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buttercup--bee · 6 days

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Pretty as a vine; sweet as a grape - Sneak Peak

Notes: There are no real warnings, other than this is an unedited intro to the sex pollen two part fic I'm releasing next mid-week. I hope it's okay! Pairing: Cooper Howard/Lucy MaClean Warning(s): Swearing; Implications of Child Abduction; more to come

One might think that he has full sway in what happens while they travel together, as for once, he’s being nice enough to share information. He doesn’t work well with others, let alone keep them alive when it's all said and done. Cooper usually takes his caps from sales or bounty’s. And he already tried the former on MaClean.

So it’s a wonder he puts up with her deviations at all. Sometimes it’s to help someone, other times it's to explore.

Most times it’s a waste of daylight.

He thinks on this now, glaring at the sun steeped beneath an array of violet, orange, and periwinkle. The clouds are capped in gold, shafts of light desperate to pour over the wasteland. They should have made camp an hour ago, and instead they’re tracking some lady’s missing kid.

The circumstances in which he caves are almost always the same. And this is no different. A local asks Lucy for help, she agrees, he disagrees; it always comes to a head when their knowledge expands upon how the missing item is important, or God forbid, a person is missing.

Had it been a man or cat or some random family heirloom, Cooper would have sent her packing on her own. But of course, potential life means Lucy has to fit herself into the puzzle and solve it. Whether that absorbs his day too or not doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

Little miss morality has to hold the high ground and smother ethics in his face until he can’t do anything but give in and watch her back—it's a broken system.

“Here!” Lucy jogs ahead of him, her pip-boy praising her with a jingle upon reaching her destination.

Vault (#) glowers at them from over the tumultuous desert; darkened steel is lost to vines thicker than his forearm, rich in an assortment of cerulean, egg-white, magenta, and sprawling masses of black roots. It unfurls from the vaults gaping cavern with no obstruction.

Whatever plantlife this is, it isn’t native to the Mojave. Cooper takes another step, his peripheral caught on the slight thrum the plant seems to emanate.

There’s no way the kid went in willingly, right? This has to be a set up. The whole scene practically screams ‘death this way’. As far as the Ghoul is concerned, no child of the wastes is dumb enough to wander from home and into the clutches of uncharted territory. Not any with a brain.

His gut churns, his skin taut in warning, and his fingers flex beside his belt before he gathers himself in a single breath. This ain’t right.

Lucy is only a little ways ahead of him, beguiled by the abstract flora at her feet.

When she looks at him, it's confidence that glimmers in her doe-eyes. “Okey Dokey,” with a slight nod, she readies her flashlight and pistol. Cooper’s brow rises before a word can escape him, and when one eventually does, it isn’t in practice or conscious.

It just comes out.

“Don’t.”

Lucy frowns. It’s small, barely lasts a second, “We already agreed–”

“Something’s not right,” he grunts, patience already worn thin, “either we leave together or I leave alone. It’s up t’ you, sweetheart.”

Many emotions fall over Lucy's complexion. Annoyance, concern, her expression is wide and open and full of disappointment. “You said you’d watch my back, you said since it was a little kid–”

“There is no lil’ kid.” Cooper’s tone is short, both with agitation and refusal to be made a fool.

“You think Alice would lie ab–”

“Who?”

“The woman who hired us,” Lucy’s voice is high, disbelief feathered beneath shock and mild bemusement, “how do you not remember that?”

He grunts, but it’s all she receives as an answer. After a moment, Lucy adds, “She paid us up front. Why do that if you’re going to lie or kill someone?” She's more amused than displeased as her reasons continue to flow. She meets his gaze for a time, longer than he thought her capable of, until his own furrows and conveniently, the fauna is interesting again.

The vault dweller isn’t wrong, he’ll admit that. But instinct has kept him alive all these years, and he’s more obliged to listen to it than some stranger squalling about offspring she had no evidence of.

Cooper coughs, clasping to his belt tighter with the tilt of his hips when he recalls, “Half. She paid us half.”

A beat passes. Then another. He lets the insinuation hang between them until it's thick enough to drown in.

“What are you implying?”

He threw a line, she bit, now all he had to do was reel her in. Make her see sense. Whether it’s a raider's way to lure unsuspecting victims, a Vault-tec experiment gone wrong, or a vacant chamber—he didn't care. Cooper wasn't about to go and risk his life for two hundred caps and a boy he's never seen.

Despite himself, it turns out he would much rather Lucy leave with him, than allow her to fumble such an obvious trap. It’s unlike Cooper to care—if he could name it that. Perhaps there is an attachment, a pull, something just under the brittle surface they call acquaintanceship. Nothing he’s looked too far into. If he does, Cooper is unsure of where it will lead.

The fresh finger sewn to his hand itches, tingles, a fluttering reminder of where he got it; Cooper clenches his hand so tight it burns.

“There is no kid,” he hisses, lurching forward as if to make his point, “no more caps, no helpin’ some lost soul—that’s a death sentence, and you’d be wise to leave wit’ me.”

At first, the silence is deafening. Both edge on what else left there is to say, as Lucy fiddles with the notch of her flashlight. Her eyes dart back from the path they came, the vault, and Cooper himself.

Thankfully, a decision is made without any more pushback.

He's almost prideful, the way she takes one, two, three steps towards his direction—

"Mommy!" A riptide of horror settles against Lucy's trigger finger, spinning on her heel so fast, it gives him whiplash. "Mommy, I'm hurt!"

Lucy is gone, sprinting inside the second Cooper reaches for her.

It delays him, the shock in how fast she had evaded his grip. Long enough for him to think about whether or not he goes after her. His finger itches again, a gentle warmth crawls up his arm when it flexes, more so when the weight of his firearm rests against it.

Dogmeat finally reminds the ghoul of her presence, whining in the direction of Lucy's trail.

"Fuckin' hell," he grunts, cracking his neck alongside his saunter, "this is why I work alone."

----

Again, this is unedited and I'm really sorry if there's any terrible mistakes! I promise it'll be much better post-release next week! I also didn't want to give too much away. Thank you!

#fallout #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #lucy maclean x cooper howard #cooper howard x lucy maclean #the ghoul #lucy maclean #cooper howard

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miasmaghoul · 3 months

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okay well now I’m thinking about big boy mountain riding dew. it’s different for both of them, to say the least, but dew really likes watching him on top, taking his little dick

"You alright down there, droplet?"

Dew nods, dazed, kneading away at Mountian's spread thighs. He never looks small, but the other ghoul seems enormous like this; knelt over him, straddling Dew's bony hips and working his ridiculous cock with absolutely no urgency. Dew can't stop staring at the flushed tip, the way Mountain drags the foreskin back and forth with each pass of his fist. Can't get over the way Mountain's heavy balls rest on his lower belly, hiding his own twitching length from view.

Mountain's next tug milks out a lovely bead of pre, one that leaks onto Dew's stomach, and Dew groans.

"'M good," he slurs, hands roaming up to sink into the slight softness of Mountain's hips. "'S just...you're so big."

Mountain huffs out a soft laugh, his free hand traveling from the where it's been toying with Dew's chest to cup his cheek instead. The little ghoul leans into the touch, tilting his head so he can graze sharp fangs over the heel of Mountain's hand. Mountain hums, caressing Dew's kiss-swollen lower lip with his thumb.

"You're drooling," he comments, obviously amused, swiping away a stray dribble. "That hungry for it, are you?"

Mountain pulls his hand back, licks that smear of saliva from his tongue, and Dew's toes curl.

"Didn't think you'd say yes," he wheezes, a confession that has his already warm cheeks going that much pinker. "Didn't...didn't think you'd look so fuckin' big."

Mountain really laughs then, a rich, booming sound that has Dew's stomach tensing. He licks his lips, rocking his hips as best he can with the way he's pinned. It makes the head of his aching cock nudge up against Mountain's thigh, and the sound Dew makes is one he should probably be more embarrassed about. He thinks he can't be blamed though - Mountain's had him stupid stiff for far too long now, ever since he agreed to Dew's breathless request for this particular act.

"That seems like an oversight on your part, little one," Mountain rumbles, leaning back on one hand and arching his back. Using the new angle to fuck his own fist with slow rolls of his hips that make Dew sweat. "Having second thoughts?"

"Fuck no."

Dew holds fast to Mountain's hips and ruts up again, the new angle letting his slippery little dick slide past the cleft of Mountain's thigh to bump against his sack. They both make a noise at that, and the lazy smile that splits Mountain's face makes Dew's eyelids flutter.

"Then tell me what you want," he coos, letting go of his cock and letting it rest on Dew's belly. Hot and heavy and wonderfully slick against his skin. Mountain reaches back and gets that hand on Dew's straining dick instead, wraps it up in long, rough fingers. "Let me hear you say it again."

Dew grits his teeth when Mountain gives him a single tight stroke, draws his knees up to plant his feet on the mattress. When he looks up at Mountain he finds mischief playing about his features, the flecks of gold in his emerald eyes sparkling, and Dew takes a shaky breath.

"Ride me," he hisses, nothing but a demand. "Lemme see you bounce on it."

Mountain purrs, low and tantalizing, and then he's shifting. Straightening up and spreading his knees that much further, opening himself up to rub Dew's tip against his slick hole. Dew scrunches his eyes shut, and Mountain tsks at him.

"Eyes open, Dew," he lilts, reaching down to give Dew’s tight sack a tickle that makes the little ghoul whimper.

Against his better judgement, Dew obeys. Cracks just one eye open to find Mountain smiling in a way that makes his mouth go dry. Watches him rise up onto his knees, watches his other hand drift down. Dew expects him to take his cock in hand again, to stoke himself while he sinks down onto the few inches Dew has to offer.

He does not expect Mountain to cup his own balls, to lift and hold them close to his body so Dew can finally see how red and wet his pretty little cock has gotten. The way Mountain's hole winks and glistens, ready to take every bit of him.

"Oh no," he whispers, and Mountain grins.

"You said you wanted to see."

He pops the head inside, and with a wounded howl Dew regrets not sliding on his cock ring the second Mountain said yes.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #mountain/dew #mountain x dew #mountaindew

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dwritesit · 4 months

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mount

inspired by this post i hope its okay! its very short...

Summary: Mountain crying and begging to breed Dewdrop. yeah.

Tags: breeding, begging, crying, size kink..., dirty talk, trans dewdrop

Read below the cut or on AO3

...

Mountain feels like he might die. It's hot, he's drenched in sweat, his chest squeezed tight like a vice as he pants and sobs for air. The world is hazy, steamy, all he knows is that he wants something he can't have. At least not yet.

“Please, please, Dewdrop,” He says again, unsure of how many times the words have left his mouth at this point. Dewdrop’s smirk in response makes Mountain's stomach flip and twist, and his cock he's been sliding against the little fire ghoul’s thigh for the last… however long… kicks and spurts more pre-cum over that rose gold skin.

“What do you need, Mounty?” Dewdrop asks from his place below the large ghoul. He's trapped beneath him, both his wrists pressed tight against the mattress above his head in just one of the earth ghoul’s hands. A buzz tingles under Dew’s skin at the sight of Mountain above him; the large frame, the way his muscles from hours of outdoor labor ripple as he continues jerking his hips for friction. Mountain could take what he wants. With one movement, he could have Dew on his stomach, ass in the air, and pound into him with little to no effort, but here he is instead. Begging, whining, desperate for Dewdrop’s permission.

“Please, fuck, Dewy- firelily, I need to breed you. I need it, Ineedit Ineedit Ineedit,” Mountain sobs. Dewdrop looks down to that huge, angry, red cock against his thigh. It looks painful, like one more slide might make him pop and cover Dew’s stomach. But he's being so good, so obedient for his lover.

“You need to breed me, pebble?” Dew asks, “You think you deserve to fill me up?”

Mounty shakes his head, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Dewdrop’s collar bones as he leans down to lap at the plethora of bruises and bite marks he'd left all over Dew’s neck and shoulders, “Been good, been a good boy,” He says.

“You've been so good for me, baby,” Dew agrees, biting his lip to hold back a moan as Mountain sucks yet another mark onto his neck, kitten licking at the skin as an apology, “Such a good boy for me.”

Mountain cries out at the praise, kissing up Dew’s neck until he's reached his lips and captures him in a heated kiss. Dew wastes no time in diving his tongue into Mountain’s mouth, tasting his lovely earth ghoul and pulling the sweetest moans out of his chest.

“Can I please?” Mounty asks again, “It hurts, please, I need to be inside you. Need to cum inside you!”

Dewdrop can't help but moan lewdly at the words. He needs it just as badly, his cunt has been aching ever since he smelled Mountain’s familiar heat from down the hall in his own room. He had followed that evergreen and floral scent expecting to be fucked within an inch of his life - the way Mountain’s heats usually turned to just instinct and raw need and lust. Instead he found the other ghoul writhing on his bed, already in tears as he jerked himself over the edge, begging as soon as he smelled Dewdrop enter the room.

“Please, please, need to breed you. Let me breed you, baby,” Mountain continues the barrage of requests, whispering hoarse against Dewdrop’s neck as he keeps licking and sucking and biting, always missing the place where he's meant to mark the fire ghoul, “Need to see you full of me, I've been good, please.”

“ Fuck, Mounty,” Dewdrop isn't sure how much longer he can keep holding off himself. He's already cum so many times, either from Mountain's greedy mouth, or his long thick fingers, but it's nothing compared to actually being filled by the other ghoul, “Fuck me.”

Mountain stops mid-lick up the side of Dewdrop’s face, even his hips freezing, cock twitching again over Dew’s skin.

Dew knows he's waiting for clearer permission, “You're such a good boy, Mounty. Fuck me, fill me, breed me.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mountain gasped out as he pulled back slightly, hand still firm around Dewdrop’s wrists while he settled between those rose gold thighs. He only let go so he could push Dewdrop’s legs forward, encouraging the fire ghoul to hold them, to hold himself open for him. Dew is happy to oblige, barring his soaked cunt completely as his fingers dimple into the backs of his thighs. Mountain groans, sobs , again at the sight.

“Come on, Mounty, fuck me,” Dew’s voice is raspy and dripping with desperation as he stares up at his mate.

Mountain finally lines himself up with Dewdrop’s hole, bowing forward as soon as the tip is against the entrance, claws gripping and tearing holes into the mattress, his forehead pressed against the fire ghoul’s as he tries to control his release. He needs to be inside. Needs to cum inside of Dewdrop’s heat.

Slowly, he sinks inside, Dewdrop’s back arches off the bed at the delicious stretch - no matter how Mountain worked him open, how wet Dew became, the sweet burn was always there and he lived for it. Craved it.

“Dew, Dew ,” Mountain wails, finally seating himself fully inside of the fire ghoul, “Need more, please. Please take all of me!”

Dewdrop groans and presses sweet kisses on Mountain’s face, licks at his tears and traces their trails with his tongue. He already feels so full, there's no way there's anything else to take. It's enough to stop any sort of response in his throat, as he gasps around the sensation.

“Let me knot you, take my knot, spitfire,” Mountain returns Dewdrop’s kisses with kisses of his own. Wetter, sloppier, making Dew's face glisten with sweat and spit.

“Always,” Dew gasps out, feeling the knot forming where they're pressed together. He's not sure he can take it but he will...

#mountaindew #mountain x dewdrop #mountain ghoul #i want mountain to call dew daddy so bad u have no idea #dewdrop ghoul #transmasculine dewdrop #trans dew #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #sodo ghoul #dwritesit

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ramblingoak · 3 months

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Building A Family

Another peek into the steampunk Copia fic I'm working on because I can't help myself. Check out the previous story here: Clockwork Friends.

A young Copia (probably about 5 or 6 years old) trying to settle in at his new home.

Warnings: angst, sfw, 1k words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

Copia’s oldest clockwork rat is Aldo and he made him when he was just a young boy, barely able to read and write.

After being dropped off to live with his apparent father Nihil, Copia was mostly left to his own devices. His brothers were busy with their own lives and didn’t want to deal with the burden of another Emeritus heir. The sprawling estate they lived on was closed off from the rest of the city by high walls that were patrolled by mechanical golems. Not to mention the reputation of the Emeritus family itself. Most of the city was convinced they were more machine than human these days.

On a particularly lonely day Copia found himself near tears as he wandered the halls. He spent the beginning of his life in an orphanage surrounded by other children. An endless amount of people to play with and talk to. Here it was just him. It was bad enough his own family didn’t seem to want anything to do with him but even the ghouls avoided him.

Copia finally stopped when he walked by a strangely silent grandfather clock. It loomed over him much like Nihil had done the day he was picked up from the orphanage. The hands of the clock were still and Copia’s fingers started twitching, the urge to fix it growing stronger by the second. It wasn’t until he had dragged a nearby chair over and started taking the clock face apart that he had an idea for another purpose for it.

“Can you hear me?”

It was hours later, the grandfather clock now just a corpse of its former self. Copia had brought all the parts he needed into his room and spread them out on the floor. A ghoul had come by when it had gotten dark, dropping off a plate of food and getting a fire going. He had lingered for some time after, seemingly content to silently watch Copia work. They had only left when Copia found himself getting frustrated when the tiny creature in front of him remained silent.

Tears began to prick at his eyes again and he struggled to keep them from falling down his cheeks. He was just so lonely, all he wanted was something to keep him company. It didn’t matter to him whether it was a machine or not. Right now he had no one. No friends…no family…just an empty house full of memories he wasn’t a part of. With a whimper he dropped his head into his hands, his small shoulders starting to shake as the tears started to come in earnest.

“Try this.” Copia’s head shot up, his eyes meeting that of the ghoul that had managed to sneak back in. The firelight danced across his silver mask and Copia shivered when it made it seem like his eyes were on fire as well. He finally looked down to see a small metal object in its hand, the gold contrasting with the black metal of his fingers. “This will bring it to life.”

After a few more trips to the destroyed grandfather clock Copia had re-worked his little creation to utilize what the ghoul had brought him. Copia’s hand shook as he inserted the gold key into its back. He could hear the gears turn as he twisted it, over and over again until he felt confident it was enough. As delicately as possible he lowered it back to the ground, afraid to let go in case it didn’t work.

In case his new friend remained silent.

“It’s ok.”

Copia looked up at the ghoul, forgetting he had stuck around to watch. It was impossible to know what the ghoul was thinking but Copia saw something in his eyes that he had only seen a few other times in his young life. Kindness and understanding shone there, emotions so strong that Copia had to look away quickly lest he got upset again. He took a deep breath and slowly pulled his hands away, trembling as he waited for something to happen.

It was slow at first, timid as it began to move around the rug Copia was sitting on. After a few unsure first steps it gained confidence and crept closer to him on shaky legs. Copia was afraid to touch it, afraid he’d break the spell the small thing might be under. When a tiny metal paw touched his leg Copia finally smiled and reached down to scoop it up in his hands.

“Hello.” The small metal rat twitched its nose, as if it could smell whether Copia was a friend or not. “H-how do you feel?”

The door to his room opening and closing made him look up briefly but Copia didn’t give the ghoul leaving another thought. He was too enamored by what he had created. The clockwork rat was busy looking around the room, his limbs still shaky against Copia’s hands. He was already thinking of ways to improve the design, of how he could make his new friend stronger.

After a few moments its small body started to stop, the key moving slower and slower on its back. Copia set it back down on the rug and ran a finger up and down its head. It was a comforting gesture for both of them and neither one looked away from each other until the key had completely stopped.

Copia sat back on his heels, his eyes quickly looking around the room as he thought of what he would need. He had a responsibility now to his new friend. He needed to take care of it, to make it healthy and happy. Copia was prepared to do whatever he could to make sure that happened. With a grunt he stretched out on his stomach in front of the rat, reaching out and winding the key up again. When it came to life once more it immediately walked forward and bumped noses with him.

“I’m going to name you Aldo, ok?” The rat's nose moved across his face, the small whiskers he had given him tickling his cheek. “Welcome home.”

Some more baby steampunk Copia here 💙

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#my fics #my writing #steampunk copia #copia fanfiction #cardinal copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #copia fanfic

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coffeeghoulie · 3 months

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pspspspps i see you're taking fluff requests, soooo can i be annoying and ask for some cute swissalps, my boys? im giving you a free hand entirely, whatever comes to mind. ill take anything hgfhagsfsa /nf

absolutely, the big boys being cute coming right up!

For being a multi-ghoul, Swiss isn't usually quite in tune with the parts of him that are earth. His fire and quintessence are louder, demand more from him. But on days like today, when it calls to him so loudly and so sweetly he can't deny it, he knows he's always welcome here.

The air is thick and warm and humid. Swiss breathes through his nose, the scent of churned earth and growth and greenery overwhelming in the best way. Mountain works quietly nearby, and his peaceful presence is enough to quiet that part of him.

Swiss bats lazily at Mountain's tail, the pine-needle like tip rustling as it brushes against his claws. His head dangles off of the end of the earth ghoul's daybed, tucked snugly in the corner of his greenhouse.

Mountain snickers from where he waters his personal garden. "You are so easily entertained, edelweiss."

"You know it," Swiss snorts, eyes tracking the movement of his tail. The spade of his own tail beats a steady rhythm against the mattress.

"Keep that up and I'll think you're coming for my job," Mountain teases, inspecting the hanging plants that form his privacy curtain. "You sure as heaven don't play that guitar. Papa might as well put you to work."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. "Excuse me, maple, but Papa loves my stage presence. You do too."

Mountain sets down his watering can, turning to face Swiss with his hands on his hips. The multi-ghoul whines as the motion causes his tail to spin out of reach. "One of these days Papa won't be acting when you give him the shimmies. Besides, I didn't say I didn't love your stage presence, you desperately needy ghoul."

"Oh, I know you love it," Swiss laughs, still hanging off of the daybed. "I can feel you looking. I can always feel it when you're looking at me."

"Quit being dramatic, Swiss," Mountain sighs, his tail wrapping around his leg so he can tease Swiss with the tip. He cackles when Swiss's pupils visibly dilate, gold disappearing behind black, like a cat that's seen something it wants.

"It's true, though," Swiss says sincerely, eyes locked on the drifting tip of his tail. "I don't know how to describe it, but I can feel it when you're looking at me."

"Can you feel it now?" Mountain asks, genuinely curious. He cocks his head, strands of auburn hair escaping his bun and falling over his forehead.

"'Course I can," he says, still not tearing his eyes away from Mountain's tail. He bats at it, chittering under his breath. "I can feel it right now."

"What does it feel like?" he asks, brushing the dirt from his pants before sitting down on the mattress. He stares down at Swiss, emerald eyes meeting gold.

"Warm," Swiss supplies, shrugging. He shifts so his head isn't dangling off of the bed, moving so he's sitting up facing him. "I don't know how else to describe it, Mount. It just feels like you. Like the earth in me."

Mountain quirks an eyebrow, patting his knee. "Oh, edelweiss, I'm sure you want some earth in you," he teases.

Swiss barely has a moment to recognize the mischief in Mountain's eyes before the bigger ghoul is tackling him, pinning him to the soft blankets. He snarls, snapping his teeth playfully, and rolls, scuffling until Mountain's beneath him.

They playfight like kits, snapping teeth and lashing tails. It makes a mess of Mountain's usually pristine bed, mussing the blankets and pillows, yowling like animals.

Mountain has Swiss pinned down again when the multi-ghoul shoves. It sends both of them off of the edge of the bed, and they thud hard against the packed earth floor.

Swiss stares down at Mountain, chest heaving and eyes wide. "Shit, edel, I'm sorry, are you alri-"

Mountain grabs him by the collar of his shirt, and pulls the multi-ghoul down to kiss him. Swiss exhales hard in relief. His hands go to the base of Mountain's antlers, running his thumbs over the sensitive bit where skin meets bone.

Mountain's laughing when they pull away, eyes crinkled with a grin that rivals Swiss's. "Father Below, Swiss, I really love you."

Swiss laughs. He bends down to press his forehead to Mountain's, nuzzling him sweetly. He smells of bergamot and tea tree and green, something that just screams Mountain in its entirety. "Love you too, big guy."

He reaches up, eyes softening as he stares up at him, and trails a finger along Swiss's cheek, lips quirking in a smile he knows looks goofy before his back twinges. "Lemme up, edelweiss," Mountain groans, shoving lightly at Swiss's shoulder.

Swiss scrambles to his feet, reaching a big hand down to help Mountain up. He pulls a little too hard, accidentally making them collide. They giggle and Mountain leans in to run the tip of his nose against Swiss's. "You wanna lay down in my nice, soft bed and keep kissing?"

Swiss grins, brighter than the sun beaming in through the glass roof. "Thought you'd never ask."

#these idiots wrote themselves #god i love them #dot's writing #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #fic request #hypnoneghoul

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levyfiles · 23 hours

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One last thing that still makes me sad is how the "Steven only eats gold", "Steven is a little rich fancy boy", "Steven and his gilded tract" were all inside jokes between the ghoul boys and Steven/Andrew. It rose up during their fake feud at Buzzfeed. It used to be fun.

People took that so seriously and now they've twisted what is supposed to be an ironic joke about a picky eater who used to subsist on Malaysian food or chicken nuggets only actually trying new things, sharing this experience with the viewer .

#watcher #steven lim

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vanessamooney · 12 days

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The Age of Us Pt. 2 - Draco x Reader

Prompt: Glimpses into your lives through the years

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Part 1. Part 3 coming soon!

In Second Year you're starting to stand on your feet properly. You've come to Diagon Alley with Draco and his father just before the semester has started to collect the year's new spell books and props. The list sent out by Hogwarts was longer than last years and you'd become increasingly worried about being able to keep up between 'Gadding with Ghouls' and 'Holidays with Hags', all written by Gilderoy Lockhart no less.

The alley streets were bustling with witches and wizards of all sorts, pointed hats bouncing around comically and brooms alike. You had already run into fellow classmates from Hogwarts and stopped a plethora of times for polite conversation and familial introductions. Lucius has now excused himself from the two of you, trusting Draco with a satchel filled to the brim with gold galleons, instructing you two to meet him in front of Flourish and Botts with the books ready in exactly thirty minutes.

'I trust you'll be on time, Draco,' he sneered at his son, tapping his back with the serpentine cane he never parted ways with. When he turned to give you a polite nod and pat on the head with a heavy hand, he did so with a strange upturn of the corners of his lips. He had always liked you.

You weren't sure what Lucius had gone off to do or where he was doing whatever exactly, but you relished in the freedom because you'd been eyeing Magical Menagerie the second you all floo-powdered into the shopping district and had been scheming to convince Lucius and Draco to take you there.

Glancing at Draco with softened eyes, he's looking a little bit low-spirited and the weight of the galleons makes one of his arms hang lower than the other, so you pull him along by his shorter hand and shoot him a smile that lights up your entire face and makes his heart oddly skip a beat.

'Come on, Draco,' You egg him on, scratching the inside of his palm with your nails because you know he is ticklish there, and you know it will cheer him up, even if only momentarily.

He lets out a giggle only you can hear but you don't pay much attention because when you arrive outside Magical Menagerie you're bewitched by the sight before you: a grey kitten small enough to fit into your hands locked in a cage at the storefront. You coo at it, immediately forgetting about the blonde boy awkwardly trailing behind you.

'Wolfcat,' you read aloud the silver tag on the front of the rusted iron bars, 'female, 10 galleons,'

You whip around to your best friend and grab his free hand, squeezing it in excitement for all that you've got.

'Draco, how incredibly adorable she is!' you squeal, watching his stormy eyes soften at the sight before him.

He walks up to the front of the cage, poking a wiggling finger in through the bars to antagonise the creature and he is pleasantly surprised to find it rub its head against him, her yellow eyes big and glaring.

'I suppose she is,' He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a sulking Y/N along to Flourish and Botts in spite of your silent protests in the form of your pouts and glances off into the distance.

You had spent the entire time shopping for school books talking Draco's ears off about the kitten from earlier, so much so he was having to double check you were picking up the right copies of the books as you had placed the wrong ones in the basket too many times.

'Oh Draco, she was the sweetest thing' you went on, lazily dropping a copy of 'Intermediate Transfiguration' into the basket you tasked Draco with carrying.

When the two of you waited patiently out of the front of Flourish and Botts just as you'd agreed prior, you continued chatting as Draco seemingly zoned out, a heavy head in his hand. He thought about a peculiar bit of conversation he had overheard in your family's manor just a mere few weeks before first year began: 'The family owl is enough trouble,' your father would groan, his fingers squeezing the top of his nose bridge.

Draco himself didn't bring one of the three permitted animals to Hogwarts because he himself thought it was all too much effort for a companion and he already had his hands full with Crabbe, Goyle and you, not that he minded having his hands full with the latter.

With a sudden thought, he handed you the pile of textbooks that mere moments ago sat in his lap, practically shoving them into your hands.

'Ow, Draco, that's heavy, what are you…' you trailed off, watching his retreating form as he ran in the opposite direction of the meeting point.

'I'll be back soon!' he yelled back, but you were left all alone, confused and surrounded by hoards of strange witches and wizards.

Lucius finds you sitting on the stairs outside Flourish and Botts with a puffy pout on your lips, the stack of new books placed carelessly to your side. You've got your chin resting comfortably in your palms just as Draco did and you look to be in deep and confusing thought. He's got with him his own leather-bound book now clutched hard in his hands and he scans the rest of the crowd, but his son is no where to be seen. Pah. Of course.

'Y/N, where is Draco?' He askes, lending you a firm hand to help you up off the steps and you carefully slip your hand in his and jolt up, dusting off your robes with a sheepish smile.

"I'm not sure, he left some minutes ago and went that w…' you trail off when you glance in the direction Draco ran, gasping as you see the devil himself running towards you, eyes wide as dinner plates when they land on his father whom by now has turned to see his son making a fool of himself. He is clutching in his arms something that appears to be squirming and you squint to try and make out what it is.

A grey wolfkitten lands into your arms and Draco is so out of breath from running when he looks at your dazed expression but he still manages a smirk as you press a well-earnt kiss to his rosy cheeks.

Lucius taps his son on his back softly with his walking cane, raising an eyebrow and managing his own twinge of a smile tantalising the corners of his lips. He watches his son proudly as he is watching you.

The blurs of the everyday witches and wizards spinning around you don't catch your eye because you're mesmerised by the creature in your arms; mesmerised by your best friend, too. You catch a glimpse of the blue sky and see within it the night.

'I think I'll name her Cassiopeia,' your eyes twinkle like the constellation that falls from your lips and Draco watches the stars swirl within you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're running through the hallways, Draco's hand in yours as you lead him to the Clocktower Courtyard. You are giggling and glancing back to him to make sure he's still keeping up with you and the opulent perfume in your hair blinds his senses. You shiver into him from the bitter winter breeze that stalks you through the castle and he grips your hand harder when he feels your vibrations.

You come to a stop when you're surrounded by greenery taking over archways, absorbing the glory of the courtyard with your eyes closed, taking in its sweet earthy aroma. An old water fountain lays in the middle of it all, guarded by four magnificent stone gargoyles on each corner. Moss and water has stained them a muddy grey, but your eyes are still enchanted from the view; you always liked coming here.

'Why are we here at this dingy old fountain, Y/N?' Draco groans, stretching a gloved hand to lean on a gargoyle. You gasp as his disrespect and you click your tongue, making him flail his arms as he tries to regain his balance.

'A dingy fountain?' You're scolding him like his mother usually does, repeating back his absurd view of the world around him. 'This isn't just any fountain,' you say, slithering around it, dancing your fingers from stone to stone, your gaze never leaving Draco's. 'Legend has it if you flick a knut into it while making a wish, it'll come true,'

The plush rabbit earmuffs on your head rises slightly as you speak, and with a gentle sigh Draco tenderly adjusts your earmuffs back down while anxiously avoiding your eyes as he tenderly touches you.

'Is that so?' he mumbles.

You nod eagerly at him, presenting two knuts in your gloved palm that you'd been saving in your pockets. He reluctantly takes one, giving you a strange look but you beam in elation anyway, enchanted by the glistening promises of the fountain. Draco holds the knut in his hand, his expression a mix of scepticism and curiosity. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his wish on his heart.

With a mischievous grin, you look into Draco's stormy eyes and say, 'Alright, on the count of three. One… two… three!'

Simultaneously you both flick your knuts into the fountain, watching as they disappear beneath the surface with a small splash. You pat your flushed face with an awkward flutter of fingers, seeing if you feel any different, inspecting the grass below your feet just a little closer. The moment stretches, filled with anticipation and hope from the both of you.

'What did you wish for?' your voice is barely above a croaky whisper but you're unable to contain your excitement and ask anyway.

Draco hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the fountain. He doesn't dare to admit he wished for you and the weight of his silence crushes you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Gilderoy Lockhart's charm filled the air like a sweet perfume, ensnaring the hearts of the young Gryffindor girls who hung on his every word. With a flick of his cape, he shed the garment, letting it fall carelessly into the eager crowd below, who scrambled to catch a piece of the famed hero.

You, however, had never been taken by Lockhart's facade. Even in the best of times, you found his antics grating, feigning ignorance whenever your dorm-mates gushed over his supposed heroic feats. One night, out of curiosity, you had reluctantly flipped through his autographed autobiography, but each boastful comment and exaggerated deed only served to deepen your disdain. Despite your love for reading, you couldn't bring yourself to admire a story painted in lies and arrogance.

But as Draco Malfoy was summoned to the stage by Snape to duel Harry, you found yourself eagerly pushing through the crowd of Slytherins to get a better view. You cheered when Draco sent Harry flying across the stage and winced when the tables turned, but it was when Draco summoned the snake that your heart skipped a beat. Watching in horror as Potter seemingly controlled the creature with a strange tongue, you were pulled away from the midst of the chaos by Draco's urgent grip, and he whisked you into the safety of the Slytherin common room.

"That Potter is downright evil, I'm telling you!" Draco seethed, his frustration palpable as he slammed his fists onto the desk. He was a hurricane when he wanted to be, pacing around with a heavy energy, turning from a constellation into a supernova. Potter did this often to him, and although the others insisted he was masterfully exaggerating, you never seemed to think so - something wasn't right with Harry, and now this.

Motioning for him to join you on the worn leather couch, Draco sank down beside you, his head falling heavily into your lap as he let out a weary sigh. You gazed down at him with wide eyes, offering silent comfort as you gently traced circles on the back of his hand. You were always there to trace circles on the back of his hand.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

When Draco tells you he has made the Slytherin Quidditch Team you're sat on the banks of the black lake. The sun is dancing upon the surface of the water, casting reflections within it that didn't quite seem to match with the gentle surroundings you're enveloped in but you pay it no attention because as Draco's words sink in, the world around you fades into insignificance.

The muggle book he despised that was grasped within your fingertips moments before hits the ground with a soft thump and the paper warps, staining with the green and brown of the ground. There is no room for a pregnant pause because before you can think of a congratulations worthy of Draco's achievements, you've already tackled him in a hug and twigs and dandelions have already intertwined in your hair and clothes; you're already grinning with glee, your faces already inches away and Draco has already licked his lips in anticipation but you press an adoring kiss to the side of his cheek and whisper to him how proud you are of him, in a way intended only for him to hear.

You don't notice the flash of disappointment in his eyes when your lips miss his, or how awkward his movements become. Nothing else matters, because your best friend is Slytherin's brand new Seeker and you can't possibly think of anything else.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Christmas morning brings with it a myriad of thoughtfully wrapped packages from your family and friends, appearing under an evergreen pine decorated with baubles and ribbons in the Slytherin common room. You yawn audibly, rushing to flatten the wrinkles out of your Christmas pyjamas before you run down the stairs from your dorm. Draco is already waiting for you in the common room, leaning patiently against the oak table, his hair slicked back and his own pyjamas ironed completely straight. When he spots you paused at the top of the stairs, his eyes soften and he stretches his arms out in anticipation of feeling you nuzzled into his chest.

The decision to spend Christmas at Hogwarts this year didn't come easy, and you recall with a smile how you and Draco were making fun of students who did just a mere few weeks ago - after all, what else shows your parents love you other than stuffing you away in school over the holidays? But between the entertainment from the Chamber of Secrets being opened and the winter travels your parents embarked on without you, you and Draco both agreed to spend winter this year together at Hogwarts - despite Narcissa and Lucius' best wishes.

Crabbe and Goyle had also decided to stay the festive winter season to keep Draco and you company - despite your best wishes - and they now watched with narrow eyes from the couch as your petite figure floated down the girl's staircase and straight into Draco's arms. When he twirled you around the room they audibly wretched in disgust, but you felt like a princess anyway and they became TV static in the background of your mind.

To find a gift for Draco did not come easy. The lead up to Winter break was spent with hours of frustration and punctilious reading in the castle library as you diligently worked to fabricate from the thin Yule air a charmed snow globe containing a singular, shared memory:

Perched atop the dew-kissed grass surrounding the grandeur Malfoy Manor, air heavy with the scent of blooming night-flowers, the myriad of stars scattered across the heavens blinked like diamonds strewn upon midnight velvet. You saw within the stars a constellation that bore his name, the boy laying so arrantly next to you: Draco. And with a quiet reverence, you pointed upwards in awe, seeing within the stars him, and within him the very stars he had been named after.

With a soft smile tugging on your lips, you direct Draco to the pine, breaking your gaze buoyantly when you lean down to cradle the parchment wrapped globe that sat so patiently beneath the tree, a swirl of memories replaying in it persistently under its cover.

'For you,' you hand the package to him, biting your lip in anticipation, and you feel within you a twinge of constraint but your eyes gleam anyway, 'Merry Christmas, Draco.'

Draco couldn't break his gaze from your glowing face. As he tore the parchment away he did so neatly, mesmerised by the mere existence of you. The background of Christmas morning occupied by the calamities swirling in the black lake just outside the common room windows and the intrusive nature of his friends meant nothing to him because in that moment when his eyes found the memory you so tenderly illustrated within the snow globe, he could think of nothing else - and he didn’t want to.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're standing in the castle's greenhouse, its windows fogged up with humidity cut through by the slow paths of common snails as they journey into the unknown. The air outside is cool, Winter has started to take its course and the frost of its greedy air snaps; but inside the safe haven of the greenhouse the air is warm and pungent with earthly aromas.

The vastness of the greenhouse is filled with magical plants and fungi alike stretched out before you but you're humming as you tend to a healthy collective of starthistle, mushing its millets between your fingers to release the powder contained within them. You carefully collected the fine dust in tiny cork bottles and placed them neatly in organised lines on the gardener's desk, just as tentatively asked by Madam Sprout.

With a flick of your quill, you've checked off another task on the consciously written list and you whip around to work on the next task: watering the asphodel and pruning their tender leaves as needed. You'd been under the instructions of Madam Sprout for the last few weeks, working diligently in the greenhouse and taking care of the housekeeping for the hoards of students taking herbology.

You couldn't quite put into words why the greenery drew you in, perhaps

it was the sense of tranquility that enveloped you as you worked among the plants, or maybe it was the reward of nurturing life and watching it thrive under your care. Whatever the reason, the greenhouse had become your sanctuary, a place where you felt truly at peace and you'd often visited to escape the chaos of the castle.

As you carefully watered the asphodel and delicately pruned their leaves, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of nature. Each plant seemed to have its own unique personality, its own story to tell. Some were robust and hearty, while others were delicate and fragile, requiring extra care and attention.

Lost in a swirl of thoughts, you didn't notice the approach of another or the creak of the greenhouse doors until a familiar voice broke through the silence of the mist.

'Slaving away to pass herbology?' Draco coaxed, his tone teasing yet warm as he stepped into view from behind swarms of the alihotsy tree foliage.

You glanced up, offering him a smile as your hands continued to prune. Draco had taken to visiting you in the greenhouse whenever he could steal a moment away from his studies or Quidditch practice. Though he often teased you about your love for plants, you could've sworn to see genuine fondness nestled in-between the specks of blue in his eyes.

'Someone has to keep these plants in line,' you replied playfully, gesturing to the lush greenery around you.

Draco chuckled, stepping closer to inspect the asphodel with interest. 'I must admit, I would much rather attend Sprouts lessons than McGonagall's,'

'They're all the same anyway,' Draco grumbles, reaching to absentmindedly mush a leaf between the pads of his fingers.

'Are they?' You beckon, giving him a knowing stare as you pat the soil around the asphodel a little harder than before.

'Potter,' he sneers, gaze lowering. Something must've happened.

But instead of delving deeper into the matter, you decide to shift the conversation to something lighter, knowing it is best to not scratch at fresh wounds.

"Well, since you're here, how about lending me a hand with the watering?" you suggest, flashing Draco a mischievous grin, your eyes sparkling as they always do.

Draco raises an eyebrow, but a playful smirk dances across his lips. "I suppose I could manage that," he concedes, rolling up his sleeves as he joins you at the watering cans.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Draco entered the Slytherin common room cursing the puffing lady in the painting, his steps quiet against the plush carpeting. Crabbe and Goyle had snuck out in the middle of the night to threaten house elves for leftovers again, despite Draco's orders. In spite of his best efforts, Snape had already caught his cronies, muttering scolding admonitions, and sending the trio back to the dorms; but not before confiscating a pile of blueberry muffins nestled into Crabbe and Goyle's arms.

The dim light of the flickering fire cast a warm glow over the room, and the henchmen were ordered upstairs, their heavy footsteps shaking the dungeons. But as Draco made his way upstairs after them, he couldn't help but notice a figure slumped over one of the tables, surrounded by a scattering of books and parchment.

Curiosity piqued, Draco approached, recognizing you, nestled amidst your study materials. Your head rested on your arms, your breathing steady and deep as sleep claimed you in the midst of your studies. Draco couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, finding a certain charm in your dedication to your studies, even if it meant falling asleep in the common room and spending less time with him.

With gentle hands, Draco carefully gathered your belongings, setting aside your books and parchment before lifting you into his arms. 'A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' he scoffed gently and to this you stirred slightly, murmuring soft nothings in your sleep, but didn't wake as Draco cradled you against his chest, your head nestling against his shoulder.

With practiced ease, Draco made his way through the common room towards the staircase leading to the girls dormitories, your soft purrs of sleep tickling his chest in a way that shortened his breathing and sent a flutter through his heart.

As he reached your dormitory door, Draco hesitated for a moment, admiring the peaceful expression on your sleeping face. Gently, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, carefully laying you down on your emerald bed and tucking the blankets around you.

For a moment, Draco lingered, watching you sleep with a soft smile before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to rest peacefully in the warmth of your bed.

Unbeknownst to him, Pansy lay awake in her own bed, observing the scene with narrowed eyes, her mind already scheming with endless possibilities.

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Dangerous

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Ooo, aren't you the little viper at Rick's party. Eddie want's to see how hard you bite.

A/N: Look, I'll never write fuckboy!Eddie like @newlips or @carolmunson, and this isn't even truly fuck boy Eddie. This is like hand wavy, vaugly fboy!Eddie. Anyways, I got rip roaringly high last night and busted this out, honestly kind of proud of myself for getting it all out in one go? 3k and I was barely awake for it. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol use, blow jobs, general douchbaggery from both reader and Eddie. (18+ NSFW)

The black Audi pulling around the front of Rick’s is thumping loudly, testing the limits of the bass in the trunk. There’s an ever so slight rattle of metal and Eddie hides his laugh behind his cigarette. The car stops with a jerk and the under lighting shifts from purple to white when the driver door opens, deep bass pouring out.

“Just get out of the fucking car then!” The woman who gets out yells and slaps the roof of her car. Eddie rolls his eyes at the jostling vehicle, the shadow of bodies inside shifting around until the back passenger door opens and two girls spill out laughing. They’re adjusting their dresses where they’ve hiked up high on their thighs and clutching their phones. The driver points at the house, party in full swing inside and makes a face at them. “Get the fuck inside!”

Eddie would know Lisa’s voice anywhere, the shrill yell a constant out of Rick’s girl. The two that fell out of the Audi keep giggling and flip her off. Lisa looks like murder but her passenger window rolls down and there you are giving the giggle twins a cold stare. It seems to sober them up a little when your long green claw points at them intently, gold rings glinting on your knuckles. “Get in the fucking house and find a fucking seat.”

“Okay red, damn.”

Eddie watches you slap a hand on the outside of the car door and the two girls scatter inside, rushing past him where he’s partially hidden behind a pillar on the porch. Lisa gets back in and starts to drive off but not before he catches your eye and you wiggle those talons at him. He refuses to admit he's interested.

Danger danger danger

It’s not the fullest Rick’s has ever been but there’s too many people for Eddie to be comfortable. He didn’t even want to come tonight but Steve had some girl here and Rick had asked him if he was coming which meant he was supposed to be there. And now you’ve shown up with Lisa and it’s just feeling like the night could go sideways fast.

Eddie has seen you around a few times but he’s not even sure what the fuck it is you do here most nights. You’re not one of Rick’s girls, you aren’t pushing and you don’t seem to be with any of the other guys. Watching you walk up the driveway, head buried in your phone while Lisa talks at the side of your head, he thinks you might just be here for moral support.

“-and they’re just gonna start fucking each other in my backseat? I just got that fucking thing cleaned I don’t want pussy all over my fucking leather!”

“They know to stay out of trouble.”

“They are trouble. Hey Eddie.” Lisa all but purrs at him and it makes his skin crawl. It’s not that she isn’t hot, but the idea of getting caught with her would mean a lot of bad, bad things for him. She’s also too god damn loud for his liking. “You hanging out in the shadows like a ghoul?”

“Waiting on Steve.” He doesn’t move from his post, leaned against the column. Smiles at Lisa and then slides his eyes over to you where you’re still typing furiously on your phone. “Busy night?” That gets you to look up at him, all long lashes and gold liner around big eyes. They look black in the dim light out here and he feels like he’s staring into a viper tank. Your all curvy lines under your tight black dress, gold accents glittering against your hands. Gold hanging from your ears. Gold around your neck. It all feels like a warning to him.

“You saw those two assholes. Gotta babysit.”

“Is that what you do around here?” He asks, hears Lisa laugh before she walks in, leaving you two in the doorway.

You shrug. “Not all I do.” You look him up and down, taking in his outfit. He’s tall, lean under his torn jeans and tight black shirt. It’s hot tonight and you can see where the fabric clings to his chest; all his rings and necklaces and bracelet glint under the porch light. His curls hang in the humidity, skin luminous under all the black ink on his arms and neck.

“What is it you do again?” A sarcastic tilt of your head and now you’re both smirking at each other. You know Eddie, you’ve heard about him, seen him around. You're about to make another jab when a loud commotion kicks off inside followed by the unmistakable sound of Steve’s laugh.

“Babysitting.”

Eddie pushes off his post to go find out if Steve is in trouble and leaves you to click away at your screen, watching him retreat into the deep thrum of the party inside.

Eddie was intending on convincing Steve to leave but he’s been too busy watching you move around the house. Never too far from Lisa and keeping an eye on Brittany and Becca, the troublemakers. One of them has already tried to get at him and he cut her off, doesn’t even look down at her. “Absolutely not.”

He watched you laugh from across the living room, dark red lips that match your dyed hair, cutting into a smile when you tapped Lisa’s shoulder to tell her. The short black dress you’ve got on clings tight and inches up your thigh when you lean to whisper in her ear. He follows the curve of your thigh up to your hip and over your chest, neckline low where your tits are pushed up and almost over. The thin gold chain hangs low and shimmers against your cleavage, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat in the humid house.

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs at himself. His phone has been going off all night, Dani blowing up his notifications and he hasn’t cared. Doesn’t want to give you the time of day, knows you’re just gonna be another pain in his ass like Dani and Kim and Theresa and whoever the fuck else he has saved in his phone.

Busy trying to scroll through all the ‘wyd?’ texts he doesn’t notice you sneak up beside him until you’re leaning on the same wall, candied almonds and rose rushing up with you.

“Hey Nosferatu.” The ice in your drink clicks around the plastic cup. You smile at him like you’ve got a really good secret to tell him and he can’t help the little curl of his lip in your direction.

“You done babysitting?”

“Eh, they’re somewhere around here.” You chase the straw in your drink, pink tongue poking out to pull it between your lips. “I was waiting for a good time to come bother you anyways.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! You’re all broody over here for most of the night. Steve fucked off and it looks like you don’t have any other friends to hang out with.” Another sip. “I can be your friend.” Sharp eyes under sharper eyeliner. He knows better. Should.

“I have plenty of friends.”

“Aww.” You pout, leaning into him, body pushed fully up against his side. “Who doesn’t need more friends?” Your hand rests on his bicep but you walk your fingers down his arm till you hit his hands holding his phone. Pinching the corner of it you tug once and he relents. You grin up at him quick and open his contacts to ‘add new’. Before you hand it back he watches you scroll through the names.

“Dani?” A gasp of mock disbelief. You lean closer to whisper, “she’s got a big ol’ boyfriend don’t you know?” He just raises his eyebrows at you. Before he puts his phone away he looks for your contact, ‘Red’ with fire emojis around it; flashes the screen at you.

“Clever.”

“Mhm.” You suck up the rest of your drink and shake the ice around for a second. “I’ve been told I have a very clever mouth. Lotta me is clever.” He knows better. He does but he still keeps his eyes on yours. Still reaches out and takes your cup to set on the table. Still matches his grin to yours when you ask if he wants to smoke. “Let’s go be friends somewhere quieter.”

The basement is quiet except where the music bleeds through the ceiling. You’d thrown yourself on the worn couch and unbuckled your heels from your ankle. Eddie had watched in rapt fascination while pulling out his pre roll and fishing around for his lighter.

“You gonna share?” A giggle that doesn’t belong to you, you’re not a giggling woman.

“You’re really good at this.” Eddie says around the joint. Lights it and gets a deep pull while you sit and have the audacity to look confused.

“Good at what?”

“Getting what you want.”

“Oh yeah.” You laugh for real then, pretense dropped for a moment. Holding your hand out for him to pass the joint over, he just takes another drag. Another pout and you sit up ready to snatch it out of his hand when he closes the short distance between the two of you. Grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, leans down and blows the smoke over your painted lips. He can feel your face pulling into a smile under his fingers. Hears you breathe deep, watches your tongue poke out again to lick your lips and he spots the gold stud.

“You’re dangerous.”

“I don’t have to be.” An arch of your manicured eyebrow and honestly, fuck it. He’s gotten this far and you haven’t gutted him yet with those claws. In fact he can feel them creeping up into his hair, pulling it back away from his face so you can move up and kiss him hard. He’s stuck kneeling over you, holding out the joint over the back of the couch and balancing himself on the other hand while you hold on to the back of his neck. It’s all tongue and teeth until you bite his bottom lip too hard and he rears back. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, just wanted a taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh come on Eddie.” You surge up into his space making him rock back on his heel. “You look like the type that likes a little pain.” You’re mocking him a bit, but your hands are trailing down the front of him to hook your fingers in his belt. He’s finding it a little hard to care about you being a bitch right now. Staring him down while you slide the buckle open slowly, watching him take another hit that he blows in your face again.

“Are we fucking or fighting I can’t tell.” His hand is up under your jaw quick. A tight hold that doesn’t quite hurt but he’s keeping you in place while he places the joint gingerly in the middle of your lips.

“Please shut the fuck up.” A real smile from him when you don’t reply and just suck on the smoke. You get the button on his jeans undone, pull the fly down and he shifts, pulls your face with him when he leans back against the couch. Guides you around and you get what he’s doing when you climb off the couch and kneel between his spread knees on the cold concrete. Eddie let’s go of your face to pluck the joint away and the last puff trails out of your lips after it. He sees you ready to say something and cuts you off.

“Don’t.” Turns his head away for a moment and you tuck your lips in to your teeth and grin to hold in a laugh.

He slouches down further when you run your hands up over his thighs and pull down on his open jeans, nails running over the black ink peeking out between his rucked up shirt and the band of his boxers. The weed is starting to settle in, feels it in the droop of his eyelids. He watches you through his lashes while you run your hands over him, squeezing his cock through his jeans. A hiss around a mouthful of smoke and you pull at his boxers so you can get your hands on him.

His cock springs free and hits his stomach and you’d almost say he’s pretty. Pale like the rest of him except the head, flushed dark pink like his lips. When you run the tip of a finger up the underside his head lolls back and you see his hand flex against his thigh.

“I’ve heard about your work from Kim.” He lifts his head to stare down his nose at you. “My work.” He says flatly.

You glance down at his dick. “I’m impressed so far.”

He huffs a laugh and brings his hand up to your hair that you slap away quick.

“Don’t fuck up my hair, it took me forever to get it all up.” You scowl at him and that and the slap sets him off. He doesn’t move for a second before reaching up and finding the hair tie in the mess of your bun and pulls it out. Flings it across the basement floor and buries his fingers in at the crown of your head to pull at your hair. There’s a fight in the back of your throat that’s taken over by a gasp. You reach your hand up, lick a long stripe up your palm before grabbing his cock and giving him a few lazy strokes. There’s a rumble in his chest and he pulls your head closer, can hear the wet of your mouth when you open to run your tongue over the flushed head. Your tongue is soft and when the bar catches on the underside ridge he bucks up into your hand. When he drops his head back again you finally wrap your lips around him fully, bobbing your head down to meet your fist. You know he isn’t going to give you the satisfaction of sound, but the flexing of his hand in your hair is enough to tell you everything.

“Fuck…” he whispers to the ceiling when you roll your tongue around him, sucking hard and pumping your hand. The scratch of your acrylics distracts him with goosebumps, enough he doesn’t hear you pop off of him, letting a line of spit fall onto your fist, wet sound louder than the party upstairs. When you lean down and suck one of his balls in your mouth his leg jumps and he feels the vibration of your laughter in your closed mouth. His hand pulls harder at your hair and you moan, rolling your tongue around his sack and pumping your hand faster along his length. He almost crushes the joint in his hand, moves it to clutch it between his lips, muttering around it while you work him over.

“If you wanted to suck my dick you just had to ask.” You hum around him before coming up for air, hand still stroking his cock. “Didn’t have to do that whole dance up there.” He lazily points up toward the living room.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Your mouth is wet, eyes watering slightly but none of your makeup has budged. He’s also impressed. Nudges you forward again and you open wide, sticking your tongue out to tap the fat head of his cock against it. Between the sound and the feeling of that little bearing hitting him the heat creeping up his abdomen moves faster. His hand tightens in your hair again and you speed up your hand, switching between running the pad of your thumb and the tip of your tongue over the sensitive spot just under the head.

“Don’t fucking move.” He mutters.

You settle down right up against his thighs, tits pushed up against the cushion under him, free arm thrown over his thigh hugging him close. You flutter your lashes at him and the last few strokes you squeeze him, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and the only warning you get is the impossibly tighter grip on your hair holding you in place. His eyes squeeze shut and he comes in long spurts, hitting the back of your throat, low groan breathed out from deep in his chest. You slow your hand down, pulling at him till he taps the back of your hand; wait until he opens his bleary eyes to close your mouth and run your thumb up along your chin where a dribble of his come leaked out. Eddie watches you suck on your thumb and make a show out of swallowing. You smile at him like a cat that got the canary.

Danger Danger Danger

“Well,” you stand up slowly and pull your dress down a little, “that was fun.” Lean forward and take the roach out of his mouth and kill it, stubbing whatever is left of the ember out on the side table. You pull his own move on him and the let the last hit trickle out from between your puffy lips across his own bitten ones.

“I really hope you text me Eddie.”

He’s quiet for a beat, watching your eyes flick between his own.

“Depends on when I’m free.”

“Who else is gonna suck your balls, huh?”

He laughs out loud, breaking the weird tension finally.

“Well then what did Dani do to get a new purse?”

“Not that.” Eddie says while tucking himself back into his underwear and buttoning his jeans. You’re putting your shoes back on and his eyes linger on your ankle where you do up the small buckle there. The search for your hair tie is fruitless and he almost feels bad until you start to shake your hair out and he gets to watch you flip it around, tits bouncing with the movement. You run your fingers through it and lean down to get your phone from between the couch cushions, shooting him a wink before heading back up the stairs to the party.

“I guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #My work #my fic #yee fucking haw

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hypnoneghoul · 3 months

Note

okay this is the one topic I will go on anon for, dont mind me.

anyway, seeing as we have a kind of piss thing going on (a trickle if you will god Im sorry)

what about rain convincing the others to just, completely soak him in a gold shower. like think bukkake but piss. I would love to see it with everyone but if also understand if you dont want to do that, in that case choose who you think are best for the scenario. and if you dont wanna write it at all thats also perfectly fine pls dont feel like you have to!

bestie the noise that escaped my mouth when i saw that... yeah

700 words, what it says in the ask so bukkake but piss, rain x all the boys with transmasc dew, bit of p in v

Rain is a freak. He may not seem like one, but he is and all the pack knows it all too well. Each and every one of them was a subject of his… fantasies so many times it was uncountable at this point, whether he was doing something to them or asking them to do something to him.

One of Rain’s favorites was when it was the others’ turn to do something to him. All of them, preferably.

It started with a good old fashioned orgy. A sex party, if you will, though this time the ghoulettes kept away, letting the boys to their own devices. The ghouls locked themselves in Rain’s room hours ago and only noises that kept spilling out of there were an indicator of them still being alive and well. Maybe not too well.

The party was slowly coming to an end. Its grand finale. Everyone had taken a cock and everyone’s cock was taken. Nearly everyone had cum, at least twice. All the sexual tension of the day was dissipating. They were getting tired, but it was still not over.

Rain was still waiting.

He was engaging alright; he’d eaten Dewdrop out, rode Mountain and fucked Phantom, but as they all kept cumming, he didn’t. Not once.

“Fuck…” Swiss sighed as he was coming down from his fourth orgasm of the night, this one inside Dewdrop’s cunt. “This is fun, but I don’t think anyone’s got more in ‘em.”

“I second this,” Aether grumbled from under Phantom. “Got your fill, Tadpole?”

“Ugh. Fine.” Everyone chuckled at Rain’s dramatic eye roll. The water ghoul truly was insatiable, but if he wanted his plan to be followed through, he’d have to agree to do it now. Otherwise he’d have to milk it out of them all asleep, which… he wouldn’t entirely mind, neither would they, but it wasn’t the plan. Rain crawled out of Mountain’s lap and to the middle of the room, settling on his knees.

“You sure you don’t wanna move to the shower?” Phantom asked, still a bit concerned. He did take part in Rain’s… play time more than once, but this particular type of action was his first.

“Don’t you worry about it, bug,” Swiss scoffed. “He’s got it.”

“Come here,” the water ghoul all but growled at nobody in particular. All of them, really. “Soak me, make me cum.”

They didn’t need any further encouragement.

With some groans and hisses all of them made their way over to kneeling Rain, taking their positions all around him. So simple, yet so powerful. Only Dewdrop waited, sitting at the edge of the bed and staring Rain down with fire in his eyes. As usual, the best part was his.

“Come on,” the water ghoul spat out once more and without further ado, the ghouls looked at each other and got even closer. Rain was opening his mouth again but instead of words, a high pitched moan left it when Mountain’s piss hit his chest. Then Aether on his back, Swiss on his right, Phantom on his left.

Rain was completely blissed out, shuddering and moaning, hands gripping his thighs, as he was being absolutely showered in hot piss. His red cock was rock hard and leaking, waiting for the slightest of touches to make him burst, cum so hard he’d black out. He couldn’t hear the noises others were making, in awe of their packmate so filthy.

As all the streams were slowly dying out, Dewdrop stepped in. Finally.

He straddled Rain’s lap and the water ghoul’s eyes snapped open. Before he could register what was going on, Dewdrop slammed himself all the way down onto his cock, his wet and stretched out cunt swallowing Rain up to the very hilt with no issue.

Debauched moans rang out from both of them and the fire ghoul rolled his hips exactly once before letting go with a sigh and pissing all over Rain’s cock, balls and thighs. Rain wailed, then, jaw going slack and head falling backwards as he shook all over and cummed deep inside Dewdrop, some of his copious amounts of cum leaking out and mixing with the other’s piss, still trickling out.

Now, Rain was satiated.

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #cw piss

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ghouljams · 1 month

Note

„High on pain meds, thats it?“ No no, ghoul. Ghost better not have lost his left ring finger. Im wifing him up 💥 literally buying the ring as I type

(would he want a ring? Would he want something more practical and less likely to lose? Not that he would ever lose a gift from his god, but still)

He lost his left ring and pinkie fingers, plus seriously destroying his nerves and ability to really use his left hand. No ring is going on that bad boy, but maybe on a chain he could wear as a necklace

I don't know if other writers thing the same but I think Ghost would want a ring. He'd want something tactile, some proof that he could see and feel when he was having a hard time grounding himself in reality. He may not wear it on his hand, but he'd wear it with his dog tags, pull it out to stare at in the cold hours if the night when he's sure he just imagined the wedding. He'd never lose a gift from his God, that's why he takes measures to prevent that from happening.

I have thoughts on what sort of ring each of my Ghosts would get, but generally I think he's a gold band sort of guy.

#ghoul speaks #regency Ghost has a ring with Goose's hair woven in a sort of viking braid around it #same with viking Ghost #theyre suckers #cowboy ghost has one of those athletic rings that he can wear while he works

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divine-misfortune · 5 months

Text

Feminization but it's an act of love, not a play at humiliation.

Making Swiss know that he's handsome as a boy, of course he is, absolutely perfect, but Rain wants him to know he's just as lovely when he's being a pretty girl for him.

Taking the day to pamper Swiss, make him really live in the experience of being treated like a princess. Paints his nails, shaves him smooth (which takes longer than either of them really anticipated), does his makeup, oh Rain takes such good care of him. Doesn't make Swiss lift a finger, even goes as far as to dress Swiss himself. Oh Rain takes great pleasure in being the one to roll those stockings up his muscular legs, chuckling as he snaps the elastic against his thigh.

And when all the hard work is done, Rain sits him at the edge of his bed facing the mirror. Drapes himself over his back, arms around his neck, nuzzling sweetly against his cheek as he coos over the pretty girl he is. Swiss, used to a much harsher version of Rain, feels far more embarrassed over kindness than he ever has from his cruelty (and that's saying something). When his eyes shift away from the mirror, Rain tsks at him and with a hand under his jaw guides him back.

"Want you to look at yourself." He kisses at his temple and noses into his hair, breath close to his ear. "See how nice you look for me, always so rugged and handsome but now you're-"

"Pretty..." Swiss exhales as he looks at himself and the way his knees draw together. His hands are folded in his lap, sitting respectfully as an excuse to press down against his cock already beginning to fatten up against its lacy confines. The word sent something sharp and hot zipping down his spine, excitement, nerves, anticipation.

"Mm, that's right...Knew you could be pretty too, absolutely beautiful babygirl."

The petname makes Swiss' eyes go wide, gold irises darkening.

Rain smiles coyly as he runs his hand flat along the curves of his body, over the simple white dress he'd picked out, to settle over the mutli ghoul's folded hands. Adding to the pressure, Swiss' red painted lips parting to curse as he ultimately melts into Rain's embrace.

"Gonna make the perfect pillow princess, I know you are." He purrs as Swiss' hands give way to him, slowly beginning to stroke the length of his cock through lace and cotton. It's enough to have Swiss' eyes fluttering as he nods weakly. "Is that what my sweet girl wants?"

"Fuck...Rain, please." Swiss almost tries to buck upwards, greedily find a way to fuck into his fist despite the layers between his dick and Rain's hand.

"You know how to ask for it, love. Use your words, just like I taught you."

Visibly hesitating, Rain gives his shaft a little squeeze and Swiss can't help the sad warbled sound of need that escapes him or the pearl of pre starting to form a wet spot on the dress. His gaze fixes on the slow almost torturous way Rain strokes him, lips left parted as his brain struggles to keep up. The little pressure of his thumb dragging over the head of his cock, only adding to the damp patch, is the last little bit of encouragement needed to make Swiss fold.

"Please, please fuck my cunt, sir...I've been a good girl."

Well, the blood rushed from Rain's head so fast he nearly blacked out.

#this ran away from me.........idk #anyways #void rambles #spicy tag #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #nameless ghouls #rulti #rain/swiss #cw feminization

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ofsappho · 1 year

Text

Heartless, Chapter 8

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, (a little bit of smut this chapter)

You help Ghost prepare for deployment.

Tags: Protective Ghost, oral sex at the end, pussy drunk Ghost, tooth-rotting fluff, author has never been to the UK nor knows shit about the military so ignore inaccuracies thanks

You’ve never been to the UK before. Hell, you’ve never left the continental United States.

Yet here you are, sitting on an unmarked transporter, accompanying your husband and the team you’re starting to view as “your boys” to a whole other continent.

The details are fuzzy, most of them way above your civilian pay grade, and it’s not like Ghost would be talkative if he were allowed to. You figure it’s some sort of deployment… something, and their “home base” is now in London.

You know better than to ask those kinds of questions.

Ghost isn’t sitting next to you. You’re hanging out at the back of the plane on your own as the boys talk amongst themselves in the front. Their captain hasn’t so much as glanced your way.

You’ve got your earbuds in as you try to occupy as much time and mental energy as possible - you’re not very good on planes. There’s nowhere to go except crashing straight down.

Long car rides are marginally better. At least those involve breaks, ideally filled with greasy diner food. Do they have diners in the UK? That’s silly; of course, they do. Maybe.

Ghost has on one of his real masks. A fearsome plate of bone set over a black balaclava with streaks of white dripping down his chin. This morning, he caked his eye black so thick that you can’t see any sliver of skin.

You really do have a ghoul for a husband.

There’s nothing entertaining to look at other than stalking everyone’s body language like a creep. After half an hour of fucking around and staring at your cuticles, you resign yourself to playing armchair lip reader.

Sergeant Garrick is all business. That’s not entirely novel - he’s friendly and cheerful, yes, but always a consummate professional in a way that Soap struggles to emulate on a good day. He has a leather-bound journal open, and you watch him take notes with an elegant, expensive-looking pen as he goes back and forth with Captain Price. You can’t see what he’s writing, but the swirls of his hand tell you he’s writing in cursive.

Speaking of Soap, he’s doing… card tricks with a pack of black and gold playing cards. They occupy his hands as he chats with Ghost and Alejandro, his mouth moving constantly and his voice loud enough to hear bits of his accent. He flips cards through the air and tucks a few on the back of his hand. Now and then, the Captain directs a comment toward Johnny, and he responds with a sober nod or brief word.

Alejandro catches you gawking with a single raised eyebrow. You respond by sticking your tongue out, causing him to choke on his energy drink. His dirty look is half-hearted at best. Alejandro is the only person who seems to have any pity for your boredom, and he asks if you’re okay via a questioning thumbs up. You nod and wave your hand to say, “So-so, could be better.” He mouths, “Almost there.”

You check your phone to find that he’s right. There’s maybe an hour left before the airman in OCPs will tell everyone to put their seatbelts on and stash away loose personal items in preparation for landing. You can survive another hour.

When you look back, Ghost is watching you.

His mask, dark eyes, and coldness all send shivers down your spine and nearly scare you out of your seat. You can’t decide if it’s terrifying, or incredibly attractive, or maybe some secret third thing that is both.

For a few moments, he doesn’t move. Your only clue that he lowers his gaze is a brief flash of his night-dark eyelids. Then Ghost sits forward, and you see Soap lean in to listen to whatever he’s whispering.

Your best friend calls the airman over, who provides a polished, professional salute to the two of them before disappearing into the galley.

After a moment, the personnel member emerges carrying… a bottle of ginger ale and a granola bar—one that tastes like iced lemon pound cake. “For you, Ms.,” He says respectfully before returning to his station as soon as you take the food.

These are your favorite granola bars. Ghost knows it because you commented on it a couple of days ago after seeing them on display in the mess hall. What are the odds this transporter has them on board without your husband’s intervention? Slim to none.

Ever since the time he helped you into the bath, just thinking about Ghost is enough to make your heart feel like an overripe peach. You’re becoming soft at your center, as if a deeper rot in your chest is threatening to turn you into a pile of sickly-sweet mush.

You stare at the cheery yellow and blue wrapper on this goddamn granola bar and figure that your heart is so squishy that its collapse is inevitable. To take a page out of Ghost’s book, fucking hell.

Ghost waits until he sees you unwrap the bar and take a bite before returning his attention to Soap.

Sgt. Sanderson has hidden so well behind everyone else that you almost miss him when you take a headcount. The man is pretty cool - you’ve graduated from silent nods of acknowledgment to the occasional stilted partial wave.

After your husband thoroughly dishonored you in that shooting range, you both were pleasantly surprised to discover not a single soul wandering in your path. The day after, Ghost reported that the whole range had been given a very thorough cleaning by the janitorial staff.

It turns out that Gaz had run straight to everyone else to tell them you were fucking, which was predictable. The sexual tension was as subtle as a goddamn freight train.

What you failed to account for was that Soap, and Alejandro had allegedly taken great pleasure in causing chaos to keep everyone away, and Roach had put in the facilities request himself. They all collectively called it a belated wedding present.

Captain Price nods at Gaz, then goes to the pilot. You leave your observations at that. He continues to treat you with thinly-veiled suspicion at best, like you’re the stereotype of the predatory military spouse, and it’s only a matter of time before Ghost suffers for it.

Meh. He’s allowed to feel that way, you suppose.

Your hour is up, and everyone begins to buckle their seatbelts. You quickly finish your granola bar and close up the bottle of ginger ale. Fuck flying. By the time you get off this transport, you might even kiss the tarmac.

It’s not until uniformed soldiers take your fingerprints at Regent’s Park Barracks with menacing scowls that you start to comprehend what “SAS” means and why Soap never told you shit about his job.

Well, you always knew everything he did was shady, but there’s a big difference between academically knowing a thing and experiencing it for yourself.

You’d die before admitting it, but you think you’re in over your head. These guys are scary, and as you wait for them to put together your temporary ID, their harsh gazes wear heavy on your already-fried nerves from the international plane trip.

Everyone else has breezed through security. So it’s just you, standing here, trying to affect even a fraction of Ghost’s confidence and menace, and failing miserably.

The team is walking away; you watch the back of their heads get smaller and smaller, all lost in their very important conversation, and you try to control your jagged, panicked breathing.

No doubt these guardsmen can fucking read body language or some shit. They might interpret your natural anxiety as something more insidious.

“Look at me,” The soldier at the computer barks. Right. You snap your eyes back to him, your anxiety turning to fear like dropping a Mentos in Diet Coke.

You’re good. You have a right to be here. You’re not in trouble. “Sorry, uh, sir,” You say, scrounging for a tone that could pass as respectful. When you offer up a strained half-smile, the man’s scowl deepens.

He stares at the screen, then at you. “What is your… relation again?” Fucking dick would probably give a kinder reception to a stray fly on his lunch than he is currently giving to you.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, then twist it between your fingers. The alternative is to start chewing on it or your nails; neither is preferable. What would be preferable is an act of God, like a cool lightning bolt to strike you down when you stand.

The silence drags on as you try to find the right words. Everything falls apart in your mouth before you can speak it.

Just as the soldier gears up to be even meaner, even more contemptuous, a large, warm hand rests on the small of your back.

It’s Ghost. And he’s pissed. “She’s my wife. Stand down, Lance Corporal,” He growls. It’s like music to your ears. Without thinking, you tuck yourself closer to him, seeking the reassuring shelter of his tall, broad frame.

Ghost permits it. His arm even slides tight around your waist in a public display of affection far greater than average. The only thing keeping him from sticking his tongue down your throat is that he’d have to break the death glare turning the security personnel to ash.

You shoot the soldier a smirk and mouth, “You’re fucked.”

Behind you, someone’s palm hits their face, you hear some scared eep noises.

To the soldier’s credit, he hasn’t yet dropped dead from fear-induced shock or pissed his pants. “My apologies, Lieutenant,” He whispers. It’s practically a fucking whimper.

A rotting corpse would be more personable and approachable than your husband. “Don’ apologize to me. Apologize to her.” The guardsman looks at you, his pale, sweat-soaked face screaming for mercy.

All you do is smile beatifically with bared teeth.

His shoulders hunch over, the poor guy squeezes his eyes shut in terror. “My apologies, Mrs. Riley,” The soldier stutters, then steps back. Actually, everyone takes a step back.

Yes, you are Mrs. Riley now, aren’t you?

You can’t see Ghost’s eyes from here. He has cavernous black voids for eye sockets, and you realize he’s holding completely still. His shoulders don’t rise and fall with breath, not a single muscle twitches.

There’s nothing human there.

You’ll get him to fuck you with that specific mask on. Later.

“Apology accepted.” Your voice is sweet and magnanimous in victory.

By now, the rest of your boys have noticed. Gaz doubled back first, and then you see Soap abandon Captain Price to go after you.

Ghost guides you through the security checkpoint like you’re taking a Sunday stroll. “C’mon. That arsehole won’t do that again,” He scoffs without moving his arm from your waist.

“But I like it when you do that!” You tease, gently nudging his side with your elbow.

“Do what?” Ghost doesn’t have to turn his masked face for you to know that you hold the whole captivated weight of his attention.

You do not use this power for good. “You know. Skull face o’ doom. Protective alpha wolf. Don’t talk to my wife like that. Rawr.” Then you throw your head back and cackle gleefully.

Now you get a look, a suspicious, disgusted, yet sort of amused side-eye. “…” It’s like you’re two kids on the playground again, and you just tugged his hair in a show of affection.

Johnny’s almost within earshot. Your friend must be piecing things together, given how his gaze flits between the wreckage Ghost left behind and the unyielding embrace your husband has on you.

Before they ruin the moment, you press your forehead into the sleeve of Ghost’s black jacket. “Thanks for rescuing me, baby.”

“Mm.” You feel his gloved fingers slip under your shirt, press briefly into the bare skin of your hip, and then Ghost lets you go.

Everything is a blur after that. There’s finding your accommodations, unpacking, getting lost trying to find the dining hall, getting lost again on your way back. It’s familiar and alien at the same time; English is English, but they drive on the wrong side of the road here, and your intuition doesn’t work as it should.

You’re so used to having someone by your side that the absence of your friends and your husband aches like an old bruise. They’re wrapped up in meetings or disappearing for hours.

Back home, you could leave the base if you wanted to. You had regular cell service and dollars in your wallet. You didn’t have to do math in your head trying to remember conversion rates when you wanted to buy something.

Thank God they have wifi here. Without it, you would’ve wandered the barracks with a dead phone. And you can’t go places without Ghost, even if you have pounds, a cab, and a map.

The tea’s okay. It’s not noticeably better or worse. Your palette is likely too unrefined to tell the difference.

There’s nowhere else for you to be beside your dimly lit quarters. The walls are bare, and the plastic mattress cover pokes you through the sheets you brought. It’s impressively soundproofed; for all you know, a meteor has hit Earth, and you’re the last person alive. That’s how quiet it is.

You bundle yourself up further in your blankets, then take a handful of soft cloth and bring it to your face. They smell like Ghost. It’s almost enough to soothe the restless loneliness hovering over you like fog rolling in at night.

This is how you spend the next… million hours. Nothing you do makes the blankets perfectly right. You can’t toss and turn them into the shape of Ghost’s body next to yours. His warm, musky, clean linen, deeply human scent, that you know better than your own, has begun to fade.

You’ve become spoiled these past weeks, you scold yourself. You’re too clingy, too complacent, too attached.

Soon, he’ll be God knows where doing God knows what. It will be so pathetic if you spend the whole time moping around, pining like some love-struck idiot.

You don’t want to be pathetic, and love is for children and divorcees.

He doesn’t come in until well past midnight.

You haven’t caught a wink of sleep, thanks to the time difference. You sit up in bed with almost slavish eagerness and then pad towards him barefoot on the cold floor. “Hey-“

Ghost brushes you off with a single shake of his head. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door with a sharp snap that leaves you feeling some type of way.

He can’t be mad at you. There’s no reason - you haven��t done a single thing all day other than occupy space in this bed. But the sight of him walking away from you hurts.

You hear Ghost turn the faucet on, he’s muttering something to himself, he splashes water on what must be his bare face.

The door’s unlocked. You could go in if you wanted to. The white wood panels are just panels.

Yeah, you’re fucking pathetic.

So you sit on the bed and contemplate falling asleep just to spite him. But what if that’s what Ghost wants, and he won’t come out until he thinks you’re unconscious?

Before you can decide, the bathroom door swings open. He has his mask and gloves in one hand, and his other hand ruffles through his short blonde hair.

Ghost continues to be pretty face shy, so this is the first time in a while that you’ve gotten a good look at the frustrated wrinkle between his eyes.

He curses as he sorts through one of his duffel bags, he even tosses his mask carelessly to the side in order to use both hands.

You could ask Ghost if he needs help. Two people can find something faster than one. But you’re smarting from his rude rejection earlier, and it’s not like Ghost is incapable of asking for help on his own.

Exhaustion dogs each movement, sloshing through your veins like mud and beading at the corners of your eyes. You scrub at them with the sleeves of your sweater in the hopes that you can scrub yourself awake. All it does is unearth a ferocious yawn that shakes your whole body.

Ghost holds up an electric razor in a silent ‘aha’ before trodding back into the bathroom. This time, he leaves the door open.

He viciously rips off the conversion plug from the trimmer, then shoves it into the funkily-shaped bathroom wall socket.

With equal, if not more, venom, Ghost tries to even out his hair to regulation length. “Fuckin’…” The key word here is ‘tries.’

You watch him miss the same spot five times, give up to move to another overgrown section, and then miss that new spot five times.

In the sallow bathroom light, you can see how mangled and uneven the back of his head is. The mask is a very clever gambit to hide the hack job. “Goddamnit-“ Ghost swears, tangling his wrist in the cord in frustration.

He needs to slow down, and calm down. And if he tilts his head a little further, moves his hand back, he’d be able to get-

Ghost’s hand slips. “Bollocks!” There’s red underneath his fingers. The dumbass has gone and cut himself.

You can’t stand there and dawdle and watch him bust his scalp open because his pride gets in his way. You’re by his side in an instant.

“Stop. Stop it. Give it to me,” You tell Ghost, trying to pull the razor from his hand before he can say no.

His dark eyes flit to you in the mirror. “Wha-“

But he won’t hand the fucking thing to you, and you’re not in the mood to play tug of war. When will he realize he doesn’t have a choice and you’re helping him whether he likes it or not? “Give me the fucking razor,” You snap irritably.

His gaze goes wide even as the rest of his face remains flat. Finally, Ghost drops the razor into your palm.

A new challenge makes itself known - he’s much too tall for you to reach when he stands at his full height. In the corner of your bedroom, there’s a table with two chairs. “Here- can you just sit?” You say over your shoulder as you drag a chair in front of the bathroom sink.

He studies the razor in your hand, then turns around to examine the chair.

After a long moment, Ghost resigns himself to your care and sits down with a quiet ‘oof.’

You dust off the hair trimmings from his shoulders and neck so you can see where to start, all while ignoring the tiny shivers that travel through his muscles every time your fingers brush bare skin.

When you click the razor on, you let it hum in the air for a couple of minutes until he relaxes, and then you bring it to his scalp.

Ghost is a good patient. He lets you tilt his head as you work from his neckline and up toward the top of his head, moving in smooth, fluid strokes. It doesn’t take long before the back of his hair resembles hair again.

No one’s cleaned up his edges in forever. His hairline looks like it was drawn on in crayon by a toddler, but you elect not to say that to Ghost’s face.

It must be very difficult for him to have you this close with something sharp in your hand.

All of your frustration evaporates the instant you realize it. Before, the smudged smoke on his face distracted you from the cautious, frightened look in his eyes. But now that you can see it, you can’t unsee it. He’s a wounded, spooked animal, and you’ve cornered him in his den.

You turn the trimmer off for a second to pull the guard off.

Then you tilt his head forward to neaten that hairline, carefully avoiding the scabbed-over scratch.

Ghost clears his throat. “You’ve done this before?” He asks quietly, like there is something sacred in the air that he doesn’t want to disturb.

Your lips purse as you take the smallest bit of hair off. “A couple of times.” His veiny hands grip the arms of the chair. “And I’m definitely doing it better than you. Like, what is this? A poorly-maintained lawn?” You tease, making your voice as light and frivolous as you can.

He laughs shakily before releasing the wood.

“Who?”

You shoot him a relatively mild glare in the mirror. “Calm down. I cut Soap’s hair when he first enlisted, though I’ll admit that the Mohawk suits his weirdly shaped skull way better.”

You didn’t give a single fuck about your friend’s hairline back then. But you give many, many fucks about Ghost’s.

You want him to look good. Like he’s well cared for by a nice woman at home. Because he is. “You have a nice skull. No dents. Very proportional,” You say absentmindedly, tongue poking out as you finish the last little bit.

“…Thanks.” Ghost sounds oddly touched.

The sides of his head are next on your list. “My mom taught me how to cut my dad’s hair. Sometimes she’d do it for him.” You’ve never told Ghost anything about your past before.

There wasn’t really a point. At its core, your relationship is an economic proposition with benefits, so he doesn’t need to know about your parents to get what you agreed to give him.

But… some small part of you wants him to know, so you can pretend to have a conventional marriage.

You click the guard back into place and remember doing this same thing for your mother when you were a young girl. The three of you made an odd family; you were much closer to her age than your dad was.

Just like before, you let Ghost get used to the sound of the clippers before you start cutting.

“Your- um, he served?” He asks, coughing suddenly in the middle of his question.

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

The top you leave longer, though still cleanly cut. You circle the chair once, then twice, comparing both sides to ensure his hair is symmetrical.

You played yourself by leaving the front of his head for last. Now you have to stand there, feeling the weight of his gaze on your every move, so close that you can count his pale lashes against his fading eye black. Your hand holding the razor stays admirably steady, though your free hand lingers too long on his stubble-marked cheek.

Without realizing it, your fingers find one of the scars arching across his skin and trace it all the way down to the corner of his mouth.

Ghost doesn’t say anything to stop you. He sits, he looks up at you, he even blinks his large, luminous eyes a few times.

Fuck. You want…

You rest your palm against his prominent cheekbone and bend closer than necessary to get the last little tuft of hair.

The razor buzzes aimlessly in the air as your eyes drop to his chapped lips.

It turns itself off. “There you go. Nice and even,” You say, straightening up with burning cheeks that appear deep strawberry red in the bathroom mirror.

Ghost hums an acknowledgment, then gets to his feet with some satisfyingly-loud cracks in his back. For a moment, you almost forgot how tall he is. He easily crowds you away from the mirror, filling the space with muscles and long limbs.

“How do I look?” Ghost asks in a hoarse, almost vulnerable voice.

This feels like a trick question. Like, how are you supposed to answer in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a fool?

“Uh- well… you look… better than before.” Wrong answer. That’s absolutely not what you wanted to say, not really.

Words flit in and out of your reach like koi fish in a pond, and each time you grab for one, you come up empty-handed. “You look very handsome, Ghost.” There. That’s respectable, even if it’s not adequate. You’re not sure an adequate sentence to describe Ghost’s attractiveness exists. “I think-“

He cuts you off. “Simon.”

“What?”

Ghost turns his face away from the overhead light and mirror.

“My name’s Simon. Sometimes,” He quips.

Right. No big deal. Be cool. Be normal about this.

You say his name in your head a few times. Simon. Simon. Simon.

Why would he turn away? Why won’t he look at you? How do you make him see himself how you see him?

You reach out and carefully tug at his elbow until he turns around, still with his eyes cast to the ground. “I think you’re… one of the most beautiful people I know, Simon,” You murmur with the gift of his name as sweet as sugar on your tongue.

Everything is quiet, other than the hum of electricity in the light fixture and drops of water trickling from the faucet.

He reaches for your face with both hands, drawing you up on your tippy toes to meet his open mouth. His nose bumps into yours a few times as he kisses you. No teeth, no biting, just sweet, drawn-out kisses, his tongue swirling against yours, the taste of Ghost’s mint toothpaste on your lips.

One hand cups the base of your skull so he can tangle his fingers in your hair as he always does. But even this, Simon does gently, like he can’t bear to be rough.

You kiss him back feverishly with your arms around his neck, breaking away only to kiss the corner of his lips, his cheeks, you kiss the tip of his nose. Simon captures your mouth again with a low growl, stopping between kisses to wipe at your cheeks with his sleeve. Your face must be covered in his eye black.

Then he bends down, wraps his arms around your thighs, and you find yourself airborne. “Don’t drop me-“ You shriek, clinging to him like a sloth on a tree branch.

Ghost laughs as he sits you on top of the sink without blinking an eye. “One of these days, I’m gonna punish you for sayin’ that.” Once you relax into your makeshift perch, he sweeps your hair over your shoulder to kiss your cheek, then down your throat.

“Not today?” You ask with a small smile, running your hands through his freshly-cut hair.

He drags his tongue along your skin, always kissing, licking, loving your neck with his lips, he tugs your shirt up so his mouth can trace the curve of your breast. “Sorry, love,” Ghost murmurs into your stomach.

His teeth sink into your hip as he struggles to get your underwear off, tugging futilely with the tiniest pout until you take pity and pull them down to your ankles.

“Today-“ He cuts himself off to soothe the sting from his bite with more kisses. You rest your head against the mirror, eyes closed and face to the ceiling, as he dips his fingers between your bare thighs.

The faucet digs into your back, but you’d rather die than make him stop. “I jus’ wanna-“ His hand skates around the folds of your cunt, already dripping and clenching on nothing, his fingers wander everywhere except where you need him.

“Ghost…” You plead, even digging your heels into his back to make him move.

His nails dig into your plush thigh. “Simon. You’ll say Simon, or I’ll stop,” He warns, his eyes completely dilated. You watch him lick his lips, dart his gaze back and forth between your flushed face and your dewy cunt.

The opportunity is right there. It’s right there. Do you go for it?

“Simon says-“ You begin with a shit-eating grin.

Your laughter drowns out his groan. “F’ the love of God, don’t finish that fuckin’ joke,” He sighs, burying his face in your skin.

Simon’s fucking stubble is tickling you, and he starts rubbing his cheek on purpose to be annoying. You’re going to get a rash.

“Okay, okay. I won’t. For now,” You relent with one last giggle.

That giggle turns into a choked moan when his thumb circles your aching clit before he slowly eases one thick finger inside you. You whine, breathless and eager for more, shoving your hips toward his hand until he adds another.

And then he glides his tongue over you, teasing your sensitive bud with delicate licks. “Wanna make you come on my face.” You cry out as he laps at your folds, where you’re stretching to fit him, you gasp and jerk, and he encourages you. “Think you can do that for me?”

One of your hands goes to the mirror for balance, smearing fingerprints all over the foggy glass.

You feel him groan into your soaking wet pussy, the vibrations traveling through your nerves like a hot flame.

He moves his fingers faster, carefully curled to hit your g-spot with each thrust. “Ahhh- the haircut was- fuck… that good?” Your voice shudders, your stomach muscles start to hurt as your hips grind on his face for more, every time he touches you, your cunt flutters helplessly.

You look down at him buried between your legs. His eyes are half-lidded and intent, like he’s drunk, or really high, and most of his eye black has rubbed off on your skin, and he’s mindless as he takes your clit in his mouth and sucks.

“Shit, shit, Simon, slow down, oh God-“ You cry out, back arching like a string pulled taught in his wanting, covetous hands.

Simon lifts his head long enough to rasp, “You’re holding out on me, doll.” Then he gets back to his meal with your slick dripping down his chin.

You’re so unbearably hot that you think you’re about to melt, that desperate, writhing heat grows stronger and stronger in your core, and your shirt chafes your hardened nipples as you pant for breath.

He presses his fingers deeper into you, then thrusts a third digit in. “Oh my god, I’m so close, fuck, Simon, please make me come, o-oh…” You’re fucked out and completely insensible to anything other than his hot, wet mouth, cruelly working you higher and higher.

“Say my name again,” Simon orders as he strokes that ridged spot inside your twitching cunt over and over, his eyes roll back for a second when a new wave of arousal gushes out of you and into his mouth.

The tension wrenches through your insides, and if you don’t come, right now, you’re going to scream and claw and wail, anything for release.

“Simon. Simon. It’s so good, fuck, Simon, you’re ruining me-“ You shudder, then come with a long, shaky gasp. It moves through you, every nerve alive with bright, almost painful pleasure, you can’t breathe or see or hear. Just white light painted on your eyelids and the rabbit-fast beat of your pulse, your muscles spasming on his fingers.

Your nails scratch his neck, and one of his arms holds your cunt to his greedy tongue so he can draw the orgasm out even as you push him away.

Finally, you slump bonelessly to the sink. Simon pulls away the instant the overstimulation becomes too much, but not without one last kiss to your swollen, reddened clit.

Your fingers drag his face up up up until he’s standing and kissing you, his face absolutely covered in your come. He grins lazily, breathing almost as fast as you, you taste your salty, heady taste coating his tongue. You sink your teeth into Ghost’s bottom lip, and he nips you in return.

Your hands move to his shoulders, pushing until he moves back to see what you want. “Go to bed with me,” You whisper.

You missed him. A lot.

Simon searches your face, your round, doelike, beseeching eyes, for something. What he finds brings a small, sweet lift to the corner of his mouth.

He nods, kisses you again for good measure, and then carries you out of the bathroom.

GUESS WHAT WE'RE GETTING NEXT CHAPTER??? THE FIRST (BUT NOT LAST) APPEARANCE OF COWBOY GHOST!!!! YEEHAW!!!

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