#wire ghost

[marzipanandminutiae]

"most allegedly haunted houses turn out to have gas leaks!"

no they don't. you are merely skimming the surface of mundane shit that can be wrong with old houses with your one puny little explanation that only fits a very small number of cases. try harder

[trekkerac]

Ford will not be able to fully communicate with ghost stan btw, he has to stay in his isolated horror story because i hate him

[cultofthewyrm]

by sail

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Aftermath ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader

You find yourself against the shower wall in the midst of a second round because— well, it's never one and done with you two, is it?

Y'all encouraged it, so here it is: a follow-up to Release! Highly recommend reading that first for context, but you won't be too lost without it tbh. This one includes more focus on you ;) Enjoy!

Posted on: 2/7/25 | Words: 2,073 | Tags: fempov, shower sex, foreplay/build up, fingering, breast play, cunnilingus, very minor pregnancy scare, standing doggy, mild choking, mutual orgasm

We’ve got some work to do, Ghost had said as you extracted yourself from the slippery table and honest-to-god waddled, like a penguin, with your hand cupped between your legs over your cargos as if that’d somehow stop the mess from flooding your ruined panties.

Apparently that work was worth putting off another couple of hours.

Ghost has you pushed up against the wall of the shower, the cold, slick tile pressing to your warm skin as water cascades around you both. His stubble is rough, no doubt leaving behind pink marks on your chin and underneath your bottom lip as he licks into your mouth like he's making it his mission to claim your insides.

As far you're concerned, he already has.

Steam obscures half of your vision when you open your eyes. Simon's chest is rising and falling rapidly, the skin dashed with lines of scars and dotted with healed bullet holes. His hands, previously holding your waist to keep you from slipping back, cup your breasts and lightly squeeze, thumbs rubbing over your hardened nipples.

You tangle a hand in his short blonde hair and bite your bottom lip. It's far too late to reel yourself back in. The calm and controlled soldier everyone knew you as was shattered in Ghost's eyes; you were sure of it. He's the only one to see that facade falter— the only one to snap your resolve, lose you in pleasure, and make you nearly beg for more. And in a way, it isn't one-sided.

Ghost's brown eyes are intense when they meet yours. The way he's looking up at you is foreign. Where he usually towers over, he's bent now, his face inches away from his grasping hands as they squeeze, release, and squeeze again. While it isn't direct stimulation, nothing compares to the heat buzzing between your legs— itchy, almost, with need. That's the only way to describe the feeling: as if it's a deep scratch in need of relief, pulsing with heat and blood and the primal urge to soothe.

But Ghost must understand this. You only know it, because he seems to be purposefully holding off from doing what you want. The bastard.

Your hand tightens in his hair and you watch as a subtle grin grows on his kiss-bitten lips. Christ, as if the mask wasn't bad enough, he's even more attractive under it; No room to speculate on what the crinkles of his eyes mean; You can see exactly the type of amused expression he proudly sports.

“Simon.” You huff.

“Mm?” Ghost hums, playing dumb. He kisses the side of your breast, then flicks the tip of his tongue over your nipple and grins again when it knocks a puff of air from your lungs. Sensitive, your body screams. Go too long without stimulation and look what happens— you react like a virgin now. How embarrassing.

Ghost's breath isn't as warm as the steam or water, but it still tingles your skin as it travels further down. He's a bit clumsy as he fits himself between your legs. The shower isn't exactly made for two people, what with the built-in lip of a tub surrounding the small square of space, but he somehow manages to sit, kneeling, on the backs of his ankles as his broad body forces your stance wider.

Water runs down Ghost's back and flicks droplets off the top of his head onto your skin. It makes his hair stick to his face, so your thumb idly brushes away the front strands to expose that amused, hungry gaze of his again. Except he's no longer looking up at you— his focus is entirely captured by the mess still leaking from your pussy.

Ghost's cum, inside of you, dripping down the insides of your thighs, getting washed away bit by bit from the droplets tracing your flushed skin— you realize you're blushing from head to toe, even though compared to all the other things (namely, potentially alerting the team as you screamed and came on his dick earlier), this wasn't much to get worked up over. But it's the thought of being marked in a way you never obtain, so intimate and risky, fuck, it didn't even occur to you once that your coupling was unsafe. Sure, neither of you are getting laid around here— that's half the reason you climbed him like a tree the second he caved— so there's no real transmission risk.

Pregnancy, however?

You push the thought away as soon as it strikes. There's no way in hell that can happen. You won't let it. You won't—

A sharp pain in your inner thigh rips you from your spiral.

Ghost's eyes are curious, but his expression is concerned. His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips as he stares up at you questioningly. Before he has a chance to ask, you stammer,

“I-I'm not on the pill.”

Ghost’s expression doesn't waver. In fact, his lack of reaction just makes the panic tightening your chest feel all the more restricting.

After far too many tense seconds of silence, Ghost lines his fingers up to your entrance, pointer and middle pressed tightly together, and he murmurs,

“Let's get it out then, hm?”

You hardly have time to process what exactly he means before his fingers plunge in, slickened by the cum, yours and his, and the wetness already inside. At this angle, the pads of Ghost's fingers rub right over that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of your quivering walls. Gasping, you throw your head back against the tile wall and hope to god your legs don't give out beneath you as he makes a scooping motion with his fingers while he sloppily thrusts them in and out. Each curl sends shocks of electricity to your core, the buzzing, itching need deep within you returning insistently within seconds.

The bastard.

You bring your hand up to your mouth to cover it— an action you probably should've thought of prior to the shower. Your hips buck uncontrollably, twitching with unreleased energy as Ghost builds a steady rhythm, in and out, the sounds sloppy over the rushing of the water, lewd in ways that make your brain feel like it's going to turn to mush.

And then you decide to look down.

Not only is the squelch of your cum-soaked pussy loud enough to hear, but so is the equally hot sound of Ghost's hand on his cock, which pumps in time with each thrust of his other fingers. It's a bit uncoordinated, but his focus is strong. If it weren't for the shower, a sheen of sweat surely would be forming over his tense, rippling muscles and veiny arms. Ghost’s eyes are half-lidded, but they close as he leans in and runs the tip of his tongue over your clit.

You jolt, groaning, and he does it again, tonguing the sensitive nub in slow circles. The stimulation is so direct it’s almost painful, but you don’t stop him. God, you’d be insane to.

Ghost’s tongue goes flat while his fingers curl in, the wall vibrating with the sound of a thump as the back of your head hits it. Eyes squeezed closed, you feel your thighs trembling as your orgasm builds and builds. What finally pushed it over the edge, the final straw that has you grasping at Ghost’s hair and gasping for air, is when he seals his lips over your clit and sucks while he flicks his tongue rapidly back and forth.

Your pussy spasms, each pulse clenching down around his thick fingers while they rub and rub and holy shit you might actually pass out from this—

“St-Sto- ah!” You push at Ghost’s head as the pleasure turns into a sting of overstimulation, and reluctantly, he tips it back to look up at you, an expression of pure hunger in his eyes. A second later, his fingers follow, which then join his hand as it grips your hip tightly. Ghost stands up, his body knocking yours in his scramble. You have no idea what he’s planning, but he’s feral about it, spinning you around against the tile so fast that your feet lose their balance for a second or two. But it doesn’t matter because Ghost is there to catch you, to steady you, as he always is.

You can’t recall a time where he wasn’t there for you.

Ghost’s stubble is rough on the juncture between your left shoulder and neck. He bites down gently, teeth scraping the skin lightly; a message that he could mark, but he won’t.

But Christ, you really, really wished he would.

And then his tip is at your pussy, clumsily rubbing between the folds and over your clit. You reach a hand down, but only the tips of your fingers can actually touch at this angle. Regardless, you manage to guide him in, and it’s a long, smooth slide that’d embarrass you if it weren’t for your foggy brain. A part of you internally wonders if it was his cum still slickening you up or if your body really was that greedy and easy for his cock.

“That’s it,” Ghost murmurs in your ear, his voice low, rough. He pulls his hips back by an inch and thrusts back in, hard, like he’s trying to wedge himself impossibly deeper. “Atta girl. Just like that.”

You cry out a mixture of his name and whatever gibberish your brain supplies. All you know is that you’re slurring— begging?— while Ghost fucks into you in short, sharp thrusts, chasing his own pleasure without a care in the world for yours.

One of his hands leaves your hips to rest upon your neck, his thumb in the dip of your throat. He grips lightly, but soon he begins to squeeze tighter and tighter the louder you cry out. Head fuzzy, you rest your cheek against the tile and do your best to breathe with what little oxygen he supplies you. Even without him restricting you, the air is clouded with steam, making the tiny space even hotter. At this point, water isn’t the only thing dripping down your forehead.

The slap of Ghost’s hips against yours is muffled under the water. He turns, his big, strong hands sliding down to tightly grip your waist like you’re his own personal fleshlight, and he bites down on the juncture of your neck again and sucks, teeth grazing the skin, as you feel his movements stutter. Your face is no longer against the tile, freed only briefly so that you can gasp in air and scramble to flatten yourself against the wall while Ghost grunts out an order to stay still.

Cock slipping free, you see Ghost’s arm jolting furiously as he jerks off. He slaps the tip against your ass every so often, smearing pre-cum that gets washed away a few seconds later. Ghost’s eyes are hungry, his chest heaving, and you’re no better. Christ, the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins while you arch your back and wonder, briefly, if shoving him back in was worth the risk.

You don’t have the chance to decide for long, however, because then Ghost is holding you steady and breathing out a low curse as his cock spurts short ropes of cum onto your flushed skin.

“Oh fuck,” You pant weakly.

Ghost makes a noise like he’s agreeing with that sentiment.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the tension flood from your body; Tension that you weren’t even aware that you held until it became suddenly clear that the ache between your legs and in your thighs might just not be completely from desire.

Groaning, your left hand reaches for the handle and turns it, shutting off the steadily cooling water. Ghost chuckles behind you and you roll your eyes.

“What?” You mutter, unable to help a smile.

“You sore?”

You shove at Ghost’s bicep weakly and he chuckles again before stepping over the lip of the tub onto the bath mat. A towel gets wrapped around his waist, the other one getting tossed over you. With a huff, you wrap it around your shoulders and join him.

“Might need to work on your fitness regime.” Ghost comments. You realize, strikingly, that he looks at ease for the first time since you’ve met.

“I wouldn’t mind daily lessons.”

Ghost turns to you, amused.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Any specific kinks you wanna see in the future? Lemme know in an ask! As always, prompts/requests are open! Check my ficlist for more, my AO3 for additional fics, and thanks so much for reading! ♡♡♡

[melonramune]

2025-04-13

[naancydrew]

guys im feeling crazy noticing this for the first time after playing this game for YEARS as a child. i guess i never looked at the PDA enough

i read this and thought huh. why did she say point the dog to the correct living room wall instead of point the dog in the right direction?? isn't part of the puzzle determining which direction equals which symbol by going back and forth between the clock and the dogs? .....then i looked at the walls....

each wall has one of the symbols standing out more than the others in the wallpaper....ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????

[osteochondraldefect]

IDENTITY DOGMATISM, THE IMAGE IS ALWAYS IN STYLE

[fourcorpsmen]

Batman (2016) Batman: The Knight (2022)

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

An Au idea just spawned in my head now it wont leave, so now I will share it with you all.

What if after Simon took his revenge and killed Roba he was found by a certain gothic family that has a taste for the dark arts.

What if when ghost returns from his deployment he's greeted by his peculiar new family.

Yes it is the addams family.

[talos-stims]

tamari [qualia automata] stimboard with this specific combo of shades of green-brown bc i kept seeing gifs that reminded me of him

🔌|🔌|🔌

🔌|🔌|🔌

🔌|🔌|🔌

[dark-rob]

[cultofthewyrm]

by danistrips

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Release ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader [Requested prompt!]

The team finally has time to rest after months of hard work. Pent up, you and Ghost find a good outlet for release— each other.

Heed the warning below! There isn't much kink to this one tbh, just a mild hint of public play. If you want a spicier fic, check out the last one I wrote in this mini series. Ao3 and everything is in the notes at the end.

Enjoy! ;)

Word count: 3,479 | Chapters: 1 | Tags: Fempov, missionary, slow build, risky

Long, sleepless nights weren't an uncommon occurrence for you. It wasn't often you got respite during times of high tensions and potential war. Echoes of gunfire tarnished your dreams; stains of blood penetrating your body bone-deep, even when it's scrubbed clean of any signs; a reminder that you were forever marked by death.

As for Simon, he knew the experience all too well.

Words were hardly exchanged, just knowing looks and observations. You tightly wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the edge of a couch in the common room, the digital clock mocking you with the ungodly hour. Simon, his tired eyes and partially masked face, standing by the counter waiting for the coffee pot to start bubbling.

It started a few months after you got assigned to taskforce 141. You piece together from Ghost's slow acceptance of your presence that he's done this a while now— snuck out of the barracks in the middle of the night to make coffee or simply sit in the silent, empty room. But it wasn't empty for long. You'd make it to the room after him, often times. At first, you wouldn't acknowledge him, assuming Simon wanted it that way. But then that turned into small nods of greeting, then to sharing a pot of coffee while you two leaned with your backs to the counter, and then, somewhere in the mix, a bond grew.

It wasn't an every night occurrence. While deployed, your relationship with him was business as usual, and when you weren't shipped off to God knows where— well, it took days to recover. Days spent alone and half-asleep in a dark room with stashed weapons for all of the ‘what ifs’ your mind could conjure.

Dark circles sag under your eyes, matching Simon's. The team had been stationed here for a week now, and it was only just tonight that you decided it wasn't worth tossing and turning until daybreak.

A steaming mug of weak coffee sits on the counter. You greet Simon with a barely-there smile of appreciation and wrap your hand around the ceramic curve, your fingers curling over the handle. It has a marines logo on the front, faded and stained from time. Amusing, to say the least.

Simon is sitting down at the small fold-up table with his own mug, the liquid half gone. Something about him seems… off. He's more jittery than usual, and that's not the caffeine speaking. His eyes bore into the tabletop, his eyebrows pulling together; tense. The lower half of his face is covered by a black mask, missing its iconic skull design. It makes it hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. You suppose that's the point.

“Price mentioned an intel mission earlier. Looks pretty secure, if we can get it in time.” You murmur quietly, breaking the tense silence.

Ghost nods his head, but doesn't look up from the table. He makes a small “mmn” noise in agreement and you figure he's not talkative tonight. No big deal. He usually isn't one for talking during these late nights anyway. You usually aren't either, but you're worried. You can't help it.

Sipping from your mug, you approach the small couch facing away from the table. There's a small, old tv in front of it, balanced on top of four crates with a board laid across them. There isn't enough funding distribution for a tv stand or good mattresses, but there's an endless shipment of coffee to keep your team functioning. Go figures. You're not one to complain though; You're lucky you even get entertainment in this place.

The tv is set to low, playing a random movie from the 80’s. You spot a VHS tape in one of the crates and wonder who the hell brought that along for a set up like this. While the intro to a murder mystery plays, you hear footsteps behind you, and Simon appears in the corner of your eye.

His gaze is on the tv, reading the title screen that flashes in bright colors and a font that’s distinctly from that era. You shuffle over to provide more room, and he hesitates before taking a seat, one arm staying propped on a small couch cushion wedged into the corner. He's man-spreading, but you don't mention it. The way your knees just barely brush against each other— it's the closest you've gotten to him outside of the occasional encouraging pat on the shoulder before a mission.

It's been ages since you've last felt someone's touch.

You curl your legs in so that they're tucked underneath you, your cold hands keeping the mug steady. Simon’s watching you from the corner of his eyes. It makes your heartbeat quicken.

Fifteen minutes go by. When you next bring the mug to your lips, you realize it's empty, having disappeared while you idly drank and stared in the general direction of the tv. You couldn't bother paying attention right now.

"Do you need help?" You ask quietly.

Ghost looks at you. He blinks.

“You look jittery.”

“I’m not jittery.” Ghost grumbles.

You raise a brow and he lets out a defeated sigh and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, he puffs out a soft breath, calm and controlled, and shakes his head like he’s shaking himself free of the endless turmoil bubbling inside his head.

“Whaddya have in mind?”

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It starts out with cards.

Poker; Cribbage; Go Fish. Ghost has an unfair advantage with poker because of the mask, but he refuses to take it off when you point it out to him, so he ends up switching the game before you two even start.

Holding your set of cards like a fan, you peer over them as Ghost stares at the tabletop with an intense look of concentration.

Slowly, he reaches for a card in his own little pile (you expected him to be neat with his own cards, but he’s not. It’s chaotic. Nevertheless, it suits him)— and he glances up at you, his voice gruff when he asks, “Any queens?”

You pretend to study your deck. You know you have none, but you still take your time. Something in you doesn’t want this to end; To go back to your bunks, exhausted and alone, and wait until the next time the universe grants you both a respite.

Sighing, you can’t help but smile as you finally answer, “Go fish.”

Ghost draws from the deck, but you reach your hand out before it’s fully across the table. The touch is electric, and it causes Ghost’s eyes to flick up to meet yours. You realize just how brown they are. A deep brown, with hints of hazel. They stand out amongst the black of his mask— even more so when he’s got black paint smudged around his sockets out on the battlefield. You never really noticed it until now. Goosebumps rise on your arms, hidden beneath the sleeves of your sweater.

You were meant to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

Ghost finds them for you.

“You’re bored.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

You nod, slowly.

Ghost makes a humming noise of agreement and nods too. Then he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze idly watching your fingers slightly twitch. The air feels charged and heavy and tinged with uncertainty. You find it difficult to properly breathe, your chest tight and body tense; your mind a race of he’s touching me, he’s touching me and I can’t handle it, he’s touching me and I can’t remember the last time I felt this— have I ever felt this?— would it even matter?—

You haven’t a clue what’s going through Ghost’s head, but you can see that something is affecting him. His chest rises and falls faster, those broad shoulders taught with a newfound tension you hardly recognize. Preparing himself. Ghost isn’t like this unless he’s looking down the sights of his rifle. All poise and concentration, he tightens his grasp like he’s pulling a trigger and he’s dragging you out of nowhere, guiding your upper half across the short table under you’re leaned over and inches away from his face.

You say nothing. Hell, what could you say? Stop? Don’t?

You want this.

Fuck, you need this.

You use your free hand to tug his mask under his chin and you kiss him.

It’s firm yet hesitant, and your mind races with all the ways this could backfire. But Ghost is warm and his stubble is rough, scratching against your chin and lips as he leans into it, pressing into you as though he’s giving himself permission to allow this.

The kiss breaks when you run out of breath. You pant as you try to catch up, your eyes blinking open to find Ghost’s half-lidded gaze searching your face with a sense of desperation. Realization has set in: the floodgates have opened, and there’s no going back now.

You lead this time around, scooting yourself out of the shitty metal chair and rounding the table to him. Ghost stands, his eyes never leaving you once, and he’s tall and broad, towering over you, even as he bends his head down to meet your lips with a feverish kiss. You taste the coffee on his breath and the warmth from his tongue as it glides against yours clumsily. His hands grip your hips and suddenly you’re pulled upward like you weigh nothing and set down onto the tabletop with your legs spread. Ghost fits himself between your knees, his hands trailing down to grip your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

A rush of heat fills your body. You can feel a blush on your cheeks, heat prickling the back of your neck. The space between you and his chest is hot as well, practically radiating off of his body— the body that keeps you trapped against it with your legs locked and hands scrabbling at its shoulders; the body that’s firm and muscular and alive under your touch, reacting to each grind of your hips as you desperately rock against him.

“Fuck.” Ghost murmurs against your lips, low and breathy.

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes. You’re giddy with the feelings knotted inside your chest. This is happening. Holy shit. And you can’t come to terms with this, that’s it’s taken so long to happen. The tension wasn’t not there. Subtle glances and lingering looks were just the start, not to mention the jokes Soap, Gaz, and even Price made about you two— about how similar you were; quiet and brutal and deadly, two lone wolves watching their pack’s back.

Even so, Ghost has more resilience than this. You thought you had more— hell, if your self control was hanging by a thread during the last mission, then it’s practically been snapped now, and by your own two hands.

You’re tired of feeling tired. And Ghost is more than eager to quell the chaotic energy inside of you both.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as you tilt your head and grasp for the back of his neck. You flinch, the pain incredibly brief, and he makes a low groaning noise that sends a bolt of heat straight between your legs. Your thighs clench around him, and he soothes the nip with his tongue as an apology, but all it does is make you whine with need.

Lips tingling, you break the kiss to the sound of a zipper. Ghost bites his bottom lip and follows your eyes down to where your hips lay flush together. His boxers are exposed, belt flayed open, and he’s hard and he’s big too. Bigger than you anticipated— and you haven’t even properly seen it yet.

You slide a hand down his chest and palm the bulge with deft fingers. Ghost groans again, and it’s right then that you decide you want to hear more of that noise.

It takes some maneuvering, but your cargos find the floor in no time. The tabletop is cold against the backs of your thighs, but Ghost's hands are burning hot against your skin. His eyes remain between you, looking down at the (frankly embarrassing) pink panties you're wearing. There's a hint of amusement in Ghost's gaze, like he's tempted to make a comment on it, but instead he just presses his thumb to the front of the fabric and rubs, slow and precise.

For all of the training you've had— the long night's waiting hours in the cold for the perfect moment to strike; the torture that you stayed resilient through; the second-hand nature of your brain thinking logically over what you actually wanted— seemed to be all in vain in this one moment.

Whether it was a long time coming or not, you struggle to even stay still as Ghost’s thumb presses harder, seeking out the shaky breaths leaving your parted lips. It sinks even lower, to a forming wet patch on the thin fabric, and Ghost practically rumbles when he sees the evidence of your desperation.

He wastes no time in pulling the fabric to the side and adjusting your position, pulling your thighs up until you're resting on your lower back with your legs bent and bowed out. Ghost murmurs something that sounds like praise, but you're too caught up in the sound of your heartbeat thumping away in your ears.

First, it's just a finger that enters you. Ghost’s hand trembles so slightly you almost miss it, and he pumps the digit in and out a few times before eagerly adding another. You aren't quite prepared for it. The burn of a stretch would otherwise deter you, but now— now, all it does is drive you up the fucking wall.

“Ghost.” You whine, voice warbly.

Ghost curls his fingers and your head tips back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Simon—”

Now that causes Ghost to falter.

You open your eyes and glance down your body to see his reaction, afraid you might've crossed a line. If his eyes were any indicator, you have a feeling you just skirted the line. You also realize he shed his own cargos at some point and pulled down the hem of his briefs to his mid-thigh, exposing the long, hard curve of his cock. It reaches his navel, the tip wet and catching the dim sterile light of the room.

“Simon.” You repeat carefully.

Ghost pulls his fingers out, grabs under your hips, and drags you even closer to the edge of the table. You yelp, but it's no deterrent. He's feral in a way you've never seen— desperation and nerves and frustration all coiled into his determined expression, truly like a wild animal. It isn't often you get to see under the mask. What doesn't make sense is why he's letting you while he's vulnerable like this.

Your eyes meet as he lines up and rubs the tip against you, hot and slick.

And then he pushes in, and your eyes close once more as every feeling in your body narrows down to just this. This stretch, this heat— everything. The way Ghost’s chest vibrates as he groans, how he feels inside, thick and real; it's so much to handle, all you can do is lay back and try to catch your breath until he reaches the hilt.

Buried deep inside, Ghost grinds his hips and grunts when you whimper in response. His hands are gripping under your thighs, right below the bend of your knees, and he's using the contact as an anchor to drive himself in and out like he has no time to waste. And with how you've been treated lately, there really is no time to waste. God knows how late into the night it's gotten, but the thrill of what if—

And oh god. What if.

*What if someone comes in?*

The windows are foggy with condensation, the frames coated with dust and grime and who knows what; But you can see the beginnings of a washed yellow peeking through the thick trees outside, right past Ghost's shoulder. You catch a subtle reflection from the overhead light bouncing off the glass pane, transfixed by his rippling muscles as they bunch and strain while he practically pounds into you with all his might.

Arching your back, you dig your heels into his lower back and shudder when the angle changes, his cock brushing past the sensitive bundle of nerves buried inside of you. Ghost notices that you're distracted, but it's clear he doesn't know why. You can't tell if he's irritated by it or curious, but the worry doesn't stick around very long— he presses his thumb to your clit before you have the chance to regroup yourself, and that's all the stimulation it takes to stoke the fire burning in your gut. It's all you need to stop caring about the risk of you two getting caught. You both deserve this— surely, the team would understand.

You feel yourself pulse around Ghost's cock, an orgasm so treacherously close you can feel your thighs shaking with the force of its foundation.

They'd better understand.

You might die from this feeling. Forget the trenches, there's nothing that makes you shake, cry, and beg so easily.

“That's it,” Ghost grunts. The words, among the first he's spoken almost all night, prod at a part of your brain you thought was long shut down by now. And he keeps doing it, encouraging you with low, growly breaths and strained words; a mixture that makes your head spin— beyond the fact that you're nearly upside down with how high your back is arched, your temple nearly pressed to the tabletop.

Ghost bends over you to get a better hold, and then he's rapidly thrusting like a fucking rabbit, and oh God, you can feel it— it's too much, too quick and too overstimulating, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down, and suddenly Ghost's hand is covering your mouth as you practically wail your release. It crashes over you like a tidal wave, all-encompassing and fueled by years of restraint.

Your pussy spasms around him, walls uncontrollably rippling, even fighting to push him back out. But Ghost only drives in deeper, and in one, two, three thrusts, he seats himself fully to the hilt and groans against the sweat-slick skin of your neck as a warm, dirty feeling floods your insides.

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It takes you a while to catch your breath. Ghost is right with you, propping himself up on his palms, hands on either side of your trembling body, as his cock pulses the last ropes of cum inside. He slowly pulls his hips back until there's a rush of hot liquid gushing out onto the tabletop.

Your thighs are a mess— hell, your whole body looks more run through than some of the exercise regimes you and the team are forced to do every couple of weeks. You definitely feel a lot sweatier, though the lack of mud, blood, and grime in general is a plus.

Your face burns with a sense of embarrassment as you look between your legs and notice the mess he left behind. Ghost's cock is still half-hard, but he carefully smears the tip along your inner thigh (and holy shit that imagery will never leave your mind from now on) and stuffs it back into his briefs, then zips up his jeans before adjusting the belt, each movement precise.

You half expect him to just leave you there, but Ghost's hands are gentle when they grab ahold of your arms and pull you up into a seated position. Knees bent, your legs hang off the table, feet a foot or so from the cold floor. Ghost says nothing as he quickly snags the blanket you dragged in from off the back of the couch and wraps it around your shoulders. He helps you shuffle side to side so you can adjust your panties until they're properly on again, and he even goes the full mile to help guide your feet into the pant legs of your cargos until they're on as well. Not like you can wear these again, considering how stained they'll be in the next few minutes.

“Feel better?”

It's the only thing you manage to come up with to break this weird, tense silence. Your voice is hoarse, but with a little more coffee, it'll repair itself in no time.

Ghost's eyes crinkle slightly, and something tells you that he's far more amused than the faux annoyed huff he gives to your little question. It eases the knot in your chest, and you can't help but smile as you help him adjust his face mask.

“Yes,” Ghost admits anyway, his fingers brushing yours gently, “Feelin’ better. Now come on, up you get. We've got some work to do.”

I'm so down bad chat. As soon as I finished writing this, I thought of a follow-up shower scene I might write next if y'all want it 🫣 Ao3 link is here! (I crosspost over there) Requests/prompts are currently: open! Thanks for reading :] And thank you Jax for the prompt!! ♡♡♡

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crossed Wires 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: silverfox!Andy Barber, Cole Turner

Summary: you try to balance your work with your private life as your boss and a new client try to blur the lines. (short!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The gravel mulches loudly under the tires of the truck. You grip the ridged wheel as the seat belt strains against your shoulder. You make yourself sit back, the seat slid up as far as it will go. Still, the bumper shortens your perspective.

You figured you’d get a call to the old Orson place when you heard it sold. That was months ago though and the new owner finally set down roots there. You haven’t seen them, you’ve only heard the whispers that accompany any happening in Hammer Ford; from a new recipe to the juiciest of scandals. You pay much attention to any of it.

You keep your hands at ten and two as you follow the long gravelly drive to the farmhouse facade. There’s a single car parked outside the garage. It’s a sleek white SUV, luxury by the looks of the hood ornament. It’s not what you expect around here. That paint job will be dusty in now time, if not scratched by errant pebbles.

You pull in and shut off the engine. You undo your seat belt and check your watch. Right on schedule. You open the door and step on the rusted step below the door, letting yourself down with a hop. Your tan work boots kick up dirt as you round to the passengers side and swing the door open to retrieve your heavy work bag.

You sling the thick strap over your shoulder and snap the door as you head towards the house. You rest your hand on the side of the bag as you near the steps, searching for any sign of life. The stairs creak as you climb onto the low porch.

“Can I help you?” The deep voice startles you. 

You blink and turn to face the man sitting on the wooden boards, bolts and screws around him along with metal parts and wooden boards. You hadn’t seen him through the tight slats of the railing.

You keep your usual vague stare as you sniff, “got a call about the breaker.”

He squints at you, a squiggle forming between his brows. He’s older. His grey hair has a single bolt of its former dirty blond just above his forehead. Despite the heat and the dirt sprinkled over the boards, he wears a pair of dark slacks and a button-up rolled to his elbows.

“You’re the electrician,” he states as he sets aside the small screwdriver in his hand. He stands with a grunt, grasping his knee before he straightens.

“Sure am,” you reply flatly.

“I spoke with a man,” he intones, hands going to his hips as he looks down at you.

“That’s would be my boss. Cole.”

“That’s his name,” he steps forward, wiping his hand on his shirt, staining the light gray fabric, “Andy.”

He offers his hand and you shake it curtly. All the farmers pride themselves on keeping a firm grip and you never faltered with them. He squeezes before he lets you go. He doesn’t have the typical callouses, you even have a few.

“How’d you get into this work?” he wonders.

“It’s work. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t– I don’t mean anything,” he stammers.

“Didn’t think you did,” you sniff, “so, what am I looking at?”

“Well, I don’t really know,” he reaches back to rub his neck. The power keeps… flickering.”

“Ah, been a while, probably just need to wait for it to stabilize. City worker came out months ago for the meters,” you explain.

“Right, well, I heard sizzling.”

“Show me where you heard it.”

He nods and gestures you towards the door. Before you can reach it, he pulls the wooden screen door back and waits for you to enter ahead of him. He tells you it’s just down the hall and stop you near the basement door. You peer down the stairs and flick the light switch. There’s a low buzz.

“I don’t think you need to worry about it,” you look up, “but I can have a look.”

“Oh, okay,” he utters, “I also had another question. You might know something about it.”

You look at him. He seems put off by your expressionless stare.

“I wanted to install an automatic opener in the garage…”

“I can do the wiring, sure, long as you buy the parts,” you answer. “I can give you recommendations, odds are, you’ll need a whole new door as well.”

“Sure,” he agrees uneasily.

“Can schedule an appointment when you decide,” you turn your palm out, “I’ll just go grab my ladder and have a look then.”

You go to step past him but he’s not quick enough. You nearly collide and find yourself moving back and forth with him, trying to get by. You stop and stare. He stills himself and turns sideways, waving you by. You pass and let out a slow breath through your nose.

You stalk back down the hall and onto the porch. You hear him following you. You come down the steps as he continues his close pursuit. You don’t exactly know what he’s doing but you won’t ask. Cole says you need to work on customer service and not tell people to get out of your way.

You go around the bed of the truck and open the back. You reach for the ladder but another arm stretches further and faster. He pulls the ladder out before you can and you step back with a grunt.

“Hey, I can get it,” you insist.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.”

“So why am I here?” You ask curtly, immediately knowing you asked a bad question.

“Sorry, I was just… being nice,” he says.

“Right,” you try to soften your tone, “it’s just… it’s my job. I can carry the ladder.”

“I know you can,” he looks down at you and you feel even smaller. You don’t like it when they try to play gentleman, it’s condescending. You might be short but you’re strong enough. 

“Thanks,” you grab the ladder and yank it from his grasp.

He lets go and you continue past him. He huffs and follows a few paces back from the end of the ladder. You angle it up the steps.

“At least let me get the door,” he inches past you, “okay?”

“Thanks,” you repeat in the same even keel.

You enter and take the ladder down the hall. He hovers just down the hallway, watching as he shifts his weight between his feet. He’s the worst kind of customer, the kind that have to supervise. 

You step up the ladder and look past it. “Mind holding it?”

“You sure?” He gives a trite arch of his brow.

You blink and keep your eyes from rolling, “I’d appreciate it, sir.”

He comes forward and braces the ladder staunchly. You climb up and suppress a snarl. City folk think you’re all backwards out here but they can’t wrap their damn head around a woman with a brain.

[chiizestims]

Molten Freddy Stimboard!

|| ⚠️ | ⚠️ | ⚠️ || ⚠️ | ⚠️ | ⚠️ || ⚠️ | ⚠️ | ⚠️ ||

[maskerat]

they're home!!! I love them so much - although I do admit the wired skeleton is a little uncomfortable to handle, so hugging or carrying them around is a bit of a hassle :,)