#t/ma

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

#waterfallwrites #the m/agnus a/rchives #was that my tag?? i think it was ahuguh #anyways i wrote this in a flurry of 'i need to do something about my hyperfixation' induced attention span #took many breaks but all in all took about 6ish hours (including the breaks) #and im kinda proud of myself for just! doing it!! #props to my friend for telling me to 'just write something with no pressure and let it be what it is' #so this is a drabble that turned into an actual fic bc i didnt! pressure myself! #if it sucks it sucks- if it doesnt it doesnt- whatever it is i made it and im gonna be happy with that #plus its t/ma which rn is just... SOOO it for me. i am so hyperfixated #and t/im is my beloved i love this man #and i may possibly try to write about j/ons version of this cold and maybe The Cherry Blossom Incident #but i actually have a different t/ma fic in the works so that one comes first <3 #anyways yes here you go!! i toss this into the void! and see if! anyone wants it! #t/ma #t/im s/toker

[slightlyunconventional]

j/on s/ims the type of guy to wait until the very very last second before pausing a tape to sneeze...... like?? he definitely is in denial about needing to sneeze despite it literally being about to happen

#now im imagining his voice slooowly getting breathier and breathier with the occasional hitch between words- #-and then the tape clicks on and off and suddenly hes back to normal (for now) #what if he was about to sneeze and then. tried to turn off the recorder but slipped/missed or wtv and didnt have time to try again #imagine THAT in a recording #then maybe t/im (idk much about him yet tbh) is listening back to the tapes and comes across this one #talks to j/on about it while trying not to laugh #j/on is very grumpily like “yes i know ill have to rerecord it dont REMIND me” #and t/im is like “actually thats pretyy funny you should leave that in” #cue j/on being all “do you have any idea how *disgusting* .... blah blah blah.... MORTIFYING not to mention UNPROFESSIONAL- #“-(indistinct pissed-off rambling)” #t/im is like “ok chill i was joking pleas e” #Sorry that got away frkm me a bit #k talks #t/ma

[softsnzstuff]

Ok not to expose myself here but am I the only one in the community that does not have any idea what T/MA is? Like I see all the content and I’m like hmm maybe I should check it out but like. What is it tho?

#I’m exposing myself #sorry I’m a fraud #I’m genuinely curious tho #t/ma

[stankworth]

after many years of being strong // may you have the chance to be gentle again

#simon blackquill #aura blackquill #athena cykes #ace attorney #more fanfi c deleted scenes :V this is how i deal w being stressed #i hope its clear theyre getting simons stuff from auras storage unit and putting aura's stuff in while shes in priso n #this sequence is also many headcannons deep. mainly that he was into birds before samurai stuff and also is autisti c #there's scholarship abt the correlation btwn being aut istic and tra ns. not that simon is but he mightve been Bad At Gende r in other ways #as in Let Me Bring My Soft Pink Thing To School. which might lead you to seek out more mas c interests at some point #like strong muscuIar men fighting each other with swords. A very manIy interest for someone whos 1000% straigh t of course #Also if you consider the timing and Auras whole Vibe I think you will agree she was a scene queen #my art

[shigaeru]

the creatures are back

#sebastian michaelis #black butler #kuroshitsuji #grell sutcliff #sebastian x grell #ma!!! there's a weird ̶c̶a̶t̶ polycule outside!!!! #bb is coming back we're all 13 again isn't it fun #Grell my beloved she's everything to me #william t spears #grelle sutcliff #sebagrelle

[holocene-sims]

belle of the ball ❄️✨🤍

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 portrait #simblr #alternate caption: merry cerise-mas and happy new year <3 #alternate caption 2: belle of the art museum winter fundraiser party #yes girl get those donations for your museum with your stunning fashion sense #hopefully good fashion because i dressed her and i wear only grandpa clothes but if grandpa also bought some t-shirts from hot topic #anyway HEY cerise is back #she's only really appeared on my blog once but she deserves more spotlight #holocene.png #hlcn: story extras #hlcn: cerise

[theginkosakata]

#'porque le rompi el culo a videla' T AMO CHARLY <3 #Charly García #nunca mas #memoria verdad y justicia #24M #24 de marzo #argieposting #argentina #rock argentino #rock nacional #politica

[humanoidhistory]

Southwestern Bell van, Texas, 1970s.

(via)

#at&t #van #fort worth #dallas #texas #tx #vans #southwestern bell #ma bell #baby bell

[hellunurthed]

3 more characters i designed today and yesterday! ^w^

#hell unurthed #art #ref sheets #heather n urth #cell ma sol #widdow t grace #i also designed one other but they're...a secret!

[negasonik-teenage-warhead]

ERRRM jake park sketch b4 i gts

#artists on tumblr #digital art #artwork #procreate #smackies art #hes so bbg #my art #jake park #jake park dbd #dbd fandom #dbd survivor #dbd art #dbd fanart #dbd #dead by daylight fanart #dead by daylight #dbd jake park #:p #insane clown pussy #i love icp #insane clown posse #nah ima do ma own thang #GN POOKIES #im just a girl #plz keep this in mind for future posts 😔🙏 #JK GUYS I HAVE T GONE TO SLEEP! #ITS IS NOW 3 AM!!! #UPDATE #IT IS NOW 4:31 AM

[waterfallofspace]

#23 from my prompt meme with E/lias (maybe P/eter deciding to make Elias sneeze)??

Thank you for the request~~

Gently humming “wreeeckkk the maannn, wreeck the maaan” under my breath~ <3

2.4k, prompt #23 from ~this list~, story under cut!

23. "You really don’t want to do that, trust me."

(References to swearing, and T/MA spoilers, so please proceed with caution for those!)

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t The Eye that alerted him to the company waiting in his office. Nor was it Rosie, though it should have been. Elias makes a mental note to have a talk with her about her job description. No, unfortunately for the head of the institute, what clued him in was an unmistakable scent of mischief in the air. Mischief tinged with a hint of salt. 

“Peter,” Elias offers with a glance at the figure flicking into focus in the corner. He steps into his office, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t recall planning a meeting for today.” 

To the untrained ear it would seem a polite yet dismissive greeting, but Peter is well versed in the many tones of Elias Bouchard. As a captain, one has to be able to see each undertow through an otherwise calm surface, a technique not limited to the ocean. 

“Your memory remains sharp as ever, Elias. We did not. However, I’ve come to you with an offer. One I know you can’t turn down.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Elias lets the image of Jon slumped over his recorder fade into the background. Pulling himself to his full height, he strides to his desk and takes a seat behind it. 

“You have my undivided attention.”

“I do, don’t I? What an honour.” The captain sinks onto the desk, a faint smile clinging to the corners of his balanced expression. His gaze falls on Elias, who in turn feels himself starting to slip into the familiar sensation. 

Peter’s eyes aren’t just dark, they’re more… empty. It’s not that the light doesn’t reach them; they aren��t bathed in shadows. Instead, they seem to soak the light from around them and swallow it whole. As they trace up Elias’s figure, it’s as if they’re trying to consume the glow from his own, taking all of him with it. 

“Well? I am quite a busy man. If you would be so kind, present your offer.”

“Oh, I did use that word, didn’t I?” Despite not a trace of illumination, a gleam dances through Peter’s eyes. “My sincerest apologies, I fear it doesn’t quite match my intentions. Perhaps a better term would be… challenge.” 

“And what sort of ‘challenge’ would that be?” 

Within a moment the faint smell of salt is replaced by a burning sort of sweetness. Elias feels his body react before his mind has a chance to catch up, a single finger raising to crush the tip of his nose. The contact only serves to exaggerate the itch, and the hand is quickly dropped back to his side. 

A smile spreads across Peter’s face in response, fingers uncurling to reveal something long, soft, and distinctly floral. His lips part with an inhale Elias finds himself unable to echo as Peter whispers, “An easy one. Don’t sneeze.” 

“Sihhh… hiH-! Simple enough, I suhhppose. And what do I ge- gehh… hH-! get if I succeed?” 

“Whatever you would like.”

“You seem quihhte confident, Peter,” Elias purrs, attempting to maintain a touch of decorum through the maddening tickle as it begins to spread deeper. Peter shifts his position, hand coming to rest against Elias’s knee, the offending blossom inching ever closer.

“Perhaps I am.” 

“I’ll be the first to admit I wahhsn’t expecting it, you caught m- me… hH- off guard,” Taking a pause, Elias swallows hard, willing the tears pooling around his lashes not to fall. With a measured breath, carefully manufactured nonchalance spread across his face, he meets Peter’s gaze. 

“Unfortunately for you, the element of surprise has passed, and I am quite able to fight off this mild irritation.” 

“Is that so? Oh dear, my apologies once more, I’m afraid things just keep slipping my mind today. I forgot to mention there’s one more rule to this little challenge,” Peter hums, the smile haunting his hollow face almost as sickeningly sweet as the fauna he waves around with precise recklessness. 

Elias feels his nose quiver as the pollen spreads through the air, an unfortunate side effect of The Eye presenting itself as each individual grain makes themselves known to him. Peter had paused, presumably for dramatic effect. Though now it’s more likely captivation, eye’s locked on his prey as Elias sniffles with increasing urgency.

“Ahh… hIH-! And what wouhhld that be?” 

“There are no limits to what I can do with my weapon of choice.” 

Gesturing to the flower hanging from his fingers, Peter’s face lights up with a smirk once more. The glow of mischief is not unfamiliar to him, but Elias still can’t seem to shake the unease that settles in his gut. Such a light seems to be at odds with the captain’s very personage in a way that makes his skin crawl. 

“If I rehhfuse?” Elias questions, lifting his thumb to swipe away a stray tear threatening to escape. The action spreads the buzzing deeper into his sinuses, a gasp breaking between his clenched teeth. Peter echos the inhale with a sharp breath of his own, turning the exhale into a chuckle.

“I suppose you could…” The sentence is unfinished, lingering in the air with almost as much irritation as the pollen. Neither need finish it, they both know the unspoken words ring true. But you won’t.

Another hitch breaks through his defenses as Elias feels his eyes start to shut, the familiar itch spreading out through his mind matching the burn in his sinuses. The all consuming itch to observe. To watch. 

“hihH-!” A finger presses against his nose, then two, until his whole palm is pressed against his face in an effort to block the cascade of tickles lining each breath. However before long his wrist is encased in a soft grip, Peter gently pulling it away from his face. 

“You saihhd nothing about not being able t- to… haHh- touch my n- nohh… nose.” 

“That’s because it’s not a rule. But if you’ll recall, I’m allowed to do whatever I desire with my weapon,” Peter chuckles again, wiping another tear that had broken free, Elias feeling his nose give a violent twitch in response. “And your hand was in the way of that.” 

Bringing the blossom up, Peter twirls it between his fingers, a faint horror flashing through Elias’s eyes as a fresh wave of pollen spreads through the air. He wants to hold his breath, but a touch of moisture starts to spread through his nose, the sensation nearly sending him over the edge. Peter isn’t holding his wrist anymore, and yet his hands seem to be frozen in place.

Before he can make a choice, Peter brings the lavender to his face, gently flicking it against one nostril. It manages to touch the inside of his nose leaving his mouth twitching and eyes snapping shut. The constant buzzing of his thoughts are suddenly swarmed with one single word. Sneeze. 

“eh’KSHH’ieu-!”

The first crawls out before Elias can raise a hand, but his fingers tighten across his nose in time to stifle the next, “hk’nGT-! ek’gNKT’dieu-!” that seize his breath. From atop the desk he manages to pick up Peter’s voice, though for the life of him he can’t make out any words between shaky gasps.

“hk’nngt’ieu-!”

“Elias, the stifling,” Peter starts, pausing as Elias manages to cast a watery glare. He offers a grin dripping with playful mischief. And yet, a hint of sincerity just below the calm darkness gives Elias the will to stall the impending sneezes long enough for Peter to finish. “You really don’t want to do that, trust me." 

“I’m quihhte.. hh’kngt-! quite sure my n- nohh… eh’dnxt-ngXT’ieu-! nose would disagree,” Elias manages, fingers still tightly gripping said nose. Each stifle brings forth a new wave of irritation, his eyes begging to open between each outburst. 

The Eye never seemed keen on something that would force his eyes shut. Unfortunately for his patron, it seems allergies were not something even body hopping could outrun. Elias often found himself figuring it as some sort of cosmic joke, or perhaps a punishment. Whatever the case, it led to quite famous attacks, no matter what body he found himself in. 

“Actually I believe your nose would be on my side with this matter,” Peter insists, running a single finger down the bridge of said appendage as Elias finds his mouth hanging open, tears now freely streaming from his delicate lashes. “Though your eyes might have a few complaints.” 

“hIHh-! P- Peter I cahhn’t… I’m… I’m gonna-” Elias feels his nostrils flare, each breath bringing a fresh wave of thickly sweetened air. His sinuses practically hiss in response to Peter tracing a single nail across them. “hh’kNGT’ieu-!”  

Before he can even manage a full breath, the tip of the lavender is pressed against his nose, Peter stroking it back and forth in a motion that has Elias damn near moaning. A light chuckle falls from the captain’s lips, the vibrations travelling through his hand into the stem. Elias just gasps in response, not capable of much else at this point. “hehHH-” 

“Much as I’m enjoying watching you prolong your own misery, I’m a bit of a perfectionist. My goal was to make you sneeze, and honestly those little squeaks feel like a hollow victory. I’m going more for the real thing.” 

“heHH-! I- I hhhave to… ahH!”

“Yes, I imagine you do.” With that, Peter sets the blossom back on the desk, pulling Elias’s chair closer until they’re sitting eye to eye. With a single fluid motion Peter secures both wrists, Elias only managing to mutter out a groan of disapproval before his features go slack. “Now, have I earned my show yet, or do you need a bit more convinc-”

“hH’KSHH’ieu-! ek’TISHhhieew-!”

Elias aims for his shoulder, spinning as far as he can manage while Peter holds his wrists hostage. Still polite, even in the midst of an allergy attack, an apology scrapes out before another desperate “heHKZSHHuh-!” 

“See, doesn’t that feel better?”

“My- my haahhh… hands! aH’KNZSH’dieuu-! ”

“Oh right,” Peter says, releasing his arms and grinning again as Elias frantically brings them to his face. Rubbing his nose against a wrist doesn’t seem to relieve the itch. Instead, Elias switches to mashing a palm against it with a groan.

“Can you imagine if people found out the ‘All Powerful Elias’ was completely taken down by a single bloom of lavender?” 

“dTZSHhhuh-!” A wave of irritation flashes through Elias’s face, though it’s unclear whether it’s from the tickle or Peter’s words.

His lashes flutter again, voice hoarse and wavering as he manages to get out a single sentence. “Oh christ, don’t even say the w- word… hh’ETSHhhieew-!”  

“Sorry, sorry. It’s quite amusing though. Not often I get to see this shade of red cross your face.”

“Glad you’re… hehh- hH’INZSH-! entertained,” Elias mutters, rummaging through his pockets with growing urgency. Apparently not finding his prize, he turns an accusatory gaze to Peter. “Do you happ- happen-” 

Elias pauses, stuck in an itchy limbo that seems to consume him. Peter waits a full minute, but soon it becomes clear there will be no progress without interference. With a glint in his eye, he reaches down and runs his nail down the bridge of Elias’s nose.

“hk’TISHH’dieu-! huhhh… heH-”

A breath, cautious sniff, then Elias attempts to resume his sentence, only to groan in frustration as the tickle chooses this moment to resurge. “Thank- eh’KSHH’ieu-! guhh…”  

Holding a wrist up to his nose, Elias coughs lightly, the water in his eyes seeming to take on a luminescent tint. Clearing his throat, he attempts to regain some of his long forsaken propriety. “As I was saying, do you happen to hahh… fuck- ih’GZSH-!”

“Elias Bouchard! What language! Even on my ship we don’t resort to such a foul tongue,” Peter taunts, savouring the scowl Elias aims his way. It’s soon overtaken by another desperately ticklish look as Elias buries his face into his collar for another round. 

“hihHZSHHhiew-! Oh bloody hell- kNGSHH’dieu-!” 

“Bless. Into your collar Elias?”

“I didn’t have much of- of a… ek’NZSH-! choice. Seems I’ve misplaced my handkerchief today.”

“Oh dear, that certainly does seem like an inconvenience,” Peter murmurs, letting his mouth contort into a grin as his tongue traces the outline of his lips. Elias offers an exasperated sigh in return.

“Quite. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. 

“ehH-! Really, agaihhhn?” Rolling his eyes, Elias reaches for his collar as the tickle swells once more, shooting the lavender a pointed glare before his eyes glaze over. “hH’KZSH’ieu-!”

“Blessings. You know what, I think I just so happen to have an extra today. Would you be interested in-” Before he can get another word out Elias has ripped the cloth from his hand, burying his face in the soft folds for another “eh’YIZSHieww-!” 

He lets a couple blows scrape out into the cloth, a heady sigh bursting from his chest as he finishes, managing to actually get some airflow through his nose. The sound leaves them both wincing, but it’s better than nothing. It also seems to mark the end of the fit, though Elias still eyes the blossom laying on the table with more than a hint of caution. 

“Are you planning on… disposing of that?”

Peter follows his gaze, another unsettling laugh spilling out as he crushes the flower in his palm. “I would be happy to. After all, it served its purpose well.”

“Well. In that case, I suppose there’s only one matter of business left to attend to before this ‘meeting’ comes to a conclusion.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Peter asks, head tilting as he watches Elias dab at his eyes with a clean section of the cloth. Once he’s content, he brings it down to his scarlet tinged nose to give it another deep scrub. Peter gestures to his face with a smirk. “If it’s the handkerchief, you can keep it.”

“How kind. No, I was thinking more of your prize.”

“My prize?” 

“Indeed. You did win the challenge af- after… afterall- hhK’IEZSHuh-!”

Elias lets out another groan, a few curses following on its tail as he blows his nose again, the whole ordeal leaving him sniffling. Peter can’t help but feel a pang in his chest as Elias leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh, letting his eyes close in a way that just looks exhausted.

“How about you owe me a favour. I’m sure I can think of something I’d want,” Peter offers, a softness in his tone that has Elias opening a single eye to observe the captain.

After a long pause, Elias simply nods, returning his head to the back of his chair as his eyes drift shut once more. Peter stands, offering a wave over his shoulder as he doesn’t quite walk out the door, but still exits the room. 

“Thanks for the fun, Elias. Let’s do this again soon.”

#waterfallasks #waterfallwrites #wreck the maaaan~~ #Thank you for the request!! #not sure how well i did but i had fun wrecking him <333 #hopefully its an acceptable addition to the already INCREDIBLY t/ma collection on here!! #or at least not a disgrace to the good name of t/ma ahaha~ #I just... i just like wrecking him... he deserves it. #for having such a pretty voice. and charming fake personality. #hes evil but hes HOT about it so he needs to be wrecked a little as a punishment okay- hehe~ #t/ma #e/lias b/ouchard #l/onelyeyes #p/eter l/ukas #the m/agnus a/rchives

[slightlyunconventional]

not to be that person but on the off chance does anyone. have any j/on s/ims fic or hcs that i can read UHH im having such brainrot for him

#eeeeuuuuhhhhh Thx bye runs away #t/ma #😢😢😢😢

[robocatfan]

There was an opportunity to do G/t with the faeries, but since that didn’t happen I’m gonna make it G/t myself

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #g/t art #g/t #gt #g/t fairy #fairy #white lily cookie #silverbell cookie #cw blood #giant/tiny #g/t community #ma stuff #cookie run g/t #g/t cookie run #cookie run spoilers

[akidachi]

Erandur Priest Of Mara

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #erandur #my art #guess who set out to digitize a drawing and actually did it for once #this guy #also i legit cant draw for long periods of time digitally rn without my hand hurting and idk why #this took lile 1.5 hours and yet my wrist hates me. meanwhile i did the t/ma animatics in 6 hour uninterrupted frenzies like how #ok i can make a guess it may just be bideo gayms #that or juggling 2 jobs that are both quite heavy on the wrist department idk

[catfindr]

#petfinder #catfinder #cat #kitten #kitty #t. rex #t rex #grey tuxedo #gray tuxedo #ma #massachusetts

[ghostskiss]

Poker Face

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Summary: On an information-gathering operation, things go haywire and not in the way you thought they would.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, little plot, poker playing, gambling, humiliation (? kinda), public sex, bathroom sex, oral sex (f/m receiving), praise kink, facial. No use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k

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

You’re sitting on Ghost’s lap. During a high-risk mission of all things. You’re sitting on his lap, and you’re trying not to squirm on your Lieutenant of all people. Trying to push the haze of arousal burning through your body and mind away.

His hands are ungloved, something you’ve never had the pleasure in seeing until now. He grips your hips with them, squeezing you softly before easing away.

This game you two are playing has got to be the most dangerous one you’ve partaken in.

A few days ago, Laswell explained what had to be done. Price went over it with all of you in the 141. Two “civilians” in. Gather the information you need and get the hell out of dodge. You have no idea why you’re paired up with Ghost. He refused to go in without a mask, wearing his balaclava he uses around more civil areas. His real mask wouldn’t fly here. You all know this, yet they chose to pair you with him anyways. Seeing parts of him that you haven’t yet seen, actual human under the hard attire he wore loyally, is doing something to your body.

Your cover’s working, the two of you went into this poker game as a couple. It was private, Ghost had to be formally invited by an insider, the whole file on this particular op was large. So much planning had gone underway, Ghost was originally supposed to be here alone. Until the Task Force all realized going in without “arm candy” or a good luck charm was something unheard of with this group of men. Each of them around the table have their own girls on their laps, one even has two surrounding him. You don’t get it. This game hardly makes sense to you, and you’re struggling with keeping your own poker face.

You’re glad Ghost can’t see you, back pressed against his wide chest. You can feel him breathe, shift, everything. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to the man, and you wonder if he’s feeling just as touched starved as you, his fingers trailing lazily up the slit of your dress where your thigh peeks through.

He won’t stop touching you and it’s making you a mess.

When the two of you had first gotten here, you were surprised with how many women were here. How little of clothing they were wearing.

You’re wearing a tiny black dress, the straps crossing at the back, thigh slit showing too much in your opinion. If you happened to bend over, there was no doubt your panties would be on display. You feel naked and vulnerable, no weapons to protect you from harm. Still, it seemed like more clothing than the others were wearing. It was definitely different from your work attire, and you wish you could relive the moment Ghost saw you in this for the first time.

“Christ, are you kidding?” He’d said as he ran a hand over his masked face. Like he was pissed off at your fashion choice.

Your brows furrowed into confusion, “What’s wrong, Lt?”

Ghost’s hand stopped at his mouth as his eyes burned into you, trailing over your entire body before he finally gave you answer. “You’re wearing a tiny fuck-me dress in those shoes,” he points down to your heels that match your dress, “and you expect me to able to do this safely?”

Your hands fidgeted in front of you, “Well, they’ll check us for weapons anyways, so there’s no point in worrying about guns.” You explain, thinking he’s mad at you for not having any place to keep a weapon on you.

A frustrated noise leaves him, his eyes going dark on you. It made you squirm a bit, your breath catching in your throat. “I meant how in the hell am I supposed to be able to focus around you.” It came out like a statement, like he wasn’t questioning it at all.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and honestly, a bit of something else. You had no idea that you could ever have an effect like that on Ghost of all people.

“Thanks, I guess,” you muttered uneasily before he opened the door to the car, ushering you inside before you could dwell on it.

You sure are dwelling on it now, as you feel Ghost take a sigh, chest moving behind you. You’re trying so hard not to fidget, not to do anything, especially when you think about how good he looks right now. How good it feels to be pressed against him, to have his hands idly touch you, like he isn’t even conscious of doing it. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

You feel him lean in closer to you, hand coming up to your stomach to press you closer into him. “Relax,” he whispers into your ear, causing a delicious shiver to march its way down your spine, “you’re moving too much. Pretend you like me and lean back. They’re going to think I kidnapped you with how nervous you’re being.”

You allow your body to melt into his, turning to look up at him. “I don’t think they’d care about that.” You whisper back, staring into his dark eyes. You watch as his gaze jumps down to your lips and he stares at them from a moment, hand on your hip tightening.

“Oi, love birds. Hands bein’ dealt.” A man calls out to the both of you, breaking whatever spell Ghost was just in.

Blushing, you watch as Ghost picks up his cards, keeping them close to your body. He’s got both arms around you, caging you into him. You stare down at the cards and look up at him to see if they’re good. Of course, Ghost would be the perfect poker player. Even if he didn’t have a mask on, you bet he keeps his expressions to himself quite easily. As you’re trying to study him, to see any slip on if they were good or not, his gaze catches yours, feeling him take a sharp breath in.

“Quit. I’m trying to concentrate.” Ghost almost growls out at you, making you bite your lip at the timber of his tone. It’s rumbling in his chest, making you shudder as you turn away, watching the others around the table take in their cards. Suddenly, a different type of tension takes your body. The air is thicker.

The bets in this game are questions and answers. Each player has their own set of intel, everyone here for a reason. Laswell didn’t inform you on what intel Ghost is supposed to bet, but you’re sure that it’s something that comes at a high price. You know that whatever happens, Ghost is trying to get the highest hand here. The higher the hand, the more you can ask of your opponents. If you don’t answer, you need to have a higher hand than the questioner. If not… you aren’t sure what happens.

Your gaze falls to the table. There’s a gun sitting there, gleaming in the dark light. A revolver, no doubt loaded.

The man across from you bets, eyes set on Ghost. You tense, but you can’t even tell if he’s uncomfortable from the notion that they’re all set on whatever intel he has.

Ghost gruffy sighs out, “Fold.” He sets his cards down on the table, sliding them towards the dealer. The rest of the players continue on, either folding or calling the bet. You can hardly pay attention; you hope Ghost is at least listening on the intel they’re talking about.

One hand of his is placed on the table in front of you, the other under the table, sliding up your leg, dangerously getting closer and closer to your inner thigh. In response, your body produces goosebumps, nipples tightening against the fabric of your dress. It’s too tight to wear a bra and you’re starting to regret it more and more this night went. A woman opposite of you giggles behind her hand, no doubt seeing your reaction happening right before everyone’s eyes. You blush fervently, grabbing Ghost’s hand under the table with your own, trying to get him to stop.

Thankfully, the men don’t care about you or what the woman is laughing about. They continue on with their conversation, as Ghost’s fingers play with your own.  You squeeze his hand, trying to silently tell him to stop, but he either doesn’t get why you’re grabbing him, or he just doesn’t care. He shifts under you, and you freeze, spine shooting you to sit straight up. From the sudden movement, the people around the table scowl at you, suspicion in their eyes. Ghost’s cock under you is hard and throbbing, pressing tight against his pants as you sit on top of it. You wet your lips, heart pounding.

Chuckling, he pulls you back against him, “Sorry boys. Poker gets her a little excited.”

The table around you bursts into laughter and snickers as you tremble against your Lieutenant, humiliated and turned on.

The round ends quickly, the dealer announcing for a break as he locks the cards in the lock box, ensuring no one is tampering with the cards. A couple of men start bantering, some of the women standing from their laps to head to the bar. You stay shuddering in Ghost’s lap, his hand coming up to brush your hair away from your neck.

A sharp intake of breath takes you as you feel him nuzzle his masked face into your neck, practically melting in his embrace.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice as you stand shakily from his lap, gaze going to his as he towers over you. His dark, usual sleepy eyes are burning into you, something ablaze in them. It makes you want to bolt. Instead, you turn away from him as you start your way to the bathroom, jolting as his hand comes to your lower back, guiding you through the halls. The hand is searing hot through the flimsy material, strong and warm. You’re thinking about it between your legs as he shoves open the bathroom door, locking it quickly.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, eyes blown with lust, lips red from your constant biting down on them as you tried to keep yourself from making any noise. Ghost comes up from behind you, and you stare at him through the mirror. He’s so much bigger than you. You barely contain your gasp as his fingers trail up your bare spine.

“After this, you better be on your best behavior.” His voice melts into you as he presses into from behind.

“You’re the one who can’t seem to keep your hands off me.” You snipe back at him, irritated that he thinks you’re the one making it difficult for the both of you.

“Do you blame me? I finally get you away from everyone and here you are, squirming in my lap wearing practically nothing.” His hands grip your hips, pulling you against him, allowing you to feel just how much you’re affecting him.

Ghost fingers curl around the back of your neck, forcing you to keep your gaze on the two of you in the mirror. It’s embarrassing, with how your cunt squeezes around nothing as he makes you look. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you watch his movements.

He’s torturing you, really. That’s the only way to describe how he’s making you feel. His free hand tugs the front of your dress down, freeing your tits. A rumble comes from his chest behind you.

“No bra? Dirty little girl.” A hand cups your breast, squeezing and testing the weight before his fingers are deliciously teasing your tightening nipples. You watch his large hands play with you in the mirror, legs starting to tremble.

Ghost is taking his time it seems, and in the back of your mind you’re thinking about the poker game that’s going to start back up any moment now.

“Ghost, there’s no time for this, we—"

Your voice dies out into a moan as his hand dips under the skirt of your dress, strategically pressing against your throbbing sex. He makes a pleased noise, finding you soaking through your panties.

“Would you have let me touch you in front of everyone?” He asks, his large frame curling around you, voice in a low timber.

You’re shaking. Breaths coming out in shallow pants as his fingers tease your clit through your clothes. You can’t focus, can’t think straight as you watch and feel what he’s doing to you. His eyes are set on you in the mirror, never looking away for even a second. One hand on your tits, plucking, pulling, rolling. The other creates a devastating pace on your cunt, giving you enough to whine and whimper for him, but not enough to get you there.

He’s freeing you as much as he’s caging you, ruining you.

“Answer me.”

Tears start to pool in your eyes as your hips begin to rock, trying to create more pressure, but he doesn’t give into what you’re trying to do. You nod weakly, a pained whimper leaving your lips.

“Yes, Lt.”

At your answer, he rewards you with his fingers. He pushes your panties aside, collecting your slick. You both collectively groan at the contact, and you hear him mumble a curse behind you as he slowly eases two fingers into you.

“Bend over the counter. Keep your eyes on me.” Ghost says, hand pressing down on your lower back. You bend at your hips, hands gripping the edges of the counter. He flips your dress up and he lets out a pleased laugh. “Fucking pretty, that’s what you are. Look at you, fucking my hand like this.”

You moan out at his words, his fingers pumping slowly into you from behind, your pussy making lewd squelches with how wet you are for him. His other hand rips your flimsy thong off your body, and you gasp as you watch him shove it in his pocket. It should make you feel anything other than turned on when you watch him do that.

Suddenly, he’s dropping loudly to his knees, uncaring about the harsh ground underneath him. You can’t see him in the mirror from this angle and you start to turn to look down at him.

“Eyes forward. Don’t want to see them off yourself in the mirror.”

Following his orders, you look into the mirror, watching the surprise come quickly to your expressions.

Hot tongue, soft lips and scruff are pressing, licking, tasting your pussy. A long moan escapes you and you have to really focus on not looking back at him as he leisurely licks up your arousal. It’d be so easy to look. So easy to sneak a glance. You bite down on your lip as you try to be good. Be good. You’ll be in deep trouble if you look. Your thighs start to quiver and shake as his tongue latches around your clit, a hum coming from him, vibrating through your entire sex.

Moaning, you can’t help yourself. You can’t stop your head from turning to look.

Ghost’s got his balaclava rolled up to allow him to lick your cunt. Something about it, something about that he’d even want to do something like this, to you. To even take his mask off just even a little. Without any warning, as you’re looking down at him, you’re taken by a hot blinding orgasm. Ghost looks up as he continues pumping his fingers into you as he sucks and bites, his eyes burning into yours. It’s wet, it’s crippling and you’re thankful for the counter you’re leaning over.

He releases his hold on you, slowly easing his fingers out of your spasming pussy. You’re still looking down at him, sucking down as much air as your lungs are allowing you. He stands up, towering over you, allowing you to look at the bottom half of his face and you shake your head, in disbelief.

“I knew it. I knew you were too good looking and that’s why you wear it.” Your voice is shaky, a little nervous that he’s allowing you to look your fill.

“Quit trying to butter me up,” he growls at you, pulling his mask back down. To your horror, his face is still wet, but you have a feeling he did it on purpose. “You’re still in trouble.”

Ghost grabs you, spinning you around to face him, ass pressing into the counter. He lifts you up with ease, settling you down on top of it, spreading your legs with his hands on your inner thighs. He runs his hands up and down them lazily, feeling you up, making you hot and wanting again.

“I’m sorry –” You squeak and jolt as his thumb starts to press circles against your already sensitive clit.

“You distract me when we’re supposed to be gathering information. You squirm and grind on my lap like a cat in heat, wearing clothes that make all the men stare, and you disobey. You think you’re getting off that easy?” He tsks at you, looking down at you with his dark eyes, slowly pulling out his cock as he continues playing with your pussy.

You shake your head, trying to show him you’re sorry, you’re going to be good.

“Real cute. Try to be quiet and I’ll forgive you.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him stroke his cock, precum dripping from the tip. Your throat suddenly dries, and you take a shaky breath, trying to relax yourself. He’s going to the biggest you’ve ever taken, and you can already tell it’s going to be a challenge. You brace yourself against the counter, fingers squeezing the edges of the porcelain under your open thighs. Ghost steps forward, pressing the head of his cock against your soaking entrance and you sigh out lowly at the feel of him.

He's pressing forward suddenly, making you cry out sharply as he eases his way into you.

“Shh. Good girl.” He tells you, a hand coming up to capture the noise you’re making from your lips. His praise goes straight to your sex, his words making you squeeze around him, and he laughs lowly, “You like that? Like when your lieutenant talks dirty to you?”

Whining behind his hand, you nod frantically as his girth stretches you open. It hurts but it’s such a good hurt. One you know you’ll be aching for later. He stops halfway, letting you adjust until you’re writhing under him, trying to get him to move. He groans at the feel of your hips grinding against him. He sinks himself further inside and now you’re really a mess. You can’t keep yourself from shaking, from whimpering out behind his hand.

It’s thick and heavy, hitting every spot in you that you’ll never be able to reach. His hand leaves your mouth to grip your hips as his thrust pick up, the sound of your soaked pussy filling the bathroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close against you and he chokes at the feel of you.

“Fuck. Feel so fucking good, love. I’m the only one allowed to do this to you, make you feel like this from now on.” His head tips back as he lets out a low groan, your cunt squelching around him.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping onto them for leverage as he continues his assault on all of your senses. The angle he’s hitting you in has got your core tightening, lids lowering in pleasure. His gaze settles back down on you as his thrusts jolt your body, the mirror behind you rattling. You don’t care how loud you’re being now, letting out a pleasure filled squeal, fingernails digging into the material covering his shoulders.

“That’s it, takin’ me so well. Been wanting to fuck this little pussy forever.” Ghost is growling out now, groans and grunts rumbling in his chest, and it sounds so good. Feels so good, you blackout momentarily, gaze crossing before he’s capturing your attention again, a hand gripping your jaw to make you look up at him.

“Focus. Eyes on me.”

His forefingers are rubbing and pressing against your clit again. You’re crying out as you stare half-lidded up at him, your orgasm hurtling towards you fast.

“Simon, please. Please, I’m going to come.” Tears are welling in your eyes as you try to breathe through it. It’s startling how close you are to the edge, on the cusp of exploding. Of breaking into a million pieces under him. Your hands paw at him, overstimulated by the deep thrusts he’s delivering into you, destroying you in more ways than one.

“Come for me, good girl.” He moans lowly, chin dipping to watch where you’re wrapped around him, watching his length glisten with your slick. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, and it pushes you over the edge, crying out his name in chanted syllables, until it’s just empty choked air.

“Good girl. Fuck. Oh, good fucking girl.”

You feel like you’re short circuiting, going haywire as he growls out praises. He’s gripping you so tightly around your hips, you know you’ll have bruises from days later. A reminder of what the two of you got into. Suddenly his thrusts stop as he quickly pulls out of you. You cry out at the abrupt loss of him, until he’s manhandling you to the ground.

“Open your mouth, girl.” His jerking his cock now, as you settle onto your knees, mouth and tongue opening for him. A thumb presses against your tongue, keeping your mouth open and you hear him groan in approval as your wet lashes look up at him. “Fuck, stay just like that. Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

Your gaze holds his even when you desperately want to watch him stroke himself. His thumb moves and that’s the only warning you get besides a delicious moan he gives you as his cum hits your tongue and lips. The salt of it coating your throat as you lick it up from him, thankful for whatever he’s giving you. His hand halts in his movements, watching him pant out, shoulders and chest moving with his ragged breaths.

You lean up, sucking on the tip of his still throbbing cock and his hands shoot out to tangle in your hair. He pulls you harshly away with a growl and you smile innocently up at him as you let go with a pop. Licking your lips, catching any salt of him left, you watch him shake his head at you.

He leans down, grabbing your arms to haul back up to your feet. Ghost touches his forehead to yours and your heart warms briefly at the soft contact before he pulls away to help adjust your dress.

“Let’s hope we can both focus now. Game’s started.” He sighs out, his gaze trailing over you. You look freshly fucked and he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care anymore about the mission. He wants to stay with you in this bathroom.

He fixes himself before settling a hand on your lower back, guiding you out of the bathroom, back to the poker table. Back to his lap. This time you’re quicker to lean against him, to relax, even as his hands trail up your thighs, reminding you he still has your torn panties in his pocket.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mwii #guys this took forever omg. #i don't know a n y t h i n g about poker #ma ma ma ma poker face #lady gaga #i wanna hold em like they do in texas pleaze