#the fact that they are likely at their most distant they have been or will EVER be during this time

[perfectlyvalid49]

Sorry for grossing you out but uh, I have a complex claim to a lot of religions and cultures because of how colonialism (arguably Israel is a settler colony state so uh… hmmm) has impacted me.

As you’ve ascertained (correctly) I’m a non-Jewish American, only by technicality, because I haven’t found a rabbi that will even support the fact that I’m gay and the “three asks” thing feels like a troll move which feels… homophobic???

I need you to seriously consider how my life has been negatively influenced (hence the circumcision poll) by a bastardized JEWISH practice, and what the fuck that means for my identity as it feels like fate to some degree and a bit offensive that you would yuck my ability to find yum in Yhwh or w/e because I’m… too much of a faggoy? Idk man… just asking questions. I’d love to clarify your response in a dm since its… a lot. Not meaning to offend just sick of being put in a box because my circumcision and mother aren’t “right” enough to be in the in club because Hekate or Satan or whatever swooped in and said “NOPE” 🙃

Cheers

Trying to understand Israel through the lens of settler colonialism is a failing proposition. Consider the following:

Jews are indigenous to Israel. We have a historical record that says they’re from there in both the Greek and Roman written record. Like there is as much if not more evidence of Jews in Israel in Roman writing as there is of Julius Caesar being a real person. We also have archaeological evidence. Israel is covered with digs that find evidence of Jewish life dating back 2,000-3,000 years. We also have genetic evidence. DNA studies have shown that even super white looking Ashkenazi Jews have significant portions of DNA that are most closely related to other groups from the southern Levant.

So to call Jews settlers either denies all that evidence, insists that indigenous people can be settlers on their own land, or posits that indigenous people can somehow lose their status as indigenous if you wait long enough. The first is anti-intellectual and antisemitic, the second is ridiculous and the third is a dangerous line of thinking for all indigenous people. How long before Native Americans no longer have a claim to their land? How long before Maori no longer have a claim? It’s not really a place we want to go.

As for colonial, the definition of a colony is “a country or area under the full or partial political control of another country, typically a distant one, and occupied by settlers from that country.” So which country controls Israel? I think we’ve seen over the last year that it’s not the US given the way Bibi has repeatedly blown off Biden, so who is it? Which country is sending settlers to control the area? Again, it’s not the US. While some American Jews make Aliyah every year, the vast majority of Jews in Israel are either from Europe or the Middle East. To be a colony, you have to be a colony of some other power. What is the other power here?

So we can see that Jews are neither settlers nor colonizers. But you know who did colonize the area? Arabs. Arabs are indigenous to the Arabian peninsula, not Israel. And in the 7th century, Arabs came from the Arabian peninsula into Israel (and other places), conquered the locals and did their best to eradicate their cultures, forced conversions to the conquering religion, and settled in the new lands while being under the political control of the far away Caliphate. Sounds like settler colonialism to me. So if we must understand someone in the area as colonial (and I still don’t think it’s the best way to look at things, but if you do) then it’s the people that Palestinians are descended from.

Having said all that, just because colonialism has impacted you, it doesn’t mean you have a complex claim to Judaism. Here are ways you can have a complex claim to Judaism: 1) your father is Jewish and your mother is not, 2) you have Jewish ancestors who were forced to convert and you are now trying to reconnect with the religion that was taken from them. I don’t know your history, so it’s possible that one of those is true. But if you have no Jewish ancestry, then your claim is not complex, it’s non-existent, and if you do have Jewish ancestry but your ancestors willingly left the tribe, then you don’t really have much of a claim either. That doesn’t mean you can’t convert, but given that you seem to think you have claims on other aspects of Judaism as a non-Jew, my gut reaction is to be very doubtful toward your claim on Judaism in general.

If you can’t find a rabbi to support your conversion because you’re gay, you’re looking in the wrong places. The senior rabbi at my synagogue is gay, and we have several queer families as part of the congregation. There are literal signs on the door to the main office that say Trans and Queer Jews welcome here. This doesn’t mean that all congregations are welcoming, but lots are.

The three asks thing is a metaphor that some rabbis take literally. Converting to Judaism is a big decision. The three asks are to make sure that you’ve really thought about it and are really sure – that you’re taking it seriously and thought through all the consequences. If that feels like trolling to you, then maybe Judaism isn’t a good fit. Honestly, from my interactions with you this week, I would bet that the rabbis you’ve met with haven’t said no because you’re gay, they’ve said no because you don’t seem super interested in taking on Jewishness, you just want to take from it instead.

I don’t know what happened with your circumcision. If it went wrong and it was done by a mohel then you can feel angry toward the Jewish people I guess, but I would want to know why your parents had a bris for you if they weren’t planning on raising you Jewish. If you were just circumcised as a medical procedure, as many American babies are, then you may have trauma related to it, but you don’t need to be taking it out on the Jewish people, which is exactly what that poll was doing.

Don’t write down those four letters. Don’t try to pronounce them either. We have asked, repeatedly that people not do that, and once again, the fact that you are is super disrespectful to Jewish people. Write G-d, or God if you must, or even Hashem (I don't think goyim should, but it's better than what you did), but not those four letters. It’s not yucking your yum. You are allowed to enjoy what you want. But what you are doing here is the equivalent of coming into my house and saying that because my dinner looks delicious you can just reach onto my plate with your bare hand, scoop up some of what I’m eating, take a bite and throw the rest back. It’s disrespectful and offensive. I am not objecting to your joy, I’m objecting to your lack of respect to my culture.

Being Jewish is about more than just being circumcised and having the “right” mother. There is a culture here that you need to understand. If you are raised in it, then you get to join the club that way. If you’re not, then you can put in the work to learn it and learn to be respectful of it and join the club that way. So far, you haven’t been able to find a rabbi that thinks you’re willing to do that work, and from what I’ve seen, I’m willing to agree.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Bucky and reader are FWB because bucky is scared to commit and reader has feelings for bucky but doesn't tell him so reader finds other ways to push them feelings away and because reader isn't really talking to bucky he steals readers phone to catch readers attention and the phone pings and a message from john walker comes through and bucky clicks on it and sees the pictures of reader in a lingerie set he gets jealous and asks her why she is sending those pictures to John walker and reader replies why you jealous? Not like I'm yours and bucky pins reader to the wall and says "doll you're mine" gives reader the best night of her life and in the morning deletes John's number from her phone

Yours, Only

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: smut. Unprotected p in v sex. Slight angst.

The tension in the air between Bucky Barnes and Y/N had become a living, breathing thing. It was the kind of dynamic that friends didn’t typically have—heated stares, lingering touches, and shared nights where boundaries blurred. Friends with benefits, they called it, but to Y/N, it felt like so much more. To Bucky, however, it seemed to be just enough.

It had been fine at first, thrilling even. But the more time they spent together, the more her heart yearned for something more substantial. The way he made her laugh with his dry humor, the quiet moments they shared after their escapades—those were the moments Y/N cherished the most.

But Bucky was a man weighed down by his past, and commitment wasn’t something he thought he could offer. So Y/N bottled her feelings, afraid of losing him entirely. The problem was, bottling up emotions had its consequences.

🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇

Recently, Y/N had been pulling back. She still showed up for missions, worked alongside the team, and exchanged casual conversations with Bucky. But the teasing texts had slowed, the playful touches became distant, and their "arrangements" ceased altogether. Bucky noticed.

It started as a gnawing irritation that grew with each day she kept him at arm’s length. He tried to play it cool—he wasn’t her boyfriend, after all—but he couldn’t stop the pang of frustration when he caught her smiling at someone else or, worse, leaving the room the second he entered.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked one night when they crossed paths in the common room.

“Nothing, Barnes,” she replied coolly, not even glancing up from her phone. The way she called him "Barnes" stung more than it should have.

His blue eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push her. Instead, he let her retreat—again.

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Bucky was never one to snoop, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When Y/N left her phone on the table after a team briefing, he made his move. Sam had stepped out to grab lunch, Steve was busy with paperwork, and Natasha had raised an eyebrow but let him be.

Grabbing the phone, he flipped it open to the lock screen. A swipe revealed no password, a fact that made him smirk. "Careless," he muttered under his breath.

A soft chime pinged from the phone. Glancing down, his smirk faltered. A message from John Walker flashed across the screen, accompanied by a photo preview that made his jaw tighten.

Y/N, in a lingerie set, her curves accentuated perfectly by the sheer material. It was undeniably alluring—and it sent a surge of possessive anger through him. The scarlet lingerie a fiery halo around her form. The plunge of the bra, a daring invitation, reveals the swells of her breasts, their softness seemingly begging to be touched. The fabric clings to her body like a second skin, tracing the contours of her waist and hips in a sensual dance of shadow and light. Her legs, elegantly placed, stretch out before her, the garter belt a playful accent that speaks to the promise of what lies beneath the matching thong. Her stockings, sheer and whisper-thin, are held up by those garters, hinting at the act of peeling them away layer by layer.

Bucky clicked on the message without hesitation.

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

When Y/N came looking for her phone an hour later, Bucky was waiting in the training room, leaning against the wall with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“Have you seen my phone?” she asked, scanning the area.

He held it up between his fingers, his grip firm. “Looking for this?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she replied, reaching for it. But Bucky didn’t let go. Instead, he tilted his head and fixed her with a sharp gaze.

“Mind telling me why Walker has pictures of you like this?” he growled, flipping the phone to show her the image.

Y/N froze, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “You went through my phone?”

“You left it unlocked,” he shot back. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Why do you care, Barnes?” she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. “It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” His voice lowered dangerously. “You think I’m just going to let this slide?”

Y/N’s chest tightened as anger flared within her. “Let what slide? It’s not like I’m yours, Bucky.”

The words hit their mark, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. Then, faster than she could react, he closed the distance between them, pinning her against the wall.

“Doll,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“You’ve always been mine.”

His declaration left her breathless, her heart hammering against her ribs. She searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but all she found was unwavering certainty.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

smut————smut———smut———smut————-smut————smut

He didn’t let her finish. His lips captured hers with a fervor that left no room for doubt. The pent-up tension between them exploded in a kiss that was both demanding and tender, a mix of frustration and longing.

Their bodies pressed together as if trying to erase the space that had grown between them. His hands slid to her hips, gripping her tightly, while hers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss grew more intense with each passing second, their tongues dancing a passionate ballet of desire. Y/N could feel the warmth of his breath, tasting the mint on his lips.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky searched her eyes. “I can’t keep pretending this isn’t more, Y/N. It’s killing me.”

Her eyes searched his, a silent question hanging in the air. Was this a confession? Or a declaration of his own feelings? She didn’t know, but she felt something shift inside her—a hope she’d been too scared to acknowledge.

“What do you want from me, Bucky?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He took a deep, ragged breath. “Everything,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “But I don’t know if I deserve it.”

The honesty in his voice broke down the final barriers she’d built around her heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she placed a hand over his, holding it in place. “You do. More than you know.”

With a growl of need, Bucky’s hands moved to her ass, lifting her so that she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist. He grinded into her, the friction between them setting her nerves alight. Y/N gasped, her core clenching at the delicious pressure. She’d missed this, missed him, missed the way he made her feel—like she was the most important person in the world to him.

“Prove you want it,” she challenged, her voice thick with desire.

Bucky didn’t waste any time. He carried her out of the training room and down the hallway, ignoring the surprised looks from passing agents. His movements were swift, yet gentle, driven by an urgency that matched the pounding of his heart.

Reaching her apartment, he kicked the door open, setting her down just long enough to lock it behind them. Then, without breaking their heated gaze, he scooped her up again, walking her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed.

He laid her down, his body hovering above hers. The weight of his gaze was heavy, filled with a hunger that made her pulse race. Y/N could feel his erection pressing against her through their clothes, a silent testament to his need for her. She reached for his belt, but Bucky stopped her, his hand capturing hers.

“Let me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuttoned her shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of skin revealed. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing her bra-covered breasts to the cool air. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared, his pupils dilated with desire.

With a gentle tug, he removed her bra, revealing her hardened nipples to his view. He leaned down, brushing his lips against them, and she arched her back with a moan. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, making her ache for more. Bucky’s touch was reverent, almost as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he applied too much pressure.

Her hands found his shoulders, urging him closer. The fabric of his shirt was rough against her palms as she slid them down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath. His skin was warm to the touch, and she craved the feel of him against her, bare and unyielding.

With a sudden surge of strength, she flipped their positions, straddling him. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of protest. Finding none, she began to kiss him again, her hands moving to unbuckle his belt. Bucky’s breath hitched, and he wrapped his arms around her, his hands sliding up her back, urging her closer.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor was like a gunshot in the quiet room. His shirt was next, tossed aside with a growl. His skin was a canvas of scars and muscles, a testament to the battles he’d survived. Y/N kissed each one, her mouth tracing the path of his pain. His chest heaved under her touch, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Take me, Bucky,” she whispered, her voice thick with need.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hands found the hem of her pants, and with a swift move, he had her bare before him. The heat in his gaze was almost tangible as he took in the sight of her, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice hoarse.

Y/N felt a thrill at his words, a warmth that spread through her body like wildfire. She leaned down, capturing his mouth in another kiss, her hips moving against his erection.

Bucky’s hands gripped her ass, urging her closer. His thumbs traced the lines of her panties, and she moaned into his mouth. With a sudden, surprising tenderness, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid them down her legs, leaving her completely exposed.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Then, with a gentle push, he had her lying beneath him again, his body aligning with hers. The head of his cock nudged against her, and she spread her legs wider, silently begging for him to fill her.

With one swift thrust, he was inside her, the sensation so intense she saw stars. They moved together, their rhythm natural and unspoken, as if their bodies had known each other for lifetimes. The friction between them was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that grew louder with each passing moment.

Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their bodies tangled together. Y/N’s nails dug into Bucky’s back, her legs wrapping around his waist. The room spun around them, their worlds collapsing into a single point of heat and passion.

“I need you to know,” Bucky panted between kisses, his voice strained. “I need you to feel it—how much you mean to me. How much I want this to be more than just this—more than just a fuck.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Bucky, I—��

He silenced her with another kiss, his hips rolling into her with a force that made her toes curl. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, punctuated by their ragged breaths and gasps. Bucky’s hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her with a newfound sense of urgency. His thumbs circled her nipples, teasing and taunting, until she was writhing beneath him.

Y/N’s hips met his every thrust, her legs tightening around his waist, urging him deeper. She felt herself climbing higher and higher, the tension in her body coiling tightly. Bucky’s movements grew more erratic, his grip on her hips tightening until she knew she’d have bruises. But she didn’t care. All that mattered was the feeling of him inside her, the way his eyes searched hers as if trying to drown in the depths of her soul.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over her, Y/N’s nails dug deeper into his back. She cried out his name, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. Bucky groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he continued to pump into her, chasing his own release. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire and emotion.

When he finally came, it was with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room. He buried his face in her neck, his teeth grazing her skin gently as he emptied himself inside her.

Y/N felt a strange thrill at his words. It was as if he’d branded her with his very essence, claimed her in a way that went beyond the physical. Her walls crumbled, and she realized that she’d been waiting for this—for him to acknowledge what she’d been feeling all along.

Bucky’s breathing slowly returned to normal, his body relaxing into hers. He kissed the spot where he’d bitten her, his lips lingering. “Mine,” he murmured against her skin, his voice hoarse with emotion.

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. In that moment, she knew that she’d never be the same. She’d been marked by the Winter Soldier, claimed by the man she’d tried so hard not to love. And she didn’t want to be anyone else’s.

They laid there for a while, their hearts beating in sync, the silence speaking volumes. Y/N felt a sense of belonging that she hadn’t experienced in a long time—perhaps ever.

Slowly, Bucky pulled out of her, his eyes never leaving hers. He rolled over onto his side, pulling her with him so that she was nestled against his chest. His arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he feared she might disappear if he didn’t hold her tight enough.

————————————-end of smut————————————————

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She felt his thumb rub circles into her back, soothing her, grounding her.

“You know you’re stuck with me now, right, doll?” he whispered, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear.

The words sent a warm glow through her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to believe that maybe she could have more with Bucky—that maybe he could be her everything.

“Bucky, what do you mean by that?” Y/N’s voice was small, filled with a mix of fear and hope.

He sighed, his chest moving against her with the force of his breath. “It’s complicated, doll,” he murmured. “But the simple version is that I don’t want to be the one who’s just good for a night anymore. I want to be the one who’s good for forever.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She’d been dreaming of this moment, but hearing it from him was different. It was real—and terrifying. She didn’t know how to respond, so she buried her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, letting it fill her lungs.

They laid there in silence for a few moments longer before Bucky spoke again, his voice a low rumble in her ear. “We should talk about this, Y/N. I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t keep pretending like this isn’t happening between us.”

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she’d been both dreading and longing for. She pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes searching his. “Okay,” she said, her voice strong despite the tremble in her chest. “Talk to me.”

Bucky rolled onto his back, bringing her with him so she was draped over his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. His hand traced idle patterns on her back as he spoke. “You know my past, all the things I’ve done. I’ve never felt like I could offer someone like you anything real—anything that would make you happy. But when I’m with you, I feel…different. Like maybe I could be the man you deserve.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to his words, feeling the weight of his confession in every beat of his heart beneath her cheek. “You are that man, Bucky,” she whispered. “You’ve always been that man to me.”

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down her face. “But what if I’m not enough?” he asked, his voice raw.

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. “You are enough. More than enough. And if you can’t see that, then I’ll just have to show you every day.”

The tension in the room had shifted, the air now thick with a new kind of anticipation. Bucky’s hand slid up her arm, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin of her inner wrist before moving to cup her cheek. He pulled her down for another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate than the ones before.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N could feel the change in him—the tension in his muscles had relaxed, his eyes had softened. He was looking at her with something new—a kind of hope she’d never seen in them before.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and firm. “We’ll figure this out together. But I’m not letting you go, not now that I know what you mean to me.”

A smile spread across her face, genuine and warm. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Their eyes held for a long moment before Bucky leaned in and kissed her again, his hand sliding down to rest over her heart. The beat beneath his palm was a steady reminder of what she meant to him—what they meant to each other.

🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄🌄

Sunlight streamed through the curtains the next morning, warming Y/N’s bare shoulders. She stretched languidly, the memories of the night before flooding back in vivid detail. Turning over, she found Bucky already awake, leaning back against the headboard with a satisfied smirk.

“Morning, doll,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N flushed under his gaze, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Morning.”

As she reached for her phone on the bedside table, Bucky stopped her, his hand wrapping around her wrist. “You won’t be needing this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

He unlocked the phone with a swipe and handed it to her. The screen showed her contacts list, now missing a particular name.

“Bucky!” she gasped, sitting up. “You deleted John’s number?”

“Damn right I did,” he replied unapologetically. “He doesn’t get to see you like that. That’s for my eyes only.”

She gaped at him, torn between exasperation and affection. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he said, pulling her back into his arms. “But you’re mine, doll. And that’s all that matters.”

Epilogue

From that day forward, things between them were different. Bucky didn’t run from his feelings anymore, and Y/N didn’t have to push hers away. Their relationship was messy and imperfect, but it was real—and it was theirs.

And John Walker? Well, he didn’t need to know what he was missing…

——————————————————————————————————

Hi! I really hope you enjoyed this. It wasn’t specified if you wanted smut, so I opted to make it a part that you could skip if you wanted. 🫶

Requests Open!

[boobav]

I'm not ready for act 3 😚

People go missing sometimes.

It's a part of modern life. Even in a city as enforced as Piltover, a city as patrolled and watched as Piltover- it happens. There are still monsters that roam alleys, or wear uniforms as camouflage. There are still tragedies in everyday life. Despite seeming so very distant when they're plastered on newspapers, or milk cartons, they happen. They're real.

But people like Jayce are not supposed to go missing.

Maybe it's selfish to say that. Maybe it's something that's meant to go unspoken, the fact that some people are considered more important by society. That some people have more privilege, more protection from the uncaring nature of catastrophe.

And yet, despite Jayce's renowned status, the man of progress, despite him holding the gaze of Piltover itself- he's gone missing.

You're not sure how long it's been. How many sullen days have passed, searching, even in the unlikeliest of places, for a sign. A message. A murmur would do. The weeks have simply collapsed into each other, a sinkhole of hours.

You too, following the hours, have collapsed into yourself. The days spent wrapped in cloak roaming Zaun for information have little difference to the days spent curled in bed like a discarded child's toy. Every minute is one, bound together by pure desperation, utter confusion, and endless despair.

Because how could he have just... Vanished?

Just like that, a man of yesterday. It seems that the city is too caught up in political tribulations to care about his disappearance. Some haven't even noticed it. On your endless quest for information, more than once you've received the response, Jayce Talis? I didn't even know he was missing.

But you haven't given up. Not yet. Despite the circles under your eyes, the new strain in your shoulders. Despite the ever-growing pit in your stomach. For what else is there to do but search? Even if you 'gave up', you'd be looking for his shadow in the street, searching for his image in the crowd whilst trying to wipe it from your memory.

You run a hand down your face, curl into the covers that bit more. A knock at the door forces your tired eyes to re-open. Fatigue in your very self argues against moving, and for a a few moments getting out of bed seems the most difficult task in the world. But the knock comes again, harder. With some garbled noise you crawl out the covers as though emerging from a cocoon, movements lethargic like those of a dying animal.

The first lock comes undone with the work of your fingers. Then the next. Your hand hesitates, though, as it grasps the doorknob, your mind considering the swathe of potentials, an unwanted bouquet of sorts. A sales pitch? A concerned visitation? An enforcers questioning eye?

Or- maybe, a new lead. Unlikely, but it's enough to force your hand.

What greets you is none of those things.

You don't recognise him at first- what, with the tattered clothing, the deep-set frown, the beard as messy as his hair.

As soon as he looks up, though, when those terribly familiar eyes reach yours, the confusion evaporates. Boils away to unearth a passion you can hardly hold; it makes your hands shake, your eyes line with tears, your mouth dry in wordless ecstasy. His name leaves your lips as a whisper, and his gaze falters from yours, the soft reality at complete odds with the one he's settled in. The one with sharp edges, with blood and steel as key elements, not butter and affection.

Jayce's face twists, the onset of tears, and all at once he reaches forward to pull you into himself. Hides his sadness in the crook of your neck, his hammer clunking to the ground beside him. You hadn't even noticed he was holding it. His hands run to your waist, pulling at the fabric to ascertain its reality, but he finds it inadequate. He reaches under your shirt, his warm hands against your skin, and he sighs instead of sobbing.

He's not sure if he can anymore. If that part of him survived the Arcane.

But he's here, now. With you. His hands roaming your back, your arms thrown around his neck. Like the pose from a romance novel. The thought drags some whimper of humour from him, and he thinks that's a good sign.

He smells of oil and iron. Earthy. He mumbles about how much he missed you, right into your ear, breath hot. You think you're crying, though you're not entirely certain. The sensations in your body, your mind, overlap into something abstract to the point that crying seems like a spiritual experience. Like the word crying is unable to describe the motion, the true feeling.

You pull him inside, the door slamming shut a reminder of reality, the loud noise binding you to earthly sensation. The questions that fall from your lips are boundless, piles upon piles of vocalised mysteries that Jayce can't seem to answer coherently. You sit him down, push his hair from his face and cup his jaw tenderly. Tenderly as though he could break any second, but from that newfound fire in his eyes, from the dirt staining his skin, you know such a thought is ludicrous. Peeling off his tattered overcoat and the flimsier shirt underneath reveals bruising you could never even picture before now. The curves and hard muscle of Jayce now stained purple, now scarred in places that'd been smooth perfection beforehand.

A part of him, he thinks, should perhaps be insecure of your wandering eyes, your wandering fingertips. He's changed. His body has been torn, battered, bruised. No longer made of marble, but of flesh.

But your eyes are gentle. Concerned, but gentle. When you settle into his lap to hold him close again, to press desperate kisses against his lips, against his neck, he feels he can never leave your side again. Feels an avalanche of guilt for doing so in the first place, despite the decision not exactly being his own.

Whatever comes next, he knows he'll have you. You know you'll have him. And in this moment, your foreheads together, eyes searching each others for the things that can't be felt with words, you both know that it'll be enough.

[reignpage]

hello

what's your process of writing smau's? like the idea and how do you decide to implement it and everything?

thanks in advance and pookie don't forget to rest

Saw this a while back and finally have time to answer

I've already touched on this in my recent Announcement

Here is my start to finish process:

I have a list in my notes app of story ideas divided by smau and fic

and within smaus, they're further divided by angst/smut/fluff

Many are popular plots like

Clingy? (they call you clingy)

Birthday Girl (forget your birthday)

And the others are things I've just thought of for example:

A New Friend (or more popularly known as 'Keiko')

Tell Your Friends About Me

When it comes to making a smau, I first have to ask myself what kind I wanna make

To make a oneshot, my process is:

Start with Gojo (I always go in order of their appearance, it's just easier to transfer the screenshots from my phone to my laptop and organise them when they're already in order)

Change the contacts (his picture and name)

And text myself my initial thoughts

Most of the time I never plan what I'm going to say, like the plot for each character or the exact wording, it just comes to me naturally. But there are times when I have to trial and error what feels best. Regardless, there's a lot of deleting happening. Which is why I prefer the single page layout because then if I have to start over because of a mistake or typo, I don't have to recreate as many lines. It's less tedious.

To make a series, I like to generally follow a 4 part stage:

Problem

Confrontation

Explanation/Grovelling

Resolution

Which is why I was actually surprised a couple people thought I was excessively making parts, because looking through my masterlist, that just doesn't seem to be the case

Anyways

Each part and each character are like episodes of a telenovela in my head

That's why some people might think the conversations end suddenly and then people have to read back to understand the new part. I never thought that was a bad thing. In fact, it was actually quite intentional. These messages are dramatic like Vampire Diaries or Greys Anatomy and not realistic because realism is boring.

The children yearn for escapism!

Sometimes there's even minor time jumps between parts where reader has avoided the men for a couple days for example. Each character's plot plays out in my head like a show is the best explanation I can provide.

It's the same for the Modern au!smaus

Some people didn't get the Modern au!Nanami ones because they couldn't tell when a text is a pre-relationship text or when a text is during their relationship

First 3 texts are pre and the last half are established relationship texts Some texts are a continuation of a story, others are a snapshot of a moment in their lives

So it might not make sense immediately and that's because it's not supposed to be linear

It's like an episode!

Think of the Modern au!Nanami one titled 'Newton's first law'

First text is a snapshot of their first every conversation From reader's perspective, it's their first time meeting So in the beginning of an episode, it'd be like a flashback Then the episode picks up where we left off from the pre-relationship timeline, when Nanami got fed up because of the drunk party stunt reader pulled, and reader apologises and begs for another chance. The third pre-relationship pic is still following that event in the episode, but is a couple weeks into the future, where reader has kept her promise and been distant, which Nanami picks up on. THEN the three next pictures are in the present time, during their relationship, and we see they're having an issue, they even go on a break. But the episode ends with them reconciling and it all connects back to the first pic (the snapshot of their first conversation) with a reference to a text reader sent nanami

See my vision?

It might not be executed perfectly, but I hope you guys can at least see where I'm coming from.

If you've made it this far, you're a champ

Once I've reached the final character

Either Sukuna (or Shiu) in my 18+ works or Toge

I crop the pictures and I create a post on Tumblr using my laptop

I colour the title using a website

Paste it on the post

Get my template:

Smau: in which they/you..... Warnings: ..... Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna/ Yuji, Megumi, Inumaki

I copy and paste the tags from my notes app (I do not type them out one by one anymore it's tedious work) and just edit out the inappropriate tags like if it's not smut, I'll take out every 'jjk character smut' tag etc.

And then transfer the pictures from my phone to my laptop, and then place the pics into Tumblr

I do final checks

Sometimes I forget to crop a picture or I didn't screenshot a character's conversation (I have to take a lap when this happens because that means I have to change out the contact pic and name and scroll up and go through the process ugh)

But if all looks good on my front, then I don't hesitate to click post!

Thanks for reading and hope that was informative!!!

[headfullof-ideas]

Alright the character I’m sure a few people have been waiting for since my post last night, but behold; Alpheus Benthos in my crossover AU!

Alpheus Benthos is the distant, very estranged, cousin of the Nekton family, though the exact point of where their relation starts is a little mystifying, even to Alpheus himself. All they know is that their families were cousins, dating back to when Lemuria was still the great kingdom it was, six thousand years ago. Lemuria is long gone though, and the Benthos name doesn’t mean much anymore.

Alpheus is perfectly happy being a loner. He was raised by the Order of the Guardians of Lemuria, but he doesn’t hold many of the same ideals as them. While the Guardians are concerned with other people, Alpheus is focused on his own goals, and doesn’t really care about anything else going on around him. The Dragon Trappers organization building in size and strength, the underground trading routes building in secret, the chaos his cousin family gets into, and the rumors of dragon raids in the Archipelago, are all of little concern to Alpheus. Even the rumors of dragon riders don’t mean much to Alpheus, the idea that someone would ride a dragon completely absurd. That’s not to say he doesn’t have his own dragon, but she’s not for riding, so it’s not the same.

Alpheus is content to lay low and below people’s noses, where he’s most comfortable and best prepared to deal with anyone who comes after him. Alpheus won’t admit it, but he’s making a point by staying away from all the Dragon Trappers business. Viggo Grimborn is known for his intellect and strategic mind, and Alpheus doesn’t want to cross his path, lest Viggo discover what Alpheus’s goals are. His cousins are annoying, and Alpheus loves to mess with the littlest of the family, his dear cousin Fontaine. However, she’s no match for him, so quite frankly she bores him. Alpheus is doing everything he can to avoid the Guardians, who aren’t happy with his poking about the Leviathan Class dragons that plagued Lemuria’s history, of which he’s determined to get to the bottom of.

I’ve left Alpheus’s goals and motives pretty vague, because I’m still not sure which direction I want to go with him. There’s not really any magic in the world of HTTYD, which means the magical Scepter isn’t really a thing, which means the prophecy of the Chosen One isn’t really a thing, which takes away a lot of what Alpheus in The Deep was trying to accomplish. Which means I have to figure out something different. And considering the fact that I plan on having the Riders meet Alpheus POST time-skip, they won’t be meeting edgy and angsty eighteen year old Alpheus. So I have to figure out what twenty-one year old Alpheus is like, and what his goals are. I do have a vague idea though, but I’m gonna need to flesh it out more, as well as the seasons of RTTE that will be covering The Deep’s storyline. I’ve been leaving it as a vague feeling more than anything else, so I think I’m gonna have to work on that soon. I know I’m already gonna finish outlining everything that happens before the time-skip, before finishing writing the first film, just so I know what events can be referenced or not because they’ve already happened

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

RiAAU Sasha's complicated relationship with her adoptive parents, Percy and Braddock, stems from an awkward mixture of unconditional love, resentment over their inability to protect her from Grime in her childhood, and their fear of what she's become.

[wonder-worker]

"The newly widowed Elizabeth (Woodville) was exceptionally vulnerable. Several of the trustees responsible for her jointure refused to hand over the manors that were meant to sustain her in her widowhood. Moreover, her brother-in-law, Edward Grey, had seized estates that her son Thomas should have inherited from his paternal grandfather, while her mother-in-law’s new young husband, Sir John Bourchier, had prevailed on Lady Ferrers to settle her principal properties on them jointly for life, ensuring that Thomas would have to wait far longer for this inheritance too. Rivers and Scales were pardoned in July 1461 and swiftly moved into the Yorkist establishment, which perhaps explains the success of the chancery suits Elizabeth launched to regain her jointure. Her son’s inheritance proved harder to recover. By 1463, Rivers was often in (Edward IV's) company and on his council, but Elizabeth needed someone with much stronger influence over the King. She turned to a distant kinsman, William, Lord Hastings, the King’s chamberlain. Hastings drove a very hard bargain for his aid but it was probably amid these negotiations that the King’s desire for Elizabeth was kindled."

-J.L. Laynesmith, "Elizabeth Woodville: the Knight's Widow", Later Plantagenet and Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, and Dynasty

[royaibrainrot]

Writing early post Ishval Royai is hard because in my mind that period of time is very awkward and non romantic. The issue is with writing dialogue: because the usual way these two interact is a lot of dry banter and flirting, (which they would still do to break the tension) buuut I don’t want them to be too casual, or comfortable, or quite frankly too into each other at this point in time, ya know?

Little detour talking about more character study-ish stuff:

This post Ishval period is so interesting. Because Roy and Riza are both at an extreme low in their lives, and in their relationship with each other, but the back burning stuff forces them to be very vulnerable and intimate with each other right in the middle of it.

As far as Riza goes, she’s very angry and hurt because of how Roy betrayed her with the use of her father’s research. She probably hates him a little in spite of herself. But also, there’s a part of her that still loves him and looks up to him. And with the death of her father, it probably feels like he’s all she has left.

And then Roy, as we know, is overcome by guilt and shame for what he did in Ishval, particularly where it concerns Riza. But instead of being able to go hide from his problems, he has to face them head on when Riza asks him to burn her back. There’s no way he can deny her because he sort of ruined her life (at least in his mind) and owes it to her to fulfill whatever she asks of him.

So there you have it, they kind of want nothing to do with each other atm, but also are desperate to rely on and care for each other. Everything about their past is so interwoven and connected that it always takes them back to each other, no matter how much it hurts.

Truly insane. And this is why I love Arakawa’s storytelling so much.

[orcelito]

This morning, my therapist called me to let me know she's setting up her own practice via telehealth (which is what we were using Anyways) & asked me whether I'd want to follow her there. She still has to set stuff up with insurance stuff But her out of pocket stuff is like HALF what I've been paying out of pocket for the company she was in. So I was like, Hell Yeah let's do it

So im gonna keep up with appointments, maybe once a month or so, just so I have the accountability + the ability to ramble about what I've achieved. Bc that's been rly nice for me. I'll have my therapist back!!!! And better than ever, if only because I have to pay so much less for it 😂😂😂

And ALSO, today I put in my course request for the orchestra into the form. So different from just two weeks ago, where I was practically begging to be given a chance to audition. I was sitting in the same spot of the lobby even, but putting in my official orchestra request instead of sending an email as I vibrated in hope and anxiety. I Got It tho. And the class won't even be that late in the day. It's really exciting.

[bluesidedown]

.

[binnie]

you guys.... i'm going down a spiral and I need advice

[sage-nebula]

All these years later and I'm struck by the idea of a TSME AU on my way home from work. Sometimes the characters never really leave us, huh

[hjemne]

I've been... Absolutely normal? After this breakup with the person that I really genuinely wanted to spend my life with.

It happened Friday night, I cried most of the night and a little on Saturday but then something just shifted and I've been like 99% fine and normally and happy since then? The only time the sadness has really hit me since has been thinking about how upset my (dying) grandma will be that she won't be able to know my partner. But otherwise? I got horrendously drunk on Saturday night, had tons of fun and was fine with a guy low-key flirting with me. Since I got thru the handover and sleepiness on Sunday I've been utterly normal, getting on with work, reading romance and enjoying it rather than being sad or jealous etc. The main stressor has been the number of deadlines I've had this week and trying to manage my parents' reaction and reassure them I'm fine.

It's not that I'm complaining I've not been truly and utterly crushed by the heartbreak, but I'm just weirded out by this reaction. I'm worried I'm bottling it all up and it'll explode later or that this is me sliding back into depression, but I'm still enjoying things and it doesn't feel like depression? Like have I actually reached that level of emotional maturity that I've dealt with everything (or most things) already?

He decided about a week ago that he didn't want to go through his early twenties having to factor someone else into his life plans. I understand it, I respect his decision, acknowledge that there's no use in trying to talk him out of it, appreciate the fact he told me as soon as he could in person so we ended the relationship still loving each other rather than growing apart and resentment building. I really can't stress how I've never loved or been loved by anyone like with him before and that he has been the most important person in my life for four years. Accepting that the life we were planning together has gone has seemed to happen so easily and it feels like something must therefore be wrong. It's helped that we haven't seen each other in person and haven't currently got plans to I guess because I think it's going to really hit when I can't be physically affectionate like before. But even with the distance I still just can't understand why I'm feeling so nothing about this. He brought up that he might want to break up in March and I cried far more than this. Have I been emotionally checked out of the relationship since then without realising? Am I just bottling stuff up without realising? I just wish I knew

[thealternatemind]

realizing and accepting that I’m autistic has done a lot for understanding my mental health and healing but it’s also opening up so many old wounds and retraumatizing me in a way and I just

[arolesbianism]

So I know I said no stalien relationship charts tonight but I never said no dynamics infodumping tonight so erm

Behold. The basic dynamic characters and what very broadly they represent. Some additional notes under the cut 👍

So! To clarify some things, it’s important to note that while all of these can be used as their own independent word, they’re rarely used as such to describe a relationship unless you Really don’t want the person you’re speaking with to know more details, or you are like talking to your boss or smth and are trying to be professional. Even in these situations however, a few of these words are seen as a bit weird, although not unheard of, to describe a relationship with by their own. For example, the clash one is usually seen as more of a modifier to surrounding dynamics, with passion being a similar case. Also important to note that the ones for liking or disliking someone is used pretty conservatively generally speaking, with them mostly used for situations where one is particularly giddy or particular upset to be around someone very consistently. No one can like stop you from using either more liberally, but you’ll probably come off super strong if you do, which tends to turn people off. On the other hand, feel free to use deep or distant very liberally, even combined, as they tend to be the much more general and vague dynamic pieces, and mostly just are used as approximations for how much space the other occupies in ones head.

Now, for this next part, let’s use an actual example on how these pieces are put together and how you describe your dynamics with others in different situations

This is Busy and Dancer’s dynamic, with them having the fairly standard 3 ring dynamic that most good friends will have. More or less rings can be had, but more than 3 is very uncommon, mostly due to most digital spaces and jewelers not supporting more than 3 rings. Generally speaking, the center represents the most boiled down component of the relationship, and this will be the word you use if you are being super duper vague about your dynamic with someone. For these two it’s the pretty standard deep, as they are very close and spend most of their time together. The surface layer usually covers the way you’d describe your relationship to others offhand, so either a simplified version or an altered version that leaves out parts that might be too personal for you to want to share. You may also chose to include things you don’t fully see as part of your dynamic, but think are applicable enough that it’s worth note, such as the like segment that these two have. You also typically will divvy up the space on the ring according to the impression you’re trying to make, which for these two is that they have a very close relationship, and that when they do butt heads it’s affectionately.

The second ring tends to be where things get more complicated, as they’re generally meant to represent the “true” relationship of the individuals involved, and as such how that relationship is conveyed varies wildly from individual to individual. These two have taken a much more simple approach, taking what they see as the consistent cores of their dynamic and not bothering with any extra segmenting. Extra segmenting within one dynamic piece is a common practice used in second rings, usually to emphasize a piece, or to draw attention away from other pieces. Busy and Dancer don’t see much need to place extra emphasis, so they simply use the method of scaling them by relevance. With deep again being their most important piece to them, with clash and passion being the other two bits of consistency they settled on. So for their second ring dynamic, they are basically communicating a close relationship where they sometimes fight, but would still stick with eachother to the end.

Now the last important thing to note is that while it’s commonly expected that people who are particularly close decide on one dynamic circle that encompasses both of their feelings, this is not the norm for most dynamics, and most won’t even communicate their dynamic with the other at all until a second ring is established. Having a second ring with someone basically establishes that they regularly have had a noteworthy impact on your life, and that your relationship is complicated enough that you feel that you two do have a properly established dynamic. It’s generally seen as very important to be able to clearly communicate your dynamics with others that you interact with regularly, and while it’s not uncommon for people to stretch the truth or even flat out lie in their dynamics, it’s still seen as more socially normal than only using one or two descriptors for your dynamics. Most staliens from this society would find the word “friend” to be a frustratingly vague description of someone’s relationship with another person, even if their own words for describing relationships also tends to get kind of vague and interpretive lol.

[makoodles]

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, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, you’re coming to realise, is that now that you’ve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you can’t stop thinking about it.

In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place. 

Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.

The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.

It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.

The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training. 

All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.

It’s harder than it sounds.

You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.

And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.

But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you. 

You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.

But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz. 

If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.

You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything. 

You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs. 

You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.

But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication. 

If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.

You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them. 

There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.

So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.

It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.

To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago. 

Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement. 

It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate. 

You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.

So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.

You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly. 

It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.

When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”

You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.

“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”

“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”

It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.

He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.

You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side. 

Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.

You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person. 

Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.

So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.

While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention. 

“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.

Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement. 

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.

Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin. 

After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?

The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.

“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.

It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.

You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.

God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.

It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself. 

When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.

Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?

“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”

It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life. 

Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him. 

He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.

“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”

“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”

He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder. 

The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.

The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language. 

You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.

Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.

“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”

You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe. 

“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”

Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.

“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”

You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”

Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.

“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”

Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy. 

If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.

You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.

“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.

But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.

For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.

“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.

Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”

Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them. 

But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.

And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.

Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.

“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.

Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.

“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.

“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands. 

You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?

“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”

Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”

Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.

His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.

“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone. 

But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.

“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”

He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”

And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now. 

You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.

You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now. 

Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.

“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.

When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room

“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end. 

After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar? 

A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.

He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.

Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.

You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.

“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.” 

Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.

“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.

You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”

Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide. 

“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”

You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.

Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him. 

Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”

Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.

“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”

Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.

“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”

“That’s not–”

“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”

Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.

“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”

Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.

“C’mere.” He says.

You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries. 

You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant? 

“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”

That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But… 

“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”

“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”

That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl. 

“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively. 

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”

The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.

“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”

You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?

And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.

There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks. 

“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly. 

It takes you a moment to process that. 

“You– what?”

Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”

He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”

He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.

“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”

Oh. Well.

Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting. 

While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.

“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.

There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.

“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you. 

“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp. 

He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.

“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.

Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.

“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.

But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.

You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.

“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity. 

There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.

“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.

You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together. 

“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.

But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.

“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”

Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear. 

“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.

Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.

“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.

“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.

You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.

“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”

“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.

Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs. 

“I don’t know.” You say stupidly. 

It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.

He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately. 

“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”

He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.

Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.

“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”

“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”

But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot. 

He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.

You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.

He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.

He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.

“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.

But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.

“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt. 

He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.

“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”

You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.

But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.

“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.

“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”

He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.

Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine. 

“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.

You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant. 

“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.

“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”

Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.

“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”

You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.

“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.

Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.

You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.

Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.

“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.

“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves. 

Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.

You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.

You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.

“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”

“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”

Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown. 

It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock. 

You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.

He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.

“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”

Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.

You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering. 

You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.

“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”

“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.

Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.

“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”

You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.

You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.

His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.

You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.

It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.

Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.

It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.

You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.

You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.

Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.

“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.

God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost. 

You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.

Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this. 

You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy. 

You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.

The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.

You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch. 

Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.

“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there. 

You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.

You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.

An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.

Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.

You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.

“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”

You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button. 

“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”

He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.

You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.

And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you. 

You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.

Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.

He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.

You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves. 

It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.

Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.

You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.

He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.

Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.

He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.

“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”

His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”

Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.

Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.

“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”

For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.

“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”

The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.

“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”

Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response. 

“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.

He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.

When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.

He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”

“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”

His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”

You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.

Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?

You slap at his belly hard, writhing away. 

“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.

Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick. 

It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.

Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”

There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.

His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.

“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”

All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.

You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.

You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.

Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.

You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.

His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.

You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.

You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.

Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside. 

“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.

One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.

“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.

“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”

Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.

“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.

“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”

The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.

“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. 

You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.

Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock. 

“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”

He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.

“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.

“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”

The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.

Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.

Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”

You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.

Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs. 

You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it. 

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.

It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.

This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.

You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.

It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed. 

You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.

Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery. 

“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.

“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.

To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.

“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.

You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything. 

You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.

“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.

There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.

“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.

You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.

“You,” You say.

There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.

“Yeah,” Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. “Stuck with me now, lovie.”