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vittoriaisfuckingpathetic · 24 hours

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save me from the nothing i've become

rated M | read it on ao3 | 3k words | next chapter

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,”

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

1899. Three months after the dissolution of the Van Der Linde gang, John reunites with Abigail, whom he hasn't seen in 5 years. Unbeknownst to him, she's kept a part of him with her the whole time.

NOVEMBER 1894

That fateful evening, everything had seemed relatively normal. Until, of course, it wasn’t.

Abigail approached John at the campfire. The New Austin heat had cooled as the sun went down, and now there was a chill in the air. As such, he had been sitting with Arthur and Javier, the latter strumming his guitar somewhat aimlessly.

“John? Can I talk to you?” She asked.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He looked her up-and-down. There was something wrong, her body language was off, her voice a little shaky. She’d been acting standoffish and strange lately, so he’d been giving her space. Perhaps she was upset by it, and they’d likely argue. But then they’d go back to normal soon enough, as they always did.

She glanced at the other two men. Arthur was nodding off, and Javier was paying no attention, instead focused on his guitar. She cleared her throat. “Can we talk alone?”

John raised an eyebrow, but complied nonetheless. He grabbed his jacket off of the ground first, slightly put off by the fact that he had to leave the warmth of the campfire. Abigail lead him to the area overlooking the rocky cliffside, where two sideways barrels sat as makeshift seats. She gestured to one of the barrels. John sat, confused.

He looked at her, tilting his head. “You alright?” He was starting to get a little worried.

“No. Yes. I will be.” She sat down on the other barrel gingerly, folding her hands in her lap.

Her confusing answer did little to abate his worries. On instinct, he shrugged his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. She accepted the gesture with little gusto.

“It’s okay. You can tell me,” he assured her.

Abigail nodded tensely. She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her throat. “Christ, I just.. I’ve been tryin’ to figure out the best way to say this. Spent all day tryin’ to come up with the words and I still can’t.”

John was silent as he waited for her to continue.

She was quiet for a good while, staring up at the stars. The sky was an inky black, and the cosmos twinkled in a cloudless sky. “I just— I can’t keep doin’ this, John.”

His heart sunk. What did she mean by that? Couldn’t continue with their relationship? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong lately, besides being a little distant. But they both liked their space at different points, and it was never an issue before, so why would it be a problem now?

John opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… you’re breakin’ up with me?” He let out an awkward sort of breathy laugh as a nervous tic.

Abigail pursed her lips, mulling over her words. She shook her head. “No. I need out of this,” she gestured loosely. “This life, I can’t do it.”

What else would she do? She hated her life before. Was her old life really better than whatever existence she’d carved herself in the gang?

“So… you’d rather go back to prostitutin’?” He asked, indignant. He felt immediate regret upon seeing her expression. The way her mouth pressed into a thin line and her brow furrowed.

She stomped her foot angrily, a cloud of dust rising from the impact. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’ and you know it! Christ, you can be so—“ She cut herself off with a clench of her fists.

“So what are you sayin’, then? You leavin’ ‘cause ‘a me?” He stood up, rising to his full height. He was just about ready to storm off and leave.

“Will you get your head outta your own ass for a minute an’ listen to me? This ain’t helpin’ nothin’!” She threw her hands in the air, gesticulating with an air of anger.

John sat back down with a huff. “I’m sorry. Go on.” he forced out. He had so many questions, so much more he wanted to add. But he’d hear her out; deep down, he knew she was right. Arguing wouldn’t help her explain herself.

She shook her head sadly, not meeting his gaze. “It ain’t nothin’ against you, John. You know how much I care about you. But I gotta do what’s best for me.” She hugged herself — hugging the jacket, John’s jacket, closer.

“And?” he pressed.

Her arms were still crossed, but the ire was gone from her voice. “I need to feel safe, and livin’ on the run with a bunch’a criminals ain’t safe. I have to protect myself.”

Rationally, John couldn’t argue with her logic. But the thought of losing her hurt more than he could have ever thought.

He said nothing in response — Hell, what even could he say?

Abigail reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry, John. I ain’t doin’ this to hurt you.” She let out a sigh, and when she finally met his gaze, her eyes were misty. “I already know what your answer is gonna be. But I have to ask, ‘cause I’ll spend the rest of my life kickin’ myself if I didn’t. Will you come with me?”

His mouth went dry. There were two clear-cut paths laid out in front of him.

He could keep living this life — wild, lawless, dangerous. All the freedom he could want and all the danger that came with it. Going to sleep and wondering if he’d be greeted with a torched camp and a knife in his throat in the morning. The constant brushes with death and the exhilarating temptation it brought.

Or a life with Abigail. Freedom — but in a very different way; experiencing the wild, untamed world with the woman he loved by his side.

That meant no more gang. No more safety net. No more stability. No more Arthur or Hosea or Grimshaw or Dutch.

Dutch…

He thought of how Dutch would react, shuddering. He’d be labeled a traitor… and maybe Dutch would be right for it. After all, how selfish could he be? To leave his family, even if it was for Abigail? He couldn’t do that, could he? They needed him.

But Abigail wanted him. Yet she was willing to leave, seemingly with or without him. She’d survived much longer without him. True, she didn’t need him. But did the gang need him? Surely they did, he put his due effort in and in turn they took care of him. He owed the whole gang so much.

He bowed his head down, unwilling to see the look on her face when he rejected her. “I… I can’t.” You fucking coward.

Abigail nodded, seeming like she expected this. “I know,” she said sadly. She rose from the barrel she was sitting on. Silhouetted by moonlight, the grayish jacket on her almost looked like a pair of angel’s wings.

Perhaps, she was an angel, of sorts. She wasn’t meant to stay in Hell with him. She was meant to soar to the heavens, far above this life.

She was leaving. She was leaving him. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, a dull ache blooming in his chest. “Wait. Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

He couldn’t let her leave without saying it at least once. He exhaled shakily. “...I love you,” It felt only fair that if she was going to shatter his heart, he may as well give it to her fully.

She gave him a sort of sad smile. “I know you do, John. I know you do.”

And just like that, she was gone, like smoke dissolving in the air, having left his heart adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

OCTOBER 1899

FIVE YEARS LATER

Three months.

Three months had passed since everything had fallen apart.

He had rode until the horse he’d stolen (after Old Boy had been shot out from under him) until it dropped. Then another, and another after that, until he’d passed through West Elizabeth. He spent his time roaming New Austin for a few weeks, then he went north into New Mexico.

John wandered the desert almost as a ghost, wandering from place to place aimlessly. He was far enough away that he hadn’t seen any Pinkertons, and he’d done his due diligence to cover his tracks.

He hadn’t fully let his guard down yet, but he felt confident enough to stay in a settlement for more than a day or two.

That was how he had found himself in his newest haunt. For the southwest, it was a decently big town — one by the name of Brimstone. It wasn’t quite the size of Blackwater, but it was close to as large, and besides, it was a good place to lie low.

John hitched his newest horse in front of a water trough. “Go ‘head, get yourself a drink, miss. You’ve earned it,” he said, smoothing his hand down her mane.

He’d stolen the Gypsy Cob from a rather bold bounty hunter (who’d unfortunately caught a bullet in between his eyes). She was a pretty thing, white splashed-bay coated with soul-stirring blue eyes. “I’ll be back, lady. Think I’m gonna get myself a drink an’ find us a place to stay.” He had no reason to speak to the horse, but he’d been sorely lacking conversation as of late.

The horse, naturally, didn’t answer him back, getting herself a well-deserved drink.

The town’s saloon was right across from where he’d hitched his horse. It was a short walk inside, every step made a little more excruciating by the sun beating down on him.

God, he was filthy. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t caked in sweat.

The saloon, of course, housed degenerates of all sorts — the exact people John fit in seamlessly with. However, it was fairly empty, considering it was high noon.

All the better. Meant less people would talk to him. The wooden floors creaked under every step he took, drawing the attention of the few patrons inside.

John fished a coin out of Arthur’s his satchel and apathetically tossed it onto the bar.

The bartender looked at him curiously. “You new ‘round these parts, stranger?”

“Guess you could say that,” John replied impassively. “Gimme a whiskey.”

The bartender poured him a shot and slid it to him. “You look rough, partner.”

“Feel rough,” John muttered before tossing his head back and downing the shot. The acrid taste and slight sting in his throat made him feel a little bit less like a zombie.

The room was quiet for a moment. The only other patrons were either sad drunks half-asleep on the floor, or crusty old men playing cards.

It was a downright depressing environment. Then again, he supposed he fit in perfectly with that.

“We got rooms and a bath upstairs, if you need ‘em. Fifty cents for both.” The bartender informed him.

John sighed deeply. He reached into the satchel blindly, then placed a dollar coin on the counter. “That should cover me for about one bath and three nights.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. Can I get you anythin’ else?”

“Nope,” John replied tersely. “Just the bath.”

“Sure, partner. Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the right.”

He muttered a thanks in reply and pushed himself away from the bar.

As swiftly as he could manage, John sorted himself out. There was no reason to be hurried, but months of being on the run, it had become a habit to do just about everything quickly. After all, he had no idea when he’d next have to pack his things and go.

That had been his reality ever since the Blackwater incident. For most of the year, there was always someone hot on his tail, only now he didn’t have the safety in numbers that being in the gang provided.

Firstly, set down the few items he owned inside his rented room. Soon after scrubbing himself clean in a rather tepid bath, shaving, and putting on (semi) clean clothes, John walked outside, the blazing sun still high in the sky. According to the bartender, there was an open-air market the next street over. He needed supplies; it had been almost two weeks since he’d bought anything, and his rations were getting uncomfortably low. Should he have to flee town suddenly, he’d probably be up shit creek without a paddle.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have any money. When Arthur gave him the satchel, there was a ridiculous amount of money with it.

Arthur…

It still hurt to think about him. Hurt to think about a lot of people. All the people he’d lost.

Hosea. Miss Grimshaw. Lenny. Sean. Kieran. Jenny. Mac. Davey.

Even Abigail, though she wasn’t a direct consequence of Dutch’s insanity. Though it had been years, he still felt her absence keenly. Almost like a wound that never quite healed. She haunted his thoughts nearly every day — but did she still think of him?

He had no idea if she was even alive. And now, it would be nigh impossible to find her with the bounty on his head.

Perhaps it was fate that he ended up completely alone. He’d spent his formative years alone on the streets, and now it was much the same.

Of course, the difference was that he knew how to take care of himself.

Still, he was just as alone as he’d been then.

The open-air market was much larger than he expected. Not only that, but it was rather crowded considering the time of day.

Merchants came from decently far, but considering Brimstone was the only town for miles, it made sense. The closest town was Tumbleweed, and it had taken him about two days to get from Tumbleweed to Brimstone.

He was perusing the lackluster selection of fruit — granted, it was hard to get a nice selection of produce all the way out in the desert. A kindly old woman was selling plums, upselling to him about how they were the best locally-grown fruit you could find in Brimstone.

His stomach growled at the prospect of having something fresh to eat. He’d been living off of canned food and jerky (when he remembered to stop and actually eat, that was) for months.

“How much will it be?”

“Five cents, sir,”

He fished around inside his satchel until he found a quarter and placed it in her wrinkled hand. Then, he grabbed a second plum. “Keep the change, ma’am,”

She grinned. “Bless you, young man.”

Sometimes, it was the simplest acts of kindness that made him feel a little less like an irredeemable monster.

John nodded at the old saleswoman, then continued to wander aimlessly. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to buy, but he was hoping something else would catch his eye the way the plums did.

The trapper’s stand didn’t have much that interested him, but he did stroll by a little slower upon seeing a few of the pelts. Nothing was quite attention-grabbing enough, and after a moment he continued on.

Until he stopped dead in his tracks — because the woman just a few yards ahead looked eerily familiar.

It couldn’t be… could it?

Abigail.

He’d recognize her anywhere. The woman who had haunted his dreams every day since she had left his life.

She looked good. Happy. Relaxed. Healthy. All adjectives that couldn’t be used to describe himself.

She turned to face him — and when their eyes met, it was as if time had completely frozen. He forgot how to speak, how to stand, how to breathe. His mind played those last moments between them, how she had left him with his heart in her palm.

“Wait. Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

“...I love you,”

“I know you do, John. I know you do.”

“John?”

“Abigail,” he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He pushed away the urge to run to her, scoop her into his arms and never let go, instead walking to her at a slightly hurried pace. He bumped into indignant townsfolk, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His sights were solely on Abigail. John had complete tunnel vision; all he could focus on was her.

He was enraptured yet again by her bright blue eyes. They seized all the sadness in his heart when she looked at him.

“It’s, um, it’s really good to see you,” He finally said, dumbly. He mentally kicked himself. He’d been thinking about this moment for five years and that was the best he could come up with?

His only other want was to take her into his arms and kiss her like he’d never see her again. He had so many questions for her. How long had she been here? Why was she in Brimstone, the middle of nowhere, of all places?

“I heard what happened, it was in all the papers," she said, face scrunched in concern. “...You look like death.”

How he’d missed her. He thought about her so often, wondering what a reunion between them would be like.

"Thanks," he replied, accompanied by a dry laugh, "I feel like death."

She reached out to touch him, just a brush of her hand against his chest. Still, it made his heart flutter.

“...I thought you were dead,” she added quietly.

John could say the same about her. He sighed, trying to ignore the memories she unwittingly dredged up. “I was one of the lucky ones,”

“Karen? Arthur? Hosea?”

He simply shook his head, eyes downcast. There was so much he needed to tell her. It would surely take hours just to cover everything that had happened this year alone.

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “God, I’m sorry,”

At that moment, a little boy — one with eyes that were the same blue as Abigail’s — decided to make his presence known, tugging on Abigail’s skirt insistently. “Mama, what are we doin’?”

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down and had children. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,”

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

#red dead redemption fanfic #rdr fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #johnigail #john marston x abigail roberts #john marston #abigail roberts #john marston fanfic #jack marston #rdr fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #vittoria.doc

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0bianidalas · 17 hours

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“𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞”

2.8K, explicit, post China Sprint

Read on AO3 or bellow the cut

He’s still fuming even when the roar of all engines has shut off. Absurd move, and for what? Fucking out of the podium and pole again. He yanks the balaclava as he seizes the ‘55’ of the garage, each step he’s taken has slowly made the anger subside but still sits in his gut like lava.

Everyone turns to him with their eyes wide and unblinking and Charles breathes. So, they’re waiting for a scene. A screaming match or maybe blows but it’s not the stuff he and Carlos are made of— apparently. He bites his tongue in his mouth when Carlos comes, eyes deep and gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Charles repeats himself, but his tone is far lighter than he intended it.

“Not right now, okay?”

And just like that, he flips the switch. Just like that, Charles’ fire dies and he thinks anyway. He thinks whatever. He thinks good riddance.

Because it’s always been like this with Carlos. Always half-measures and stolen glances and mixed messages and never enough. He should’ve known better than to hope their last year would’ve been different.

If anything, this might just prove to be the worst one yet.

By the time he’s done with the media circus, smiling in the absurdity of his frustrations, he’s ran out of fuel to keep him fired up, and when Carlos approaches him –fucking finally– he’s only greeted with a tired, heavy sigh. “I have to speak to the stewards because of the shit with Alonso, listen—if I was too aggressive—”

Charles taps his chest and through the layers of fabric, he can still feel the heat coming off Carlos, the steady pumping of his heart and the hard carcass that surrounds it. “It doesn't matter. I've been there, too, haven't I?” he relents and it's pathetic. He knows.

But Carlos squeezes his fingers and looks at him puzzled, as he's often done lately. Half-here, half-somewhere else. One foot out, Charles remembers.

And he doesn't say anything else before he disappears from his grip again, Charles also doesn't stick around to listen.

Instead, he replays the sprint idly in his mind after he's showered, revisiting all the missed twists and turns and convincing himself that his fight with Carlos didn't fuck up his chances for a podium. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. What counts is tomorrow, anyway.

But then a flash and he's pushed out of the track like nothing but a bug and his head is spinning and it's a hundred degrees but his gut is boiling with more than just that. His heart is racing for more than just racing. Fucking see me, I'm right here.

I'm yours to push and shove.

He doesn't have to open his eyes and look down to know what he knows already. His shaft's hardening as he lies and overthinks, great. It's not the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track, it's not even the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track with Carlos. But it'd been a while, and it'd been a while since the race, too.

He bites his lower lip and eyes his problem. His cock is nestled only somewhat uncomfortably inside his briefs. He could leave it there, he's only halfway into hardness. But then it's also just 10 p.m. in Shanghai so he's got a few more hours to kill before he's ready to rest. Social media seems like a good idea for a minute until he watches one too many videos of the race and his minor issue goes right to considerable.

It's starting to itch, the fabric. But when he moves his hips a little bit the constriction provides friction and Charles' interest is piqued, then. Fine, he'll stoop lower. It's one sprint video that leads to interviews with bullshit excuses that make Charles lose himself in brown eyes like he's done for the last three and some years that then lead him to a myriad of Sainz footage and he's gone.

And Charles could call him up, could get the whole actual show. But Charles was weak enough already to turn down his apologies when Charles very much deserved them, Charles was weak enough already to just let him fucking push him over, he'd been weak enough lately.

This was still weak, of course. But it was at least between him and God. Did he mention he was the bigger man earlier already?

He throws the phone to his side when Carlos' smile begins spinning in his head after three or so photos. It always took so much of his face, but Charles noted that it didn't matter because his laugh was contagious. A lot of aspects of Carlos were like that, could make you feel whatever he wanted in just a flick.

Charles palms himself, just a press of the heel of his hand to his bulge and he breathes heavily. Inhaling deep as his teeth trap his lower lip. He turns over and pushes a pillow between his legs, just to keep the pressure subsided.

Except that Carlos' fingers earlier linger on his, in his mind, and Charles eyes his hand like it's foreign to his body. He's washed off, it's been hours already; there's no trace of Carlos' smell or his heat at Charles' fingertips but it doesn't hurt to imagine. It doesn't hurt to rub himself softly, index finger moving from his clavicle to his chest to his navel until Charles breathes heavily again before he pushes down the briefs and ends the charade that he's wishing this away. He squeezes the pillow harder between his legs to keep his cock from flinching at the cold of the dead darkness of his room. The nearly dead emptiness of the life he carries. And his finger draws faint circles on his body again. Aimless, odd-shaped figures across his arm and his torso and his shoulder just like Carlos would. Touch and graze him like Charles was made of the most precious marble.

And kiss him. Carlos would kiss him breathless. Would kiss him like his life depended on it, would kiss him like he'd fight him on track. Like he did today.

This is all that I've got— can you take it?

Charles bucks into the messy lump he'd already made of the pillow as a yes echoes in his head, chanting, nearly. Yes, I can fucking take it. You want to fight me harder than the rest? I'll meet you halfway there. I'm no coward. Crash into me if that's how bad you want it. We'll give them a bloody show.

He grunts when his tip grazes the silky fabric of the pillow just slightly enough to sting and he comes to think that maybe he ought to just get on with it and use his hand, instead, but the rough friction is good. The rough friction reminds him of calloused, big hands, tanner than his. Musky smells and hairy wrists that always manage to twist right how Charles needs. It's unbearable, really. How perfectly they piece together.

And now Carlos wants to fight me.

All because they have left us in these ruins.

It's not my fault they didn't pick him.

He whimpers as his rhythm picks up, back arched as he's shifted to topple the pillow that's now under his belly. He no longer worries about the cold because his many efforts now got him glistening in sweat and panting, just like he was inside the car earlier.

Riled up because of Carlos fucking Sainz, albeit in two entirely different ways. Or were they? Wasn't their predicament the entire cornerstone of Charles' current frustrations?

They couldn't love each other, they could never love each other. They couldn't even have each other, because they didn't have a say in that.

And they couldn't hate each other, either. They couldn't go at each other's throats.

Well, at least that's what I thought. But he didn't give a shit about that, did he? Maybe that could mean…

“Merde,” he moans when he starts rocking his hips easier because he's started leaking. The moist spot he's made gets slicker with each roll of his hips and soon he just thrusting wantonly into the misshapen lump.

He supports himself a little on his elbows on the mattress, back arched just enough to make room for him to thrust back in, and so he repeats in a frenzy dance. He imagines himself squeezed into nothingness like the pillow, and bucks harder, relentless. Carlos wouldn't lose the pace, not at least until the very– very end. But he wasn't Carlos. He was only the mess Carlos had made of him, whimpering and moaning into his mattress and about to come untouched like a fucking teenager.

I bet he's smiling. I bet this is what he's wanted all along. To see me lose my damn mind like this.

He curses and he can nearly taste the bleach they used to clean the sheets; his tongue dries in the cotton as he lets go of the fabric, and adjusts himself a little. Legs a little spread, this time just pressing on his knees and he moves his hips in circles. Charles breathes at the slight change of pace but his mind provides more reasons to keep him going. Flashes of Carlos meaty lips dropping wet kisses all over his back before he claimed him, the way his bushy eyelashes would flicker before he came, mouth slacking in a soundless ‘o’ that Charles always needed to stick his tongue into.

Carlos' breathy laugh and silly jokes and big hands, crowding all of him both in public and private. Did he even know? How easily can I be undone under his fingers? He picked up his pace again as frustration started filling him once more.

“Charles?”

Yes, he'd fucking say. Sharl all soft like nothing's ever been wrong in the world. Like they're not caught up in the shittiest situation. Like Charles isn't absolutely dreading the end of the season. Like Charles doesn't lo–

He freezes when a hand wraps around his nape and Charles feels like an exposed wire, ready to electrocute. But the hand holding him knows him all too well, and it is as firm as it is tender. So Charles breathes and leans back into it.

“Vai avanti,” Carlos whispers in his ear and Charles wants to kick him out, kind of. He also wants to turn around and kiss the living daylights out of him.

It's always a bit complicated after a race, anyway. Carlos is the one he has to beat all the time, no matter what, but he also needs to have Carlos do good.

And they can't fight, so they don't fight. They make love instead, which is its own kind of fight, if you ask Charles.

He moves slowly — slower than he was a second ago— and the hand at his neck is so hot suddenly the pillow is too cold and rigid and Charles is no longer interested in it. He twists his face to see him, but the room is pitch black and the angle isn't right anyway.

“Carlos…” he whispers. It's not a plea, he wouldn't call it that. He's still got some dignity left in him.

But Carlos answers like he's made to answer, and Charles reflects on how bad he's been to him for the last two or so hours, until he reflects that he's in fact been soft. They both have.

“Shh, keep going. I got you,” Carlos says, and the hand around his neck rolls down his spine slowly to sneak under and wrap around him and Charles moans louder this time because it's what he's wanted the whole fucking day, since that stupid stunt he pulled.

Touch me the way it fucking matters.

“Venga, amore,” he prompts again, in the weird mix of Spanish and Italian he can muster, just towering over Charles somehow. Here and there and all around and Charles is dizzy in lust and something as intoxicating. He pushes himself up, pressed fleshed against Carlos, who's still gripping him loose and Charles knows this is what he'll give him this time. Just this, not more.

You get one piece of me this time. You'll never have me whole.

Charles loves a good challenge.

But he wasn't aiming to win this particular battle, so Charles just moves against the hand holding him firmly, Carlos rubbing his thumb on his tip so the precum would make the grip pleasant while Charles lost himself to the sensations and soon he was bucking erratically into Carlos' fist before spilling his release all over it.

Carlos supports him through the wakes of his climax, holding him to his chest as he stands just right near the edge of the bed, dropping soundful kisses on Charles' shoulders that make him shudder while he's still coming down from his high, Carlos still milking him through.

After the lights have stopped sparkling, Charles finally looks up at him. “I’ve been texting you,” Carlos says at the side of his face, but he sounds amused.

Charles half shrugs, before turning around fully, arms thrown over Carlos' shoulders. “I've been busy.”

“Clearly.” Carlos' right hand is sticky on his hip.

“How did you get in here?” Charles inquires, after he finally gains some clarity.

“Asked Nicolas for a spare key. Told him that if he's gonna tell the media you and I kiss then he might as well help me give it a shot,” Carlos says but there's a trace of amusement in his tone.

Charles still frowns. “Seriously?”

“‘Seriously’ did I ask him for the key or ‘seriously’ did he tell the press we kiss on the mouth?”

Charles rolls his eyes because he didn't really care that much about the answer. The world wasn't burning, so, who cared if his manager joked on international TV about something that may not be a joke? Who cared if Carlos outed them to his manager in response?

He leans forward slowly and drops a kiss on Carlos' lips only to realize he still smells like gas and sweat and tastes like their energy drinks. “Are you still dirty from the race?” Charles blurts, almost absentmindedly.

Carlos slaps his cheek in response and it makes a slick sound cause it's still covered in cum. “You're one to talk about being dirty.”

He chuckles, head falling on Carlos shoulder and trying not to giggle too much but the embarrassment is slowly getting to him. When he stretches his neck again, big brown eyes are looking up to him like he hangs the moon every night.

It's hard to imagine this is the same Carlos that would force him out of the track. The same Carlos that will fight tooth and nails this year to prove Ferrari that they should've chosen him instead of Charles. But, then again, they were all different people once the lights went off.

Charles could never begrudge him.

“Wanna take a bath with me?” he offers. “You can do your hair routine on me so I can have amazing hair after a race like you do,” Charles adds, playfully.

“Anything for Lord Perceval,” Carlos jokes in the same nature.

“You know it isn't personal, right?” Carlos asks after they sit in the tub for a while. His fingertips are drawing circles on his scalp and Charles lives, however long this moment lasts, in a world where none of that matters.

For this fleeting, miniscule moment, he's just having a bubble bath with the most beautiful man he's ever been near.

“I know.” Does he wish it was? Does he wish Carlos wasn't lying?

“It's not easy, though. It's not what you and I are used to,” Charles says, honest, too. Carlos is the longest teammate he's ever had so comparisons are dull. But, still…

Carlos stares at him unblinking as he does, and his eyes sparkle with sadness and wonder alike. It's a weird mixture that only Carlos can pull off, Charles reckons. “I'm afraid we're heading into territory that's gonna have us outside of what we're used to, amor.”

Was it a threat or just a bad omen?

“I can't say I won't be aggressive again for the rest of the season. You know why this one is more important than most to me, Charles— but… but I can promise that I'll come back to you still after. And we'll sort it out.”

The corner of Charles' mouth draws up as he looks at him. Yes, he knows. Ever since Carlos joined him, three years and so ago, Charles has known.

The only place Carlos would ever serve him is the bedroom and the only way Carlos would ever be gentle with him is like this.

#charlos #f1 rpf #my shitty writing #anyway. im sorry for my transgressions its Charles' fault for leaving his radio on

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xvmgnhao · 2 days

Text

Fake

pairing: ten lee x thick!black!fem!reader

summary: Ten is an asshole. But he also thinks you're really hot.

warnings: fingering, degradation, praise, etc.

You were super excited to move into the new apartment that your friend Kun told you about. It was with a few of his longtime friends. It was the only thing you could find last minute.

"Are you ready?" Kun questioned as he pulled up in front of the tall building.

"Yeah just a bit nervous. I've never met these guys before." You say smiling slightly at him. "Thank you so much for this opportunity."

"Of course. What are friends for? And don't be nervous they're like a bunch of little kids. They're harmless." He said opening his door. You get out of the car quickly and throw your backpack on your back. Kun grabs your two suitcases from the trunk and comes around the car to stand next to you.

"Alright let's go," Kun states walking towards the front doors of the luxury building.

You follow behind him closely taking in your surroundings little by little. You really liked the interior. You and Kun get into the elevator. Kun presses the button for the 5th floor. You ride up silently. Kun leads you down the corridor and then stops in front of door 506.

"This is it." He says before raising his fist to land two firm knocks on the door.

A few seconds later the door swings open revealing a handsome guy smiling widely at you both.

"Hello. You must be Y/N. It's nice to meet you. You're so beautiful. I really hope you enjoy it here. Kun has told us so much about you." the young man rambles out reaching his hand out to shake yours.

"You must be Hendery I'm guessing." You say smiling happily at him.

"Yes, I am. Come in. Come in." He says moving out of the way to let you both in.

"Where's Yangyang and Ten?" Kun says setting your suitcase down inside the apartment.

You look around noticing how nice it was in here and wondering if you could even afford this place.

"Yangyang is down for a nap. He should be waking up in a few." Hendery says still with a bright smile on his face. "And Ten is out getting some groceries for dinner tonight."

"Okay. Does that mean I'm staying over to cook?" Kun says glancing over at you.

"Yes of course. You know this Kun." Hendery says laughing slightly. "Come Y/N let me show you to your brand new room and a quick tour"

Hendery grabs your suitcases and swiftly walks away. You quickly follow behind him.

"So these three rooms are Ten, Yangyangs, and I rooms. In that order." He says glancing back at you. "We do have pets but they usually stay in Ten's rooms so don't worry about them."

"What kind of pets?" You ask stopping in the hallway.

"Three cats and 1 dog. They're all really nice and don't make much noise." Hendery says turning around to look at you.

As Hendery is about to turn back around to continue your tour one of the bedroom doors opens softly. A guy that looked about your age walks out.

"Hey Hendery. What's up with the suitcases?" He says furrowing his eyebrows

Hendery sidesteps and you wave at who you assume is Yangyang shyly.

"Remember the girl that Kun kept saying is supposed to move in with us. This is her." Hendrey says looking at Yangyang pointedly.

"Oh yeah! Thats today. Nice to meet you I'm Yangyang." He says turning to you and smirking lightly.

"Y/N. Nice to meet you Yangyang." You say smiling at him.

"You're hot. Ten's gonna like you." Yangyang says laughing as he walks past you towards the living room.

A warm blush creeps up your neck as Hendery rolls his eyes.

"Ignore him. Here's the final stop. Your room" He says opening the door and letting you in first. "Make yourself at home. The bathroom is right next door. By the time you're done unpacking dinner should be done."

"Thank you Hendery." You say in awe as you look around the fully furnished room.

"No problem." He says briskly walking out of the room.

You quickly get started unpacking your clothes. The rest of your things should be here next week. After about 30 minutes of unpacking clothes, you get tired. You change into something more comfortable and lay on your new bed.

Scrolling on Tiktok for a few minutes then you're knocked out sleeping.

*2 hours later*

You're awoken by a soft knock on your door pulling you out of your much-needed nap. You sit up quickly hopping out of bed and heading to the door. You are greeted by Hendery.

"Hey, dinner is ready come when you're ready." He says taking in your appearance.

"Okay. Let me put on my slippers really quick." You say walking away from the door and sliding on your bunny slippers.

You follow Hendery to the kitchen. Kun's plating the food and Yangyangs already sitting at the table.

"Smells really good Kunnie." You say walking to the table.

"Cute slippers," Yangyang says glancing up from his phone.

You don't notice the slender man stalking towards you silently.

"You're in my seat." You hear a soft voice say from behind you.

You turn around quickly slightly startled not recognizing the the voice behind you.

"You guys have assigned seats." You say with furrowed brows taking in the image of the man before

He was handsome and beautiful at the same time. With sharp features and cat-like eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at you angrily.

"No, but this is my seat." He said gripping onto the back of the chair you're seated in.

"Ten cut it out. She just got here." Kun intervenes placing your plate of food down in front of you.

"Thank you, Kun." You say turning to the delicious-looking food. "It smells amazing gege."

You hear Ten huff behind you and mumble something under his breath. You ignore it digging into the food.

Ten slams down into the seat across from you staring daggers into your soul. You smile widly at him causing him to roll his eyes.

"So Y/N are you in school or," Hendery starts looking over at you.

"Yeah, I'm in school to become a nurse. Only one year left after this year."You say before taking a sip of your water.

"Lame" You hear Ten whisper lowly.

"You're lame." You say quickly pouting slightly.

"Ten leave her alone. Tell me more Y/N" Hendery says leaning closer to you.

*After dinner*

Everyone is finished eating now. Dinner went smoothly. You got along really well with Hendery. Yangyang doesn't talk much but he adds in every once in a while. Ten pretty much ignored you as he chatted with Kun. You help clean up the table and go over to the sink near Kun ready to wash dishes.

"I'm gonna wash the dishes, Kun. Don't worry about it." You say smiling up at him.

"Why thank you Y/N. Ten come help Y/N the dishes." Kun saying turning towards the living room.

"Why?" He whines. "I was just about to play a game with Yangyang."

"Its the least you could do. You live here too." Kun saying walking over towards the couch.

He sighs loudly standing up and trudging over to the sink beside you.

You turn on the water and start washing the dishes.

"You can just dry them for me." You say handing him a dish.

"Whatever." He says grabbing a towel.

As you wash the dishes you notice Ten staring at you.

"What? Is there something on my face?" You say glancing at him continuing with your task.

"You're really pretty when your mouth is closed." He says snatching the dish out of your hand to dry.

"Thanks. You're not to bad yourself." You say rolling your eyes.

"Not too bad. So you weren't sneaking glances at me across the table?" Ten say poking you in your side.

"No, and you would only know that because you were staring at me first." You say furrowing your eyebrows.

"And if I was. Your body is perfect. And your face is pretty. I like that about you." He says moving closer to you.

You feel his warm breath fan over your neck. His close proximity makes you melt practically falling into his arms.

"Come with me. Be quiet." He says grabbing your hand and leading you away from the sink and down the hallway.

You get to his room and he opens the door pulling you in quickly.

Pulling you into his hard chest he licks up his neck. Sucking firmly on the sweet spot on your neck. You know there will be a bruise later.

You whimper softly your hands coming up to grab his elbows bracing yourself.

Ten pulls back looking into your eyes deeply. "You're so annoyingly cute fuck."

He pushes you backward onto his bed. He gently lays him self down beside you. His hand goes directly to the skimpy tank top you through on earlier.

"I wanted this off of you since I saw you." He purrs into your ear as he slides your top off.

Taking one of your hardened nipples into his mouth you whine lowly. Bringing your hand to tug on his dark locks. He toys with your other nipple with his free hand.

"Fuck Ten." You cry out inching closer to his warm body.

He detaches himself from your chest.

"Open your legs for me." He instructs laying his hand on your thigh.

You obey immediately. In a daze from his touch. He tugs your shorts down in one movement.

"So pretty baby. youre already so wet for me." He says spreading your lips for him to get a better look.

He rubs clit slowly. Sending shockwaves through your body instantly.

"Ten please." You moan shutting your eyes tightly.

"Please what baby? Tell me what you want." He breathes into your ear heatedly.

"Please fuck me with your fingers." You exclaim feeling upset with his teasing.

He digs his fingers into your heated core. Stretching you out perfectly. You clench around his fingers. Reveling in the feeling of his hands all over you.

"You wanna cum for me, baby. You want to fuck yourself on my fingers until you cum. You're such a fucking slut and I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you." He says to you feverishly.

His words send your mind reeling. Making the pleasure he's giving you ten times stronger.

"Letting a guy you just met finger fuck your sweet pussy. What would Kun think? You slutting yourself out for me so easily." He says as you start to squirm more.

Your loud moans reverberate off of the walls of his room. You cry out for him feeling your orgasm approaching quickly.

"Ten, ten, ten," You chant his name like a mantra that you cant get of your head.

"I'm here baby. Cum for me. Cum for me." He says gripping your plush body tightly.

You moan loudly as your orgasm takes you over.

"There you go." You hear Ten whispers as you come down from that intense orgasm.

You feel Ten kiss your forehead gently. He gets up slowly and walks out of the room. Before you panic he enters the room again with a rag. He wipes you clean and help you put your clothes back on.

"You know for an asshole you're quite the gentleman." You say standing up from his bed finally.

"Shut up loser." He says smiling softly at you. "Get out."

"Whatever Ten. Goodnight." You say heading towards the door.

"I'm always here if you want some more." He says as you shut his door behind you.

#x black plus size reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #kpop smut #nct hard hours #nct smut #wayv smut #ten smut #ten lee x reader #ten x reader #wayv x reader #wayv ten #wayv #superm ten #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct u smut

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gemini-sensei · 2 days

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i just watched blue beetle for the first time and am going insane about jaime. i've liked his character for years, but the new tidbit about him going to gotham law made me have some thots. i thought about riding him while he does his homework but him eventually not being able to focus anymore so he just pounds the fuck out of reader. full blue beetle suit fucking with him also drives me crazy i just love jaime so much. (imagining him dirty talking in spanish is also super hot to me for some reason) i meant this as a discussion ask btw

Omg this is what I've been waiting for and tbh idk why I've been waiting but nevermore that because please let's discuss Jaime at law school trying to study and focus and Reader just trying to get him to take a break the whole time because this is his fourth night in a row studying because he's there for a degree and he's not gonna let his family down but he does need a break and Reader is determined to get him to relax a little bit.

He finally caves a little bit and let's her sit on his dick if it'll get her to calm down a bit, but of course that idea leads to now studying or work getting done at all. It just leads to her riding him and him finally relaxing like she knows he deserves. It's a win-win situation.

And omg using the full force kf his suit to fuck Reader and have her shaking and screaming for him, toes curling. Ugh 🥴🥴 say more please because him seeing her enjoy it so much would be such a high for him. He wishes his wounds didn't heal so fast because he wants her to scratch up his back and him feel the stinging sensation over his skin and wear it like a badge of honor because he made her feel that amazing.

And the whole time he's calling her name and his little nicknames for her: Cariño, mi vida, mi amor (that's honestly the extent of my Spanish, so my apologies) but yes, him speaking Spanish to her as they fuck is everything. The dirty talk is filthy, let me tell you ugh. Once he's telling her how much he's going to ruin her, he's not gonna stop; he'll tell her how pretty she looks all laid out for him and how she should see herself because she's just so pretty, all wet and taking him so well.

Send more discussion asks about Jaime (and/or Jenny) if you want 😉 I'm all hears

#jaime reyes imagine #jaime reyes headcanons #jaime reyes smut #jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes x chubby reader #jaime reyes #blue beetle imagines #blue beetle movie #blue beetle x reader #blue beetle #gemini sensei

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mysterywheeze · 2 days

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what a weekend, huh

I've refrained from using this blog to share my thoughts on the [gestures vaguely] situation for- well, for a few reasons. For one, I haven't been directly involved in the fandom for a while for personal reasons (I will reiterate that I am Mostly Fine). For two, until today we didn't have an official update on the matter. And for three, there's been A LOT of vitriol within the fanbase, so saying anything felt like stepping into a minefield.

Point three still stands. But what the hell? I've thrown my thoughts into worse rings.

My opinions on the whole fiasco can be summed up in four points.

ONE: Their initial plan was bad, and the way they announced it was even worse.

I don't think I have to explain why cutting off a large number of low-income and international fans is a shitty thing to do. That the initial treatment of Patreon fans was poor is, I think, similarly self-evident. And not just because we weren't initially given free access to the streaming platform; the abrupt cancellation of WW+ and early access screwed a lot of annual-membership patrons over.

We now have confirmation that Watcher needed a new revenue stream to stay operational, and that the team viewed this change as essentially a last resort to avoid layoffs or worse. We did not get this information in the "Goodbye YouTube" video. The Watcher team could have been upfront from the beginning, but they decided not to be. Instead they hyped up the announcement, even had a countdown, leading us to think that this was a sign of something good, when in reality it was a sign of something dire.

I hope we can all agree that more initial transparency would have significantly improved the audience reaction to the announcement.

TWO: The update/apology video was a good one.

They addressed why they made their decision, admitted to their fuck-up, and changed their plan. That's Owning Up To Your Mistakes 101. What we got was a compromise; they aren't scrapping the streaming service altogether, but they aren't abandoning fans who can't afford it altogether, either. And of course, they've told us that the streaming service is necessary for the survival of the company. Better late than never.

There's still a lot that they need to do before they can fully gain my trust. And I say gain, not regain, because this isn't the first time they've had a business fumble (NOTE: this is not about the HWYD incident). From Patreon rewards coming months late to factual errors in their educational shows, to what I strongly suspect is mismanagement of funds leading to their current financial troubles, they've always had flaws that ought to be addressed.

But it's a start. A good start at that.

THREE: Some fans reacted to the announcement (and to a lesser extent, to the update) in deeply inappropriate ways.

Look, I don't think you have to ~deeply adore~ Steven Lim to be a Watcher fan. I'll admit that, as a diehard Unsolved fan since 2017 who rarely watched Worth It before 2020, Steven's shows appealed to me less than Ryan and Shane's content did. The average viewcounts of Steven's shows compared to Ryan-n-Shane's shows indicates that my preferences are pretty common.

That being said, as someone who isn't particularly enthused about Steven content, I can appreciate the things he's done for Watcher and as a human being. He's always been the guy pushing hardest for Asian-American representation, as Grocery Run, Hidden Narratives, and especially his response to the 2021 tragedy in Atlanta, made very clear.

From years ago to just last week, he's said some poorly-worded and even insensitive things. He's a human. We're prone to doing that.

If you think that it's okay to insult him on a personal level over this weekend's fiasco, to drag up an old mistake he already publicly apologized for, or to make unfounded accusations about his moral character, you are solely mistaken and have some serious maturing to do. If you actually partook in any of those activities, I sincerely hope that you regret your actions and avoid repeating them. And if you're one of those people STILL trying to pin all the blame on Steven, or even calling for his resignation(?!?)... I don't know what to tell you. I really hope you become a kinder person soon.

This also goes for people who started getting personal with the other members of Team Watcher, or with their friends or loved ones outside the company. So what if Sara had an imperfect take? She's not responsible for Watcher's bad decision, and we shouldn't be dragging her into the discourse just because she's married to a guy who did a fuck-up.

And yeah, Shane did a fuck-up. It ain't cute to act like he's an innocent anti-capitalist baby being dragged into this mess by Steven. Same goes for people saying Ryan didn't play a part in this, but over the past few days I've seen way more support for Shane among conspiratorial fans than for Ryan. I'm not going to act like racial bias is the only factor at play here, clearly it's more complex than that, but making up conspiracies to protect your white fave while scapegoating the outspoken-against-racism Asian guy... it's not a good look. You have to realize that and evaluate your biases.

FOUR: The backlash to the backlash has become excessive and unhelpful.

I get it. When people are being dicks online, it's natural to speak out against it. And boy howdy, were some people being dicks this weekend. Emphasis on the some.

Yes, there's been a lot of mean-spirited, unconstructive hate sent Watcher's way over the past few days. There's also been an incredibly large volume of constructive criticism from all corners of the fandom. Some of it's been discussed between fans, some of it's been shared directly with Team Watcher. It doesn't stick in your mind as strongly as blatant hate does, but I can assure you, it's there.

And in the effort to defend Watcher against that hate, a lot of you have made it really hard for good-faith criticism to be heard.

Seriously, every time I see someone on the Wiscord politely criticize one of Watcher's decisions, they're immediately shut down by a fellow fan. Same thing happened to me in an unofficial fan server earlier today. My good-faith critique wasn't as important as the fact that some asshole could hypothetically make a similar argument in bad faith. Any attempt at a calm, reasoned discussion of Watcher's issues as a company gets drowned out with blind positivity.

Let me make my stance crystal clear: people are allowed to be upset about things that they aren't being forced at gunpoint to pay for. That's like, the the basis of media criticism. "You don't HAVE to pay for it so you shouldn't complain about it" is not an argument that should be taken seriously here on Al Gore's internet.

There's also been a lot of disingenuous use of the "don't you believe artists should get paid?" argument, because yes I do, and yes they have been getting paid. By thousands of people at once - far more supporters than most working artists receive in a lifetime. I personally have been supporting them financially since January of 2020, literally since day one. Watcher's situation evidently isn't ideal, but as far as independent creators go they're pretty darn privileged to have the following they have.

And if you think that Team Watcher has actually totally been doing the right thing all along, then you're wrong. The guys at Watcher themselves admitted that. If they really are the bastions of honesty you're convinced they are, you'll accept that. Above all, the changes they announced today are not proof that "the bullies won". If the bullies won, there would be no streaming service. What happened was a compromise, and the assholes in this fandom didn't want a compromise.

Look, I know you guys. I remember the old days, when we weren't afraid to provide feedback to Watcher when they fucked up, and over much smaller fumbles than this recent one. I know we've all put a lot of money and time into this company and the people behind it. The sunk-cost fallacy is a very powerful thing. But please don't let your hatred for bullies and love for the boys completely blind you to valid criticism. You can't entirely shield them from growing pains if what you want for them is real growth.

FIVE: This isn't a real point in the list I just had to separate my closing thoughts from the rest of the essay I accidentally wrote. Whoops.

The other day, I saw somebody (can't recall their handle, sorry) describe some fan reactions to Friday's announcement as "post-divorce honesty". It's far from the only comparison to a breakup I've seen. That phrase has been ringing in my head for a while now. Because this situation has made a lot of people reevaluate what they like about Watcher, why they became a fan in the first place, and if it's worth sticking around.

Watcher made a mistake. One that they could walk back but can't undo. Their reputation is never going to be the same as it was before. Likewise, a lot of fans said things that can't be taken back, and now that's tied to their reputation in our community. I can't blame anyone for feeling uneasy right now.

Hm. When I started writing this, I had an actual ending in mind. I don't know where that went.

Maybe that's the note I end this massive ramble on? Watcher's future is uncertain, the community's future is uncertain, so I'm uncertain about the last part of this post...? Agh. There's a reason why I'm more of a fiction writer than an essayist. It's getting late, I've got stuff to do tomorrow, and my browser's beginning to slow down from the sheer weight of my draft being open for so long.

Just... try to take it easy on each other, okay? It's been a hell of a week, and we haven't even finished Monday yet.

#watcher #ryan bergara #steven lim #shane madej #good lord. we all gotta sleep.

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 days

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Imagine if MK hadn't even realized who he was talking to and just thought the ghost monkey was just, well, a regular old spirit. This is his first time doing this sort of thing on FFM, so he wouldn't know it was normal to see monkey ghosts running around with Gold Vision. Then Wukong drops the biggest bomb that, apparently, this nerdy dork of a monkey is the Monkey King's father?? That Guanyin had done him a solid and asked to temporarily allow her sould to return to her past life as Wukong's mother so he might have the chance to meet his parents? Overall MK is gonna freak out, be was probably there when they discovered Luzhen's egg snd learned to truth about Wukong's origins, he probably had to help Wukong out of there when he collapsed from the shock of that realization (something Sandh is definitely helping Wukong to work through because this is BIG)

referencing.

Yesss. MK learns quickly upon gaining Gold Vision, that it can be used to see the spirits of the departed. He learns this on accident when he accidentally assists ghosts in around Megapolis one day.

Part of the reason MK really wanted to join in on Qingming on FFM was because he knows thats a day where the dead walk amongst the living. And if he can pass on some messages from the past to the present monkeys then he'd be delighted.

Yē Lín (椰林/coconut grove) is a super-nerdy brown-furred monkey spirit that reminds MK of a shorter Mr Tang. They run into each other at the fringes of the banquet, the ghost trying his best to attack the bowls of peaches. He's super excited to meet MK and talks at length about how much the island has changed and how well Wukong has grown into his role as the island's leader.

MK is in turn; super excited to meet a monkey from before the Monkey King was hatched! Yē Lín rambles for seemingly hours about what life was like before the Great Flood (something MK has heard but not investigated much of), and of his dearest "stone flower" mate who leaded their troop up until their passings. MK meets the golden-furred woman very briefly, as she's busy strolling around the party, seemingly drinking in the warmth of the fires. She seems fixated on the elder monkeys like the Stalwarts, commenting on how much they've grown since their cubs days.

MK, nervous but curious at why the spirit and his mate appear so young, ask Yē Lín how he passed on.

Yē Lín: "Well see, after the Flood I thought I lost my mate. I got stuck in a cavern beneath the mountain and figured it was the end. So I wrote and drew everything I've ever known on the walls and started the process." MK: "Process?" Yē Lín: "To make my Egg. I hope it isn't lost knowledge by now." MK, realising: "Wait. Are you a stone monkey!?" Yē Lín, smiling in a familiar cheeky manner: "Guilty as charged!" MK: "Then... wait. Is your egg still in the mountain!?" Yē Lín, nods: "Yup. I haven't really moved on yet cus I want to make sure the little fella is found." MK: "I got to tell Monkey King about this! Come with!" Yē Lín, excited: "Sure thing! Maybe we can find my stone flower's egg baby as well!" MK: "She made a Stone Egg too?!" Yē Lín: "Yes, but he hatched centuries ago. He's the mirror image of her- oh there's my wife! I think she's found him!" *runs ahead through the crowd of dancers* MK: *briefly loses sight of the monkey ghost due to the little monkeys playfully clinging to his legs* "Wait up!" Yē Lín: "My love! Have you've seen him yet? He looks just like you! I just saw the little ones! Looks like his heir got cursed with my looks!" MK, catching up: "Monkey King! Have you met these guys yet? They're so cool and they know everything about you and the island!" MK: *realises that Sun Wukong is talking with the same tall near-indentical-looking female monkey spirit* ( 0_0) "wait"

The female monkey spirit turns and smiles with deep warmth.

Like that of a mother.

MK's heart stoppers in his chest.

MK: "The Monkey King's mother."

The Monkie Kid is statue still for the next few moments as he realises just who he's been talking to for the last few hours! He blurts out his discovery without fear of the potential consequences.

MK: "MONKEY KING YOU HAVE A DAD AND A BROTHER!" Wukong, still recovering from meeting his mom: "I have a what!?"

The last remaing hours of Qingming are spent following Yē Lín ("The Monkey King's Dad" MK can't stop thinking) to the cavern where he laid to rest. Those at the party who overheard their prince's shout (especially the King's own shadowy mate) following close behind.

When MK split the mountain open fighting Azure Lion, he accidentally uncovered the very same water-logged cavern which held the Consort's body. Inside the broken-wound-like cave in the mountain's base, finally open after so many centuries, lay the petrified vague form of a Stone Monkey, sitting in a lotus position.

Yē Lín: "I left some naming suggestions on the wall. I think Walks Reality is very appropriate given the circumstances."

The stone body immediately starts shaking with divine energy. The belly cracking open as a Stone Egg is finally found by it's Troop.

A pair of bright blue eyes peak out of the Egg's lazurite shell as it realises it's finally time to wake up.

The spirits of the Matriarch and her Consort aww at how much the newborn monkey resembles it's brother.

Sun Wukong faints.

#stone matriarch au #sun wukong #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #sun luzhen #lmk sun luzhen #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk aus

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i-guess-im-into-this-now · 2 days

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The Apothecary Diaries

S1E12 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

Character/Location Cheat Sheet:

Sir Kounen- a formerly respected officer, who recently died

Verdigris House- a brothel that Maomao works for

Lihaku - the young officer that made a deal with Maomao

Every episode, I think Oh this is my new favorite episode. And this episode is no exception. I freaking loved this.

Oh Jinshi. The crux of your challenges has trapped you firmly, and you can't escape without making a monumental decision.

Everything in Jinshi's character arc has been leading to this moment. Will he choose to submit to the obligations of his station, or will he try to protect Maomao from this? Would she even want to be protected? Her sense of of responsibility may prevent her from wanting to escape punishment for this, but she's not personally guilty, perhaps she should be protected without her knowledge? Isn't this scenario exactly what Maomao warned could happen? That Jinshi would be powerless to prevent harm coming to Maomao?

Gaoshun offers to cover it up.

Gaoshun: We could conceal this if you wish?

Jinshi: Should I wish? Have I the right?

Jinshi's been able to get by without naming the emotions up until now. No, that's not right. I think he knows what he feels. But now he questions the appropriateness of those feelings. How deep do they go? What is he willing to do because of them? Should he even be having feelings for someone who hasn't indicated that she returns them? Does he have the right to act on her behalf when it's only him who feels this way? When she's said before that she wants to leave the palace what right does he have to keep her there?

Jinshi: Just or otherwise, if I say it, it's done.

He could do it. He could protect her from this.

Jinshi: I should just give the order. It would be such a simple thing. Conceal the facts. Keep her right here at the rear palace.

He's tempted to do it.

Jinshi: But what of will? Is mere compliance enough? How would she feel if she learned she'd been maneuvered to stay? In a place she loathes so.

Radical idea here, but he could ask her.

Got to appreciate that Jinshi is sparing a thought to how Maomao would feel about being maneuvered, as if he hasn't been doing just that throughout the entirety of their relationship. I'm glad he's realizing that it's not great behavior. Picked a hell of a time to learn respect, but here we are. We will have to watch and see if this lesson sticks.

Jinshi: I'm terrified of widening that rift growing between us any further.

Jinshi! You're so self aware! Good work!

I've thought for awhile now that Jinshi's main struggles come from external sources like the pressures of his station and expectations of this status. He seems to understand pretty well what he's feeling, and he even knows what he wants, so he's way ahead of a lot of other male leads. In this moment what he feels and what he wants is in conflict with what is expected of him. But he doesn't struggle for long with it, he's willing to defy those expectations. And what a thing to see. Jinshi just so easily lets go of the expectations of his position. He shouldn't even think about letting this girl go. The order to punish her has been given, there is no room for him to question it, it is simply his duty to fulfill it. But here we are. Very telling that. Instead, what he struggles with is: what is the best choice for Maomao. Is it better to protect her and keep her nearby or let her receive the punishment which, it sounds like would also free her from the palace?

And so he doesn't know what he should do.

Gaoshun: Master Jinshi. I thought she was just a convenient pawn to you?

Gaoshun.... you've been here the whole time, have you not been paying attention? At least listen to gossip if you can't read the room. Everyone knows what's up with these two.

That question does stop Jinshi though. He makes a frustrated sigh through his nose. No. Not merely a pawn. But the question does really force the issue: does Jinshi claim these his feelings? Even if he does, should he take them into account when making this decision? What is best for Maomao?

I do enjoy seeing him suffer.

Palace gossip! Mass lay offs! Anyone with any connection to Fengming's family is being evicted!

Maomao pieces together the problem right away. Oh poor Maomao! She's searching everywhere for Jinshi but can't find him! And she's in a panic. Her panic is making me feel panicky! I know she's worried about ending up in the brothel, and we've seen this from Maomao before. She's terrified that she might end up as a courtesan. To put this into perspective, Maomao walked into the Garnet Palace last episode, with her torso wrapped in stiffened cloth because she thought she might get slashed. And she didn't bat an eye to do that. The thought of serving clients as a courtesan is worse than the fear of death to Maomao. I'm not sure if there is more to this fear than we've already seen or not. It looks like a trauma response. That mixed with her fear of intimacy, and oof, that's a bleak future for Maomao.

Jinshi stopped in to the empty Garnet Palace. He's missing his mother. Perhaps, this is the type of thing they would have talked about, and he no longer has her to turn to for her guidance. He's so alone here, both physically in the pavilion, and emotionally, as he tries to make sense of his emotions and thoughts.

She found him! He seemed almost reluctant to turn around when he heard her call. He doesn't want to do what comes next. But he's not one to shy away from difficult conversations, even this one.

Jinshi: My how rare. You're flustered.

He tries a teasing greeting, a familiar way of relating to Maomao, maybe even a mask from him to hide the turbulence inside. Neither one of them is calm right now, even though Jinshi is doing a good job of projecting it. Maomao isn't interested in pretending to be calm, couldn't be calm even if she wanted to. She can't even form a sentence at first. Jinshi immediately drops the teasing and brings her inside to talk.

Maomao wants to know about the layoffs, if they affect her, if she's to be let go. And Jinshi hesitates in his response.

Maomao: So then, I'm to be let go too? Jinshi: ...are you?

Jinshi is letting his fear override his usually keen perception. He hears her question as hopeful.

I thought she was just a convenient pawn to you? No, she's more, he knows it. But he may be nothing more than a pawn to her. Jinshi doesn't think she returns his feelings, and if she leaves, she never will. He hears her say "I'm to be let go too?" and his heart breaks, she wants to leave.

I thought she was just a convenient pawn to you? No. She's not a pawn. She isn't something he can move around to his liking. He can't force her into a life she doesn't want. He has to let her leave.

Maomao: As Lady Gyokuyou's lady in waiting, I can ply my craft with both purpose and support. A lifestyle I cherish most dearly.

She loves living here. It is rewarding to be able to use her skills to help others. Her purpose is in how she can best serve others, and this position has allowed her to do that. She is proving her capability to herself by repeatedly succeeding on her own, rather than operating under the supervision of Luomen. This place has been good for her.

Maomao: But still, I'm just a lowly servant, I'm in no position to assert my wishes here. No matter what, I mustn't beg.

And just like Jinshi is caught by the crux of his own challenges, so is Maomao. Her worst fears about becoming a courtesan are about to come to bear, but she still can't find the self-worth to think herself worthy of asking for another path.

Maomao: My place is one of service. Should I remain then I'll be of use, from kitchen duty to food tasting. Whatever you want of me.

Jinshi considers it bitterly, whatever I want. He knows Maomao would agree to anything that Jinshi asks of her right now. If he were a different kind of man he could ask for any number of things, but none of it would be what he really wants, which is for Maomao to feel the same way.

Furthermore, she says "whatever you want of me." Yet she never says what it is that she wants. But Jinshi doesn't need for her to say that she wants to leave, after all she didn't choose this life. It was forced upon her. And who wouldn't want the freedom to make their own choices about how they should live their life? Certainly Jinshi can understand that. Whatever he wants. It doesn't matter here.

Maomao would do just about anything to avoid leaving the palace at this moment. She is so anxious as she awaits her sentence but won't speak a single word to try and sway Jinshi. To the man who always asks for her thoughts, she says none of them in this moment when it matters most.

And it's to the detriment of them both.

Jinshi: Fine then. I'll let you go.

He's letting go of everything here. He's not just letting her go from the palace, he's releasing his grasp on her. The control he has to maneuver her, the claim he laid when he gave her the hair pin, the friendship they have tenuously built up, everything. She's about to walk out of his life, and he's going to let her. He thinks this is what she wants...

Jinshi is too afraid to read Maomao, afraid of what he might see there, too wrapped up in his own pain and fear to see what her reactions reveal. He chokes back everything that's eating him alive and says he'll let her go. Which falls like a death sentence on Maomao.

A tragic miscommunication. 😭

I love what it means for the story though! Maomao is going to have to face her fears! And Jinshi... well, I just hope he'll be okay... He's had a series of major losses (Sir Kounen, Lady Ah-Duo, now Maomao). I'm actually a little worried here.

But this story was due for a shake up and Maomao has growth to do, and she's not going to do it without facing her trials. I don't write the rules, it's just how stories work!

Honestly I'm a little excited to see how she handles the debt to the brothel. I feel like her worst fears from episode 1 are about to come true. She's going to have to work at the brothel! Will Jinshi know? What will he do if he finds out? What will I do when I find out!

Oh Jinshi... is not doing well. Yeah, that wrecked him.

Gaoshun: How long do you intend to sulk like that.

That's... not a helpful thing to say. Jinshi is pretty depressed actually. And considering that he has taken hit after hit to his support network, he could really use a friend right now, not... whatever the fuck Gaoshun thinks he's doing.

Gaoshun: You could have ordered her to stay you know.

No, Gaoshun, you don't know. Jinshi has more emotional intelligence in his honeyed little finger, than you have in your whole being.

Gaoshun at least has been keeping tabs on what Maomao has been up to. We learn that she had a week to say goodbye and prepare to leave and then return to the Pleasure District. I wonder if Jinshi is also following Maomao's movements. I think he probably isn't. I think he really is trying to give her the clean break he thinks she wants. And really, wouldn't hearing about what she's been up to, just be more painful to him?

Lady Gyokuyou knows what this means to Jinshi and tells him he's made a blunder. "Blunder of the century," she calls it. God, I love her.

Wow somehow Gaoshun has managed to finally figure out that Maomao is not just a toy to Jinshi. I wonder what clued him in? Was it the utter heartbreak or the crippling depression?

Gaoshun: He only really let her go because he couldn't bear the thought of using her.

Yes.... that is correct! Good job Gaoshun!

Gaoshun is worried Jinshi won't get past this. He wants to intervene on his own. I knew he had a soft spot for Maomao! Or maybe he can't stand to see Jinshi in this state. I know it's breaking my heart. Either way I hope Gaoshun can do something! Because I'm pretty sure neither of these idiots are going to make the first move themselves.

Yup Maomao fell directly into the clutches of the Madame of Verdigris House.

She's got to go to a party outside the brothel at a wealthy nobleman's mansion. The courtesans are eager to give Maomao a glam up, and yeah she looks beautiful this way, but I wonder how she feels. She's not panicking, or being dragged to the party, so in some way she must have accepted her situation. She's always been adaptable in the past. It helps that she isn't expected to take clients of her own yet.

But it is on her mind. She list a bunch of courtesan's skills that she doesn't possess, and describes herself as "just an apothecary's daughter." We once again see her self deprecating thoughts. She can't understand what the Madame sees of value in her.

Why does the Madame insist that Maomao become a courtesan even without special skills? First of all, Maomao, may not see it, but obviously she's lovely. One only need to pay attention to the reactions she gets from those around her. She hears those compliments as meaningless flattery, and not as they are meant, which is earnestly. Second, Maomao is captivating. She's intelligent, and funny, insightful, and witty. She could charm the pants off of any client, if she were inclined to do so.

OMG, I'm excited for this party!

Maomao considers and rejects stealing. Lol. She does seem to struggle with impulse control. We've seen her binge drink before. And we've been told she can't be trusted with to be ethical with corpses. I'll add desire to steal to the list.

Lihaku came through with some of his connections to make this night happen. Awesome, he owes Maomao big time, so I'm glad he's able to do at least this.

Maomao decides to grin and bear her way through the night, as the courtesan's ply their skills to create an enchanting atmosphere.

Holy shit it's Jinshi! At the courtesan party! Yay!

Oh this is what Gaoshun arranged! He must have met with Lihaku to organize it. Good man Gaoshun. Way to maneuver Jinshi. Also, Gaoshun is finally on team JinMao! Took him long enough! I guess he just needed to know Jinshi was serious about Maomao. Gaoshun is captain of the of the ship today!

By the way, how the hell did Gaoshun get Jinshi to attend this party?! He so clearly doesn't want to be here. Is this like when guys drag their heartbroken buddies out to the club to try to cheer them up? Or does Jinshi often go out with the guys for a night on the town? Or to enjoy an evening with courtesans? I'm sure Jinshi is tons of fun at parties what with his taking pranks too far, and crying when drunk.

She frickin touched him! She did it herself! Is this an impulse she gave in to, or did she do it deliberately?

Jinshi wants nothing to do with some random courtesan at this party and asked to be left alone, until Maomao calls his name and he instantly reaches for her. She flinches back. There is a no touch policy. I wonder whether that's the only reason she pulls back. We saw in the last episode, that Maomao allowed Jinshi to hold her, and I wondered if that level of intimacy would last. Here these two are in a totally different environment, freed from the power inequality that existed between them before. She could allow him to touch her, if she chose to. Her excuse before about how he shouldn't touch her because of her class, doesn't work here. She's a courtesan, and he's a client. If she allows it, it's perfectly acceptable for him to touch her.

Jinshi comments on her makeup, but I think what he means here, is that he didn't recognize her because she looked so different, not that he has a preference of her with or without makeup. He asks why she is dressed the way she is, and is shocked to learn that she's working at this party. And yup, he hasn't been keeping track of her since she left the palace. He really did intend to let her go.

Maomao is somehow offended that Jinshi would think that she's taking clients at this party full of courtesans, after she just told him she's working here. It's a very understandable assumption for Jinshi to make, but she doesn't like that he thinks of her that way. She wants to be respectable in his eyes, even if she doesn't think she's worthy of him.

Jinshi wants to buy her out of here. No thought. Just offers it instantly. Good man. I do think he offers it with pure intensions, though, boy could it be taken with implications. Maomao mutters "actually that could work," and for a split second Jinshi thinks she's considering something he didn't mean to offer here.

Holy shit this is the realest conversation they've ever had and all it took was life altering circumstances and every possibility that they would never see each other again. A lot of the pretense between them has fallen away, because there is no reason to hold back their thoughts or emotions now. Maomao has already left the palace and Jinshi has no control over her here. She's free to interact with him honestly. And Jinshi, is hiding nothing. This is the most transparent I have seen him be with Maomao. Just completely open, with everything spilling out.

Maomao makes Jinshi laugh, when she says the only thing she missed while working in the rear palace was being able to dabble in poisons. And that is probably the first time he has laughed or even smiled since this lady walked out of his life over a week ago. You can almost see the weight lifting off him, as the conversation progresses.

It's such a beautiful scene, it's like the cloud of dread that has been hanging over both of them, is able to dissipate. Jinshi will help get Maomao out of here, and back to where she wants to be, and he'll have her close again, working in the palace. He really only needs the smallest drop of hope to motivate him.

Alone each of them struggles to face their separate challenges. Maomao with her crushing debt to the brothel, and the "sordid fate" she is desperate to avoid. Jinshi with his crushing isolation and loneliness. Together, they can easily solve each others problems. They work better when they work together.

The next exchange requires us to read between the lines but is so important:

Jinshi: Do people ever tell you, you're hard to read?

I'm sorry I misunderstood you.

Maomao: Yes. Routinely.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I wanted.

And just like that, they're friends again. This is the best.

And Jinshi, would really, really like to touch her now. She took her boundary down for him before, and now she's trying to put it back up. He's not having it. They've both worked hard to take down the walls between them, and he's not going to let her retreat just because she's scared. He keeps pushing her, until he gets a concession.

Maomao: And here I'd almost forgotten how persistent this guy could be.

It's something she likes about him. That he doesn't give up on her. That he pushes her to be brave and take chances. She sighs and acts like she's begrudgingly allowing him a favor, but I think she's actually nervous, and anticipative. It's not something she could ever ask him to do, and probably not something she would like to admit she wants from him. That he has been so persistent gives her the pretense she needs to indulge in it, without having to examine her own desires.

Woah.

Holy shit.! That was actually really hot.

Jinshi touched her lips with his fingers then he touched them to his own.

Damn, I love when characters do that. When they take a bite of food at the same place as the person of their affections. Or drink from a cup in the same spot. When you do it in front of that person, it's a declaration of a desire to kiss them. And the freaking eye contact right after. God damn.

Jinshi has no right being this hot right now, with that smudge of lipstick on his own lips. Maomao agrees. So does everyone at the party. Literally every courtesan in the room thought that was hot as fuck. Could there be any higher praise?

Of course Gaoshun is pleased! Freaking Gaoshun whose life just got so much easier, now that his boss isn't going to be sulking all week. Gaoshun who arranged this whole affair. Gaoshun the MVP, the GOAT, the KING. Thank you my man for saving the JinMao ship!

Maomao blanks out for the rest of the night, unable to think of anything but that kiss thing that Jinshi did. Most of the other courtesans are so, so happy for her (I'm not sure about the one in red). In their eyes Maomao just did something amazing. She so thoroughly enchanted a man in her first night of working that he offered to buy her out. None of them are jealous, none of them are questioning what he saw in her. They are just so very happy for this girl they adore.

We see her later, back in Verdigris house, she's freckle free and feeling mostly okay about it. We aren't seeing the anxiety that we did before. She still thinks it's a good idea to paint them on her face, because altering her appearance does offer her more protection, but it seems like her motives for wanting to do it are shifting slightly.

Maomao ponders the quirks of her strange fate. And how much things have changed in the year or so that she's been at the palace. She's worried about the people in the rear palace. It's where her heart and mind keep straying.

The Madame asks Maomao what she plans to do from now on. And that is the question isn't it. She'll have to pay off Verdigris House of course, but she already knows Jinshi will help her with that. Will she have a debt to him for this? She will probably see it as such, regardless of how Jinshi sees it. They didn't exactly go into details when they were discussing Jinshi buying her out of her contract, but it sounded like Maomao was planning on working off that debt at the palace. I get the feeling that this won't be like before, where Maomao was an indentured servant. Where she was forced to do whatever was asked of her. I think she'll be offered a job as a free agent. An employee with a lot of debt, but not one who is owned by the palace. But is this what Maomao wants? She loved working as Lady Gyokuyou's food taster. Will she be able to return to that position after just being expelled from it? Will Jinshi offer her a totally different job? Maybe there is something she is even more suited to, that she will enjoy? Somewhere in the palace that she can still practice medicine. Regardless, we know Jinshi will seek her help in the quandaries that fall to him. Also, will her new position in the palace give her a chance to visit the mysterious "annex?" I'm not giving up on that until this show explains it!

Maomao: It's not as if the Rear Palace and brothels are really that different.

Again comparing the two places.

Maomao is at her father's home, and can't sleep. Maomao is pondering what she wants. She may really have some latitude to choose her path now. She could just stay at her father's home. She could help in the garden, continue to learn medicine from him, slowly take over his apothecary trade. It's the path she thought she wanted in the beginning of the story.

She's back where she started this story but she's not at all the same.

But now she's seen a different path. She loved her work in the Rear Palace. There were people there who relied upon her, and it felt really good to be needed and wanted. There are people there that she cares about. Should she really walk away from them?

Maomao: The difference between a brothel and a palace is ornamental. It's a garden and it's a cage.

We see Maomao in the snow covered garden. It's Winter, the snow blankets everything. It's a time of rest and reflection. A time to prepare for the spring that will come. Maomao reflects on a series of images that took place over the last year, perhaps she's reflecting on her role in each of the scenarios, ways she was able to be of help to others. She has the agency to choose her place now, so where will she choose to plant herself this Spring? Where will she grow and blossom? Which garden will she allow to cage her?

And of course Jinshi came for her. Was there ever any doubt? He brings a fortune with him to pay off Maomao's contract. I'm choosing to believe that he far over paid because Maomao is worth a great deal more than any debt she owed. And Jinshi, god he's so thoughtful and brilliant for this, he brings her a rare herb. She knows what it is with a glance and now she's just as happy as the Madame. He really pays attention to everything, and knew precisely what would make a perfect gift for her. A gift he didn't have to bring. A gift that is so well done, that it changes what is the disreputable business of buying another human being, into something else entirely. This is much more like a bride price, given by a groom to the family of a bride. Not that I think that is what is happening here, but the significance of the gift changes the implications of this moment.

This episode seems to revolve around choice. Specifically for Maomao. Small choices like, should she allow Jinshi to touch her? And big choices, like what kind of life will she choose for herself? Whereas in the first part of this series, Maomao adapted to whatever situation she was thrown in, now she can do what she wants. But that requires her to know what she wants. And that requires self-reflection and honesty. Vulnerability. Which is something Maomao consistently struggles with. I'm so interested to see what she chooses.

To start at the beginning:

Chapter 1

Next Episode:

Episode 13

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao

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yeonban · 3 months

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I might be ~quirky~ for this (welcome to my twisted mind and etc) but I genuinely have so much fun with shipping nowadays, ever since I chose to be singleship for each muse. I feel like my adhd has never allowed me to pour even half as much care and attention into a ship as I'd have loved to when I had multiple ones at the same time per muse, so being able to focus on a single romantic dynamic per muse really feels like a weight off my shoulders

#* ooc. / posts.#I also know my adhd is all over the place so at times I may go a few months w/o bringing that specific muse (and thus ship) up #(unless you approach me in dms; in which case my mind typically instantly goes !!! on the muse & ship)#so I'm INCREDIBLY touched whenever my ship partners agree to be singleship w me. It's truly such an honor and blessing to me #and I feel like it's much easier for my muse to get very attached when their romantic attention only goes to a single person;#so you can best believe that from the moment we start shipping your portrayal will ALWAYS. and I mean /ALWAYS/ be intertwined with mine #doesn't matter if you drop the muse or leave tumblr or stop writing altogether. your muse will Always be my muse's special someone #I've had tons of ships where my partner disappeared off the face of the earth one day and yet all I've done was change 'singleship'#to 'noship' bc my muse's heart to this day (several irl years later) continues to be with their portrayal; REFUSING to look at anyone else #Granted this is also why I'm so picky with shipping; in the sense that I let my muse lead the way til they fall in love #and only THEN do I ask the mun if they're fine w our muses being a thing (and thus being singleship w me)#I used to say yes to people just asking to ship and while I know that's a neat option too; I simply. Cannot do that these days ADGHSAJDSDK #nothing against anyone nor against that route; but I've had a good share of ships that crumbled or made me lose muse bc my muse wasn't #feeling the ship. so I'm no longer going ahead unless the muse falls first and makes ME start shipping it rather than the other way around #and that decision has unironically made me feel so light and comfortable here AHDSAJDSKDJ #AH NEY WAYZ!! I need to be sedated bc why am I awake at 11 am. I HAVE NOT SLEPT.

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hexcitrine · 3 months

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randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

#part of it is that i haven't posted any of my recent art but in addition #i haven't made new art in a WHILE (abt 3 months) which is highly unusual for me but the reason for that is #3 months ago i suddenly remembered that i tried learning mandarin for three (3) days before forgetting about it for 9 months #(amusingly the reason why is not because of danmei......i did not even know danmei existed when i first decided to learn it)#anyways i have been insanely fixated on learning it for the past 3 months #however since art is primarily a way for me to process my interests and that only really be done when i'm fixated on media........well #let's just say i have not been making art at all #that might change soon tho #rn i'm reading 撒野 (saye) in chinese bc it's at a level i can read and i fucking love it so far #idk why i picked a book longer than svsss (which took me a week to read in english)...u would think there's no chance of me finishing it #or even reading it #especially when the only novel i've read before this is a chinese translation of the fucking magic finger by roald dahl LMFAO #but it's been a week and i'm a fifth of the way into it which i was not expecting at all #it was initially an exercise of “i will get as far as i can and try my best to read a chapter a day” but i've been zipping through chapters #last night i was up until 3 AM reading it and i was so tempted to read more but had to stop myself #of course this is all aided by pleco which lets me quickly look up words that i don't know yet. pleco ily #that being said...this all does mean i know words like 收銀台 before i even know the word for “orange” (the color) which is pretty funny #but idk considering that the sum of my time spent learning chinese is just 3 months..........i think i am doing pretty damn good #i thought it would be a LOT longer before i could finally start enjoying some interesting things #god but it really has been a while since i last read a high school romance...but i am quite fond of the leads and their respective baggage #sorry for the whole tag ramble.........i haven't really had anyone to talk abt this stuff with #oh also it's my birthday #that is why i am even here to update my age in the first place #happy lan wangji birthday #actually the only reason i realized it was gonna be my birthday soon is because i saw chinese artists posting lan wangji birthday fanart #and then remembered that we share the same birthday #also re: the art i haven't posted yet.........a good chunk of it is misvil fanart...song qingshi my beloved #and there's also a luo binghe drawn on an art app i PROGRAMMED MYSELF (!!!!!!!!!) in there #actually that piece is the main reason i haven't posted the art i HAVE made. how the fuck do i explain that i drew it on an app that i made #sorry this is genuinely the most off the rails tag ramble i've ever done. okay i'm done

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ranger-kellyn · 8 months

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in a race against my meds to type this out and make it halfway coherent, BUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I finally had a breakthrough with my fic, Getaway Car. Ever since I posed the last chapter [CH 10 In which Getaway Car is sent to print] I've felt utterly disappointed in myself. I feel like I gave in to the idea that I needed to wrap the fic up, because I'm being too much and it's too long to the point where nobody is going to want to read this nightmare fic. While I'm still ultimately fine with the chapter itself, I've been stuck with this feeling like there should have been more leading up to that chapter. Like. Something was distinctly missing. The thing being the filming of the "fade to black" section of the script, something that someone even noted in a comment after I had posted the original Ch 10.

A month or so ago, I came to the conclusion that my biggest problem with Getaway Car was that I stopped writing for myself, and that the original ending I had planned was no longer suiting the story I wanted to tell.

Since then, I've been thinking a lot about how I actually want the story to go. What would the most self-indulgent ending to this story be if I allowed myself?

From there, I've come to the idea that I'm going to basically...move what is now Chapter 10 to be Chapter 11, go back and write a chapter for the filming of the fade to black, maybe revise a bit of what becomes ch 11, and then continue on from there.

I started a brand new outline last week, and I think I'm finally in the genuine home-stretch with this story. I won't change anything on AO3 or FFN until I have things written, but...idk. I'm really hoping to have this all wrapped up by like...February, since that's the current swiftie clown theory (affectionate) of when Taylor's going to announce reuptation TV, and look. I will keep my word about finishing this story before Getaway Car TV is released (ง'̀v‘́)ง

#I've also been highly considering just...genuinely going through with making the end of getaway car my nanowrimo project this year #and while I don't think there's 50k of story left -- it would then let me soft launch into the sequel if i needed more word count :)c #i decided today while working on the outline that there's another plot point i originally scrapped that i'm going to bring back #at first i thought it was both too indulgent and i didn't know how to lead in and out of the event #but i think i figured it out all thanks to realizing the emotion i could really explore with it now that i'm changing the ending and --#if any of this makes ANY sense i'll be shocked #anyways #i've had a hard time with this tho bc like...it's basically admitting that i messed up #and i know it's only fanfic so like. the stakes are uh. non-existent at the end of the day lol #but idk #sometimes you have to have the ability to say 'yeah i should have done more--i'm going to fix that'#getaway car fic #writing tag

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mishkakagehishka · 11 months

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Socialisation is key, i really am just like a bunny

#felt genuinely happy and all i did was go over to my friend's flat between our lessons since she rents close by #and we had coffee and talked ab our failed loves and laughed so much and awughhhhhh #i've really been feeling off these past few months but especially these past two weeks #i don't wanna say it but i just felt like i had no meaning #and hanging out and having fun and doing paid work really managed to make me feel a bit better #and like i actually am a human being with some sort of purpose #even if it is to offer cheap and quick last minute translations or a ''DON'T FALL FOR HIM'' through laughter #sighs #idk. maybe i shouldn't let myself get consumed with anxiety and ''if i fail this then this will happen which will lead to this and that so #essentially if i fail this minor thing i'll fuck everything up and there'll be no fixing it'' but that's easier said than done #i can always distract myself tho and just do my best #i think it was during that coffee that i thought ''okay so even if i fail an exam or two - i can take them during the autumn. i don't have #to pass everything on time - few first years do - and i will still be able to rest between summer and autumn dates #so it's not like i'll be a lost cause if i don't pass everything by july's end'' but. it's still hard to think of it #but we'll see. in God's hands #we also laughed a lot bc i mentioned being religious and she went ''YOU?!'' hdbsbsbsjdjd😭😭.... is that so shocking.........

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straykats · 2 years

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#kats personal #if anyone is keeping up w these posts HAHA the triage went smoothly so i have an appt in a few hours w my counsellor yay i liked her very #much #the triage call was less than like. two minutes. but i guess that's because this time it was a lot less... like... it was just 'i've been #feeling really anxious and it's leading ti panic attacks' whereas the first time it was Heavy #so yay glad that's over and done w #but also i opted for phone counselling instead of a video call #and i know that especially w these kinda things it's kind of ineffective to not see eachother?? but idk zoom calls for smth like this makes #me very paranoid (and i'm also sitting in my car so 🤡)#anyways yay #now to try and do some work :(

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makoodles · 4 months

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

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, 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.”

#okayyyy here we go!#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut

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