Black Belle of the West

Sabine was fond of saloons just as much as anyone else, but tonight she visiting the establishment strictly for business. The bounty of Percy "The Fiend" Doyle had been issued by Sheriff Horace Lane, a man who usually offered the bounties that Sabine and the rest of the immortals took up. Working with him was quite the eye opening experience for Sabine. The sheriff was in the minority of accepting women and colored folks as a bounty hunters in a usually white, male-dominated occupation. It gave Sabine some comfort to know that there were some men who didn't let ego, bigotry, or ideas of femininity completely cloud their judgement.

Sabine swirled her bourbon around in its short glass as her eyes scanned over the saloon. The billiard room was so thick with smoke from cigarettes and cigars that it nearly burned her lungs, and the strains of piano music could be heard far off amidst laughter and chatter in the saloon. Laughter that came from rowdy men and pleasurable squeals from the working women lounging in the arms of their potential clients. Throwing back her shot, Sabine placed her glass down and began her prowl for the wanted man.

It was easier said than done.

There were so many people in the saloon that Sabine was having a hard time finding the outlaw. She moved from person to person, to table to table, until she found a familiar looking face. The unshaven beard, the wild, black hair, and the liver-spotted face. She took out the poster that she had been given, and compared the face on it with the man that she was looking at. No doubt, it was a match.

She stuffed the handbill into her chest and pulled the sleeves on her dress down to her shoulders. And with a vivacious smile, she strutted over to the table where The Fiend was playing poker with several other men.

"Anyone one you fellas named Doyle?" Sabine asked, placing her hands on hips.

"Who wants to know?" The Fiend questioned defensively.

Sabine shrugged, "You see, I'm new here and Charlie told me that you're a regular," she explained, playing the stereotypical vapid floozy. "And you always likes to see the new ones," she said, twirling a strand of her hair.

The Fiend looked Sabine over and smirked, "Never laid with a negress before, but I guess you'll do," he remarked, eliciting a few chuckles from the men around him.

The Fiend picked up his glass and downed his whiskey in one swift motion and excused himself with a wolfish smile, showing off his disgusting teeth. Sticking her hand out, Sabine sent the man an alluring smile and the man readily took it and she began to guide him up the wide staircase, The Fiend swatting her behind as they went. She tried not to tense nor flinch when she felt his hand, his action briefly transporting her back to her time on the Martin Plantation, but keeping her cool Sabine maintained her composure. The two of them made their way down a dimly lit hallway, where prostitutes lingered in their doors, smiling flirtatiously at him.

"Gimme a holler if you want a second inning, mister," one girl called, and winked at him, while another blew him a kiss.

They reach the end of the hall to "Sabine's" room and she opened the door, ushering him into it and closed the door behind her. Sabine smiled coquettishly at him as he began to undress, unbuttoning his shirt.

"What's your name?" he asked, pulling the shirt from his body.

"Lisa,"

"Well Lisa, I hope that you don't mind licking," he commented, his tongue darting out from his lower lip.

Sabine felt bile rise in her throat at the gesture, the very thought of his tongue making contact with any part of her made her want to gag. It was repulsive.

Sabine began tugging at her own clothes, "I don't pay no mind to that," she lied smoothly, allowing her dress to fall to the floor.

"Good girl," he cooed, eyeing her from head to toe. "You know, you're a lot prettier than the last one. Hardly had any teeth, and no tits," he described, shaking his head in distaste. "She was a flat thing, and I never liked flat. I wouldn't have mind all that, if she hadn't been such a bad fucker," he remarked, before letting out a sigh and plopping down on the bed. "I enjoyed seeing that bullet go between those blue eyes," he mentioned casually, tugging his boots off.

Sabine feigned shock, "You mean you killed her?" she asked, her voice slightly high pitched, placing her hand on her chest.

"Sure did!" he boasted, a large grin on his face. "She won't the only one too. Five other whores have been met similar fates all across this state," he informed. "I don't like to kill women folk, but if they disappoint old Fiend here, well I don't have a choice then," he went on. "Men are a whole lot easier to kill, they don't usually scream. When I robbed a bank in the Dakotas, I shot this lady and she screamed like a harpy. A shame that I wasn't able to strangle her instead," he finished, shaking his head and laughing lightly.

"It sounds like you've done a lot of killing," Sabine commented, feeling her disgust rise higher and higher at the sorry excuse of man in front of her.

"Oh darlin', it's what I do. I know it's probably not smart to talk to you about this, but if the noose ain't around my neck by now, then I don't think it'll ever be," he gloated, shrugging his shoulders.

She turned to The Fiend and smiled, "You sound like a very smart man," she complimented, watching him unzip his pants.

"What I am is horny," he corrected, staring at her hungrily. "Now come over here and let me get a better look at you," he ordered, beckoning her over.

Sabine walked over to The Fiend and he laid back on the bed, tucking his arms underneath his head. She planted her foot on the bed and slowly began to draw her chemise up.

"I'm sure many people are wanting your head, mister," Sabine mused, biting her lip.

The Fiend shrugged again, "I've got a bounty. About 7,500 dollars. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me, I'm worth a lot more," he proclaimed, puffing his chest out a bit.

"You know, I'd have to disagree,"

Sabine pulled her skirt up to her thigh, revealing her revolver in its holster. Before The Fiend could even react, she whipped out her gun and shot him dead center in the forehead.

"7,500 is far too much for you, bastard,"

High pitched screams and confused shouts rung out from behind her door and below her as she heard of flurry of movement downstairs. Blowing the barrel of her gun off, she slid the revolver back into its holster. Sabine picked up her clothes and redressed herself, mentally reciting the words she was about to say to the more than likely frenzied crowd that was going to be at her door in any moment.

"Everybody calm down, I mean no one else any harm," she would begin. "I am Corinna Vance, a legal representative of the Criminal Justice System of the United States of America. And this man here was a wanted man," she would explain, unfolding the warrant that matched Percy 'The Fiend' Doyle's description.

~~~x~~~

The sound of cheers, clapping, and the thumping of feet against wood reverberated in the air alongside the instruments being played. Strumming and singing to the rhythm of the tune, Sabine felt herself smile at the small audience who were clearly enjoying her performance. She didn't plan on doing this, not in the slightest, Sabine thought maybe around this time of the day she would be having a cup of coffee after finally getting up from bed from the long night she had. She had been tracking down another bounty given to her, this time she didn't even go under a pretense, she just sniped him from afar.

A well deserved rest was in store for her, she could taste it on her tongue.

But then, as soon as she rode into Hickory, Sabine was surrounded by children begging her to play on the banjo. And as much as she wanted to say 'no', Sabine could see the way their eyes lit up at the mere prospect of her performing.

And so she played.

So now that I am old and gray Listen close to what I say The white folks, they will write the show If you can't read, you'll never know

Sabine watched as the children swung each other around to the sound of the fiddle player, his bow striking across the strings as he rolled out the notes. She stared off to her side as she plucked the strings of the banjo with her skilled fingers. Bastien was sitting on their porch drinking from his flask, a smile was stretched upon his face at the cheerful kids in front of him.

Weeks had passed since the incident in Bastien's bedroom, and like with the 'river incident' the two of them mutually agreed in silence that nothing happened. Because technically, it was true. Yes, she and Bastien had a...heated moment that came close to a kiss, but did they do it? No. But of course that didn't stop Josef and Nicky from teasing her, because they knew something had gone down behind the Frenchmen's door.

Better git yer learnin' Better git yer learnin' Better git yer learnin' Before it goes away

Sabine and the fiddler drew the song to a finish, playing the same notes with much enthusiasm and joy. The last note rang out in the air and everyone from the children to the adults lounging around to hear Sabine play erupted in applause.

She did a little bow, "Thank you, thank you," she said, smiling herself. "Like the song I was just singing," she began, gazing at the young children in front of her. "You all need to get your learnin', so back to the schoolhouse," she ordered gently, and all the children simultaneously groaned. Sabine shook her head and wagged her finger. "I will be hearing none of it. Go on, off with you. Playtime is over," she informed, shooing them away with her hand.

Sabine pushed herself up from her seat on the porch step and turned around to see Bastien looking at her already.

"Quite a dark song to sing to children," he stated, with a chuckle. "'Ol' Massah found out, sure enough. And poor old Nick, he got strung up,'" he recited, putting the cap of his flask back on and tightening it.

Sabine walked closer to him, "It is true though," she responded, holding her banjo by the neck. "The penalty was death if a slave was caught trying to educate themselves," she continued, look down the road where the small schoolhouse was. "I'm glad they don't have to suffer or be beaten for wanting to learn," she added.

"I am too,"

She her turned attention back to him, "Why are you drinking so early?" she asked curiously. "It's only eleven," she pointed out.

"Well, in France I believe it's five o'clock," he retorted, slightly grinning.

Sabine snatched the flask from his grip, "That's not an excuse," she said letting out a laugh and running away from him into the house.

As soon as she crossed the threshold of the front door, Sabine felt a hand wrap around her waist and spin her around. Giggles bubbled from her throat as her surroundings whirled around.

"You two having fun?"

Andy's voice shattered Sabine and Bastien from being in their own little world and he quickly placed her on feet, grabbing his flask back with little resistance.

"Morning Andy," Sabine greeted awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck and making her way to the den area.

"Your hunting go well?" she questioned, glancing back down at her newspaper.

"Plentiful," Sabine answered, laying the instrument against the wall. She shrugged her knapsack off her shoulder before reaching into the bag and pulled out a wad of cash. "It's all here. All $7,500 of it," she beamed, walking back over to Andy and handing her the cash.

Sabine remembered bringing the body of the outlaw to the sheriff and him giving her reward. He promised that all the money was there, but she counted the money nonetheless. It was better to be safe than sorry in her opinion.

Andy smiled and nodded, "Nice job," she complimented. "I'd figured you would want to wash up, so I heated some water up for you," Andy explained. "Booker, if you would be so kind to take that pitcher to the washroom," she requested.

"Sure boss," he answered, and walked over to the stove, wrapping the pitcher's handle with a towel.

Sabine watched as his figure disappear down the short hall where the washroom was located, but stopped when she felt like there were eyes on her.

She glanced over to the oldest immortal who had her brow arched, "What?" she asked, removing her hat from her head.

"I've been hearing...rumblings," Andy began, her voice low as she folded the newspaper up.

"Rumblings about what?"

"That something transpired between you and Book while I was away," Andy answered.

Sabine scoffed slightly, "Josef and Nicky said something didn't they?" she questioned, taking off jacket. "What did the two gossipers say?" she asked again, turning around to go hang her things up.

"Nothing compromising if that's what you're worried about," she reassured. "Matter of fact, I'm not completely sure what is going on," she admitted, the chair creaking underneath her as she stood up. "I have an inkling due to Joe's teasing mood as of late,"

Sabine shrugged casually, trying to brush off Andy's suspicions.

She turned around, "It's Josef, when isn't he teasing one of us," she said, with a chuckle.

Andy approached her, "Booker is fond of you," she said bluntly, just loud enough for only her to hear.

Sabine's mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to form words, "W-Well, I hope he would be, we've only known each other for a decade-"

"That's not what I mean and you know it,"

"Is everything alright?"

Sabine stared past Andy's shoulder and saw Bastien looking at the two of them with a slight frown.

"Yes," Sabine answered, flashing him a smile. "Just us two gals talking," she explained, moving past Andy. "Thanks again for the bathwater," she added, looking over her shoulder at the oldest immortal.

Andy let out a chuckle in disbelief, "Sure, no problem Sabine," she replied, shaking her head.

Sabine went down the hall and pushed the door closed, seeing her clothes that she forgot she left in there folded neatly. Sighing gratefully, she stripped herself from the clothes she was wearing and put them aside before she rinsed her hair. Next, she soaped her face and hands, humming to herself as went. She carefully rinsed her face before taking a wash rag to the rest of her. Finally, Sabine bathed her body and shivers ran down her spine from the chill in the house. She quickly dried herself as best she could and dressed herself in her clothes from the day before.

Dirty clothes in hand, Sabine left the small washroom and out to the main area where Andy, Nicky, and Josef were all seated at the table while Bastien was

Josef's eyes lit up at the sight of her, "My good friends, I think we have a genteel lady in our presence again," he commented, staring at her outfit.

Sabine rolled her eyes and did a little twirl, her skirt dancing at her ankles, "Yes, it is I, Lady Sabine," she announced, straightening her posture and lifting her hand in the air.

Doing a quick bow Sabine left the den, walking towards her bedroom to place her things down and return back to the main area of the home.

"You know that Juneteenth is approaching soon?" Sabine asked, tucking the sides of her blouse into her skirt a little more. "Last year we missed out on the festivities, too busy chasing down outlaws," she remarked, going to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Ah yes! I can hardly wait!" Josef cheered. "Good food, good drink, music, and dancing. Who could ask for more?" he added, leaning back in chair with his arms behind his head.

"We could all use a bit of fun," Nicky chimed in, as Sabine looked up from her cup.

"But not too much fun," Andy suggested cautiously. “I am not trying to play nanny to any of you,” she joked, a smile reaching her lips.

Sabine went to join the group, "Oh come on Andy," she complained, pulling her damp hair over her shoulder. She walked past Bastien, lightly letting her finger trail across his shoulder, his body stiffening in response. "Bastien is our resident functioning alcoholic," she quipped, taking a seat next to him. "I think we'll be just fine," she added.

~~~x~~~

A light breeze swept through Hickory as Sabine did her afternoon chores outside.

She looked over the clothesline to see children sitting around Hans listening to him tell stories from his homeland. They were interesting tales that had the kids attention completely eaten up. Just the way he told them made them all the more captivating. His hand gestures, the voices he would give the characters, even the facial expressions he put into it. It made her wondered why he didn't teach at a fancy school somewhere instead of...being here.

Sabine pinned another shirt onto the line and lifted her eyes from her work again, just in time to meet Hans' gaze. He sent her a quick wink as he continued his storytelling, she chuckled to herself and shook her head as she bent down to pick up another article of clothing. The sound of a bell being vigorously rung echoed in the air followed by the loud chatter of children passing by her home.

Back to the schoolhouse they go.

Attaching her chemise to the line with clothespins, Sabine could see from the corner of her eye Hans' form strolling over to her.

"Afternoon Miss Vance," he greeted, from the other side of the clothesline.

"Afternoon," she echoed, wiping her hands dry on her dress.

"Hard at work I see," he joked, motioning to the drying laundry.

Sabine chuckled slightly, "Trust me, I've done harder," she replied, knowing the statement would go right over his head.

Hans didn't know that she was a slave, he didn't ask, so she didn't tell. Sabine always wondered if he didn't ask out of dignity or out of pity.

"Then let me grant you a reprieve," he said, sticking his arm out. Sabine glanced over to the clothesline and Hans chuckled. "I make better company than the laundry, I promise," he assured, a twinkle in his eye.

"I guess you have a point," Sabine agreed, her lips quirking up into a smile as she walked over to him.

"How about a ride to the nearby meadow?" Hans suggested, glancing over at her.

"That sounds lovely Hans," she agreed, before walking over to her horse.

Freedom was a beautiful horse, Sabine knew so. The animal was well built, a white stripe ran down nose, her coat a light brown that seemed to drop into a darker brown around her under belly and legs. Yes, Sabine adored the horse, it was her companion on her many bounty hunting trips. She stroked Freedom gently and in return the horse nuzzled her shoulder.

"Good girl," she cooed, giving the horse a pat and mounting it.

Sabine maneuvered her horse, guiding it to the front of her home where Hans waited on top of his own steed.

"Race you there," Sabine said, squeezing her legs on the horse's sides.

Freedom's light trot turned into a sprint as she took off, Sabine felt her plait bounce on her back as she sped off, looking back at the German with a wide unmistakable smile on her lips. Hans flashed his soft gray eyes at her, smiling back as he tugged on his reigns to catch up with her and ride at Sabine's side. Leaning her body back a little, let out a whoop as she felt the wind rush past her.

Soon, the two of them found themselves at a wide meadow full of flowers and tall, green grass.

Slowing her horse down, Sabine gazed at the scenery with a small grin and dismounted Freedom. Hans followed behind her, hopping off his saddle and dusted off a sprinkling of dirt on his horse's rear. Sabine lowered herself onto the ground and laid on her back, not caring if grass got in her hair. Without taking her eyes off the clouds in the sky, Sabine could hear Hans plop himself down next to her.

"Not that I'm not grateful," Sabine began, staring at a cloud that reminded her of a feather. "But why did you bring me out here?" she asked, lazily turning her head in his direction. "The porch is a very comfortable place to sit as you know," she joked.

"Too many prying eyes," Hans answered, staring down at her.

"What? My friends?" she questioned, with a chuckle. "They're harmless," she assured, giving a dismissive wave.

"You sure about that?" he asked back, letting out a laugh of his own. "What's his name, Samuel? I don't think he's that much fond of me," he commented, taking his hat off.

"Oh, Samuel is like that with everyone," Sabine replied, knowing that was lie.

"Miss Vance, I think you're lying to me," he stated, tearing some grass from the ground.

Sabine snickered, "Was it that obvious?" she wondered, resting her hands on her stomach.

"Just a little," he replied, pinching his fingers closely together.

"Samuel is...Samuel is something else," Sabine explained lamely. "He can be a bit cold towards people he doesn't know. I wouldn't take it personally," she instructed.

Hans hummed, "I'll take your word for it," he responded, stroking his beard, clearly not sold on the idea.

Sabine laughed lightly, "Anyways, did you have fun telling your stories today?" she asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

"It was wunderbar!" Hans answered, with a grin. "The children seemed to be hooked onto my every last word I said," he recalled proudly.

"I don't doubt it," Sabine agreed. "It makes me wonder why you're not a teacher in some big, fancy school in New York," she commented, looking at him in curiosity.

"I use to tutor children from the upper class for many years and life soon became monotonous for me," he explained, staring out into the meadow. "I kept hearing people say that 'The West' is full of opportunities and new experiences and I couldn't help myself," he went on, shrugging a little. "I know I'm a bit old, but I couldn't shake that sense of adventure off me," he finished, turning towards her with a grin.

"I think you're never too old to have a sense of adventure," Sabine disagreed. "You only get one life, why not live it?" she questioned, managing to keep a straight face as the hypocritical statement slipped past her lips.

"And what about you?" Hans inquired, lightly tapping her thigh. "The children have told me that you are quite the singer," he informed. "Your voice could take you places," he suggested.

Sabine scoffed, "Where would I sing?" she challenged. "In a fucking minstrelsy show to humiliate myself?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Goodness no," he disagreed vehemently. "And I wouldn't want you to subject yourself to that," he added. "I just thought with your singing-"

"There isn't a stage in America that would let my colored ass perform," she cut in. "Look Hans, you may not know this, but being a female bounty hunter sometimes isn't really the most grateful job. Whether it's because you don't have a cock or your skin is not the color of milk. But at the end of the day, I still enjoy what I do. It helps me provide for myself and my friends, takes me to new places, and meet new people along the way," Sabine continued, running her hand through the grass. "Plus, I get paid to kill white folks," she added, a smirk on her face.

"An added bonus I'm sure," Hans responded, with a chuckle. He began to play with his hands before looking at Sabine again. "May I hear you sing?" he requested, with a hopeful look on his face.

"What?" Sabine asked, raising her brow. "Come on," she complained, throwing her head back.

"I haven't had the pleasure of hearing you sing," Hans pointed out.

Sabine exhaled dramatically, "Okay, fine, fine," she conceded, pushing herself up completely.

One evening as I rambled among the springing thyme I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynardine.

Her hair was black, and her eyes were blue, her lips as red as wine. And he smiled as he gazed upon her, did that sly bold Reynardine.

"That's it, I'm not singing any further," Sabine stated, lifting her hands in the air. "If I sing anymore this week, I'm gonna have to start charging people," she quipped.

"But my appetite has not been sated yet," Hans pouted humorously.

Sabine grinned, "Too bad," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

"Where did you learn that song from?" he asked curiously.

"Some English fellow that I met this past winter," she replied, a faint smile on her face. "He was a...very pleasant man to be with," she commented, thinking of fond memories about Oliver.

"You meet the darnedest of people out here, don't you?"

"It's like I said, perks of the job," Sabine reminded.

A silence fell between them as another breeze swept through meadow, blowing strands of hair across Sabine's face. She turned her head and stared at Hans with intent. Something was off about him today, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Was there another reason you brought me out here?" Sabine asked, staring at him.

The smile on his face lessened at her question, "Actually yes," he replied, tossing some blades of grass back onto the ground. "I received a telegram from Texas. A friend of mine is having trouble. You've heard of Theo Beck, I take it?" he asked, returning her gaze.

Sabine shrugged again, "A little. Sheriff Lane told me that he killed his family and then robbed a bank?" she answered, wondering where this was going.

"That'd be him. He was suppose to hang last week, but he escaped from his cell the day before his execution. Now, my friend is a federal marshal and he's the one that set the bounty. Dead or alive. Everyone's been searching, and his last sighting was in Oklahoma..." he trailed off.

Sabine's mind quickly put two and two together about this conversation.

"You're leaving?" she remarked, both of her eyebrows raised.

"I'm afraid I am my dear," Hans confirmed, nodding his head.

"I feel like you just got here and now you have to leave," Sabine grumbled, crossing her arms.

"I have to Corinna, I might never see an opportunity with the size of this reward like this again," he explained, raking his hand through his hair. "You are the one who told me that we only get one life," he reminded, slightly grinning.

"Yes, but I didn't think your next adventure would be this soon," she retorted, throwing her hands slightly. "Who's going to teach me German now?" she questioned, shaking her head a bit.

"I'll think you'll do just fine without me schatzi," Hans assured.

~~~x~~~

Sabine and Hans walked alongside their horse as they approached Hickory, deciding to give their horses a rest.

"Before I leave here, I want to give you something," Hans stated, before digging inside his coat pocket. He pulled out the German language lesson book that he had been going over with her. "Something for you to remember me by," he added, extending the book towards her.

Slowly, she pulled the book from his grasp, "Hans, are you sure about this?" she questioned. "We may never see each other again, I'll have no way of returning this to you," she pointed out.

"It's a gift remember?" Hans replied, a small smile on his face. "And when we do meet again, I expect us to have full fledged conversation in German, recalling all our wonderful exploits," he corrected, with an affirmative nod.

Sabine laughed, "I look forward to it," she concurred, clutching the book against her chest.

Hans stepped forward, gently taking her by the arms, "Before I depart I would like to also give you a proper goodbye,"

She arched an eyebrow, "'A proper goodbye'?" she repeated, wondering what he meant as he pulled her into his embrace.

"Yes, something that I've been wanting to do for a while," he continued, as he slid his hands around her waist.

Lowering his head ever so slightly, Hans planted his lips on her mouth. Sabine gladly allowed herself to lean into him, exhaling gently as she reciprocated the kiss. For that instant, they were totally unaware of everything and everyone around them. Hans' grip on her waist tightened, deepening their embrace. From the corner of her eye, Sabine saw a figure emerge from the front door of her home. Abruptly, she pulled away from Hans when she recognized who it was. Bastien. Clumsily, the book slipped from her hands, dropping it onto ground with an echoing thud.

Embarrassment was written all over her face.

"Samuel! I-I-didn't you see there," Sabine said sheepishly, her hands folding into one and other in a nervous, awkward motion.

"I can see that," Bastien responded, with harsh plainness.

Sabine glanced over to Hans, expecting to see the same wide-eyed expression as her, but instead Hans looked smug. Completely unfazed that Bastien had caught them in such a position. Sabine started to believe that's what made Bastien angrier as his nostrils flared and a vein on his forehead protruded out in anger.

Hans faced Sabine again, "Auf wiedersehen," he said, before kissing the top of her head.

The German climbed onto his horse and spurred it forward with his heels, sauntering past the town's wooden placard. As he left, Sabine could hear him humming a little tune to himself and she instantly recognized it.

It was the song Reynardine.

Chapter Eleven: Green-eyed

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