If you found me through mcu textposts/memes from 7 years ago, you won't be surprised abt the fandoms I'm in now lmao. For everyone else, hi! Here's some things about me and the content I make:
Hey I'm Myles! I'm a 23 yr old transmasc from california (but now I live in the UK, yippee!). My husband of 4 years is a british idiot that I love very much. I've been writing fanfics/roleplaying for about 8 years, though I took a 4 year break from posting said fics. But now I'm getting back into it!! Handle was prev ctrl-alt-bucky!
My main fandoms are: MCU, COD, Sleep Token (totally surprising ik), Fallout, The Witcher (the show & games) and a bunch of other random interests. Stucky is my OTP and I occasionally reblog Ghoap content bc I'm a sucker for buff dumb idiots loving each other. All of the work I write will be tagged with #BetweenTheStars, Sleep Token content is #vessel my beloved, and anything not MCU is #mcu unrelated.
Not everything I post is nsfw, but I often write smut and don't feel comfortable with minors interacting with me! Please leave my page if you're under 18!
Generic DNI list: trans/homophobes/TERFs, racists, trump/elon supporters, pro-Israel, pro-AI, etc. Fetish blogs are on thin ice.
You can find my AO3 account Here!
The ficlist for everything i've written is Here!
My asks are currently Open for COD or Sleep Token fic requests! Anything I write will be cross-posted to my AO3 :]
The first 12 of the major arcana Sleep Token tarot deck.. I keep forgetting to post it, but here it is!! I did go a bit out of order with the last few since I didn’t have any ideas for a select few of the cards.
Leaving the meeting was a risk. But the real punishment is the walk back to your quarters, wearing the ruined evidence of what Ghost just did to you...
My most requested follow-up! Thank you to everyone who read the last fic and begged asked for more! I can't wait to see yalls' reaction to this one ;)
That’s all it took for Ghost to appear in the doorway, with burning heat in his eyes and a stance that terrifies and excites you in equal parts.
“Well hello, soldier,” You drawl, but Ghost was having none of it, already cornering you against the wall as the quiet click of the door shuts behind you both.
You’d gone from the bathroom to his office, knowing exactly where he’d end up after the brief. Price had his own little office across the hall, and even further down, the common areas expanded into tiny rooms with hardly any space to sleep, let alone share. Lack of privacy withstanding, you were thrilled at the idea of… breaking this place in, so to speak.
Ghost towers above you, one of his hands coming up to grab your neck as the other pushes between your thighs. He gropes you possessively and unabashedly, and you watch as his intense eyes darken at your gasp of surprise.
His thumb lightly dips into the hollow of your throat— not adding any pressure. Not yet. Just a silent way to show the power he holds over you, and it goes to show how easily you allow it.
Ghost leans down until your forehead brushes against the stitched ridge of the mask. “Still wet for me?” He asks in a gruff voice. You feel warm air puff from the fabric stretched over his chin, and further down, the heat reigniting in your gut, in between your legs, where his pointer and middle fingers curl against the soaked fabric.
You don’t need to answer— Ghost seems satisfied by what he feels to let you stay quiet as he uses those deft fingers to unbutton and tug down your shorts. They drop to the ground with a soft thud, and you shiver when he grabs the edge of your panties and slowly pulls them aside, like he’s making a show out of it.
A soft groan rumbles in Ghost’s chest. His fingers are tracing along your clit instantly, rough finger pads sending an electric buzz to your core.
“Ghost—” You’re cut off by tightening pressure around your throat. Lips parting, you manage to gasp a final breath in as Ghost cuts off your airflow and simultaneously plunges two fingers deep inside.
You aren’t prepared for it, but you can’t protest, can’t even get a single noise past your lips— you’re simply forced to stand there and take it, all the while Ghost uses your body like his own personal plaything, curling his fingers as they squelch in and out, the sound as lewd as the strained whimpers getting caught in your chest.
Your eyes squeeze shut, a floaty sensation taking over your mind. Just as you feel your legs giving out, the hand is gone and so is the fullness of his thick digits.
Slowly, you blink your eyes open and through blurry vision, you see the top of Ghost’s mask at your waistline. He’s kneeling on the ground, both hands braced on your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin— and Christ, you’re not sure what to make of the hunger in his gaze.
“Atta girl…” Ghost murmurs, smooth like warm leather and rolling thunder, “Eyes on me…”
It’s not an order you’re willing to disobey. You can’t look away, too engrossed by the features revealing in front of you. He hooks a thumb beneath the mask and slowly, torturously, pulls the fabric up until it bunches just above his nose. It distorts the skull design, but his eyes— they remain visible; And they stay trained on you while he leans in and licks one long, wet stripe across your dripping cunt.
“Oh—” You whine.
There’s something in the way Ghost hums that makes your thighs clench and pulse jump. Purring like a damn cat, like an apex predator, like a hungry lion savoring a victorious meal.
His tongue swirls and you swear you see stars. Head thumping against the wall, you don’t spare a single thought to the muffled voices travelling past the door as he continues to drive you mad.
Back and forth, around and around— his tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, then stops a few seconds later; an evil routine that he couples with a tight squeeze to your hips. It’s only then that you realize you’re sinking down, but you don’t get very far. Ghost’s arms are strained, defined muscles bulging beneath his tight black tee. Your hands grab his shoulders, fingertips barely able to reach over their mass. Then he decides to up his game, and suddenly grabbing onto anything stable becomes futile as you fight to not collapse under the sudden onslaught of suction directly over your throbbing clit.
Ghost’s moaning against your pussy. Little bits of praise fall from his lips— things such as, “Good girl,” and, "Fuck, baby,” and the occasional growling command to, “Stand right there.”
His chin is shiny and slick, pink lips and strong jaw surrounded by a stubble that roughly scratches at your skin. You whine and squirm and smooth your hand over the top of his mask, over the small tufts of blonde hair peeking through, desperate for any hold to keep yourself from falling apart.
And yet—
A hot, coiling sensation builds in your abdomen. It’s too great to stop; too strong to push down. You close your eyes tightly and let your mouth fall open helplessly, begging aloud, “Oh God, yes, fuck yes, please Simon—”
It hits you stronger this time.
Your thighs tremble and fingers curl— your toes curl— your body jolts over and over with white-hot, stabbing clenches of pure relief and bliss. Undoubtedly, Ghost’s mouth is ruined with the evidence of your orgasm. You don’t get the time to check, much less catch your goddamn breath, before he’s standing up and hauling you into the air like you weigh absolutely nothing.
You are spun and slammed down. The wooden desk squeaks against your weight, pinning you beneath Ghost’s hungry— no, starving gaze.
Ghost is a silent beast behind you. The only sound is the ragged gasps you desperately try to gulp down. You try to push up onto your elbows— your muscles trembling, completely spent, throat hurting— but a low grunt of disapproval cuts through the dark. A heavy palm shoves you flat, calloused fingers holding your cheek to the cold, wooden tabletop.
The tip of his cock lightly taps your wet cunt— fuck, when did he get undressed?— before lining up and pushing inside in one, long stroke. You choke on a moan and Ghost does too, grinding his cock so deep inside it almost hurts. He’s big in every sense of the word— all broad shoulders and thick muscles crowding over you. He takes his time to open you up, even if it means cutting it way too close to important duties. But right now, he’s greedy. He takes what he wants while he has the window to do so, completely ignoring your breathless whimpers. The rhythm he starts is half-punishing, half-desperate, fucking into you in a frenzy that overwhelms your body’s nerves.
It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s terrifying. You can’t handle another orgasm; It would rip you to shreds and drain the surviving parts of your half-functioning brain right from your ears.
Ghost doesn’t seem to care. He chases after his own pleasure, creating indents in your skin where his fingers will undoubtedly leave behind bruises. His grunts are quiet, muffled behind the mask and years of restraint, but one groan slips at the last second, loud enough to grace your ears:
“Fuck—”
Sharp and quick.
And then he’s pulling out.
Your mind reels. You gasp and claw at the desk, fingernails scratching thin lines across it. Papers scatter to the ground, a frantic rustle of white documents sliding off the edge. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You can barely move an inch, rendered frozen by the sudden hot, thick, stripes of cum painting the supple skin between your inner thighs.
Ghost looks down at you with a dark sense of satisfaction evident in the small quirk of his lips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then situates the mask back to its rightful position, hiding his face. Hooking two fingers into the waistband of your panties, he hauls the fabric up until they cover the mess dribbling down your sweaty, feverish heat.
The heavy head of his cock smears against the back of your thigh. Christ. You were never going to get that feeling— that image— out of your head.
“Training is in the next hour,” Ghost says in a calculated, cold voice, acting far too casual for what just happened. He tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his jeans up, zipping and buttoning them efficiently, letting muscle memory dictate his movements.
You remain slumped over the desk: panting, sweaty, and sticky. You can feel the warmth of his fluid trickling over your pussy; the way it soaks into your panties, and yet remains as a thick, inescapable layer. With the little amount of effort you could muster, you secure your shorts back around your waist, button them, and shoot a puzzled look over your shoulder.
Standing there with his arms crossed and shoulders squared, he is every bit of the sergeant he was trained to be. Ghost regards you with a look that means business:
He wasn’t kidding.
If this was any other day, you would challenge him. But the exhaustion hits you heavily, the feeling a rising tidal wave crashing over your body all at once. With an hour to spare, you nod your head and limp to the door. You take a deep breath, twisting the cold metal doorknob. A nagging thought causes you to look back one last time.
Ghost’s approval is unwavering. The dark, gnawing hunger in his eyes isn’t completely extinguished just yet.
“Thank you, Sir.” You murmur quietly.
A small chuckle vibrates in Ghost’s throat.
“See you soon, soldier.” He dismisses
Prompts/Requests are open! Feel free to reach out! I promise I don't bite :p
Check out my ficlist for more, my AO3 for additional fics, and thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡♡
Another day, another boring strategy planning session. That is, until Ghost's hand claims a place on your exposed thigh.
I have succumbed to the feral voices and once more brought a gift: exhibitionism with dom!teasing!Ghosty. This is the 3rd fic I've written on this kink. Whoops 🤷♂️ My hand slipped. And Ghost’s hand will slip somewhere too if you read this lmao. Anyways, links to the other fics I wrote at the bottom/in my pinned! Hope y'all enjoy! ;)
Staring ahead as Price drones on about exit strategies and defensive positions and the importance of the intel they were after this time, you pretended not to notice Ghost’s obvious… meddling.
It wasn't a secret that you two had some sort of relationship going on. The elephant in the room was the only thing the team refused to acknowledge, too intimidated by the murderous glare Ghost flashed anytime they made eye contact with you or, God forbid, stood in your vicinity. Or maybe it was how obvious it was, that there was no need for questioning. That the possession was so fierce and tightly-knit, that it only took one look to put two and two together.
Whatever it was, there existed a shield around you and Ghost. A shield that he was willing to test, and goddamnit, you didn't have the guts to stop him, because why would you? His fingertips were calloused and rough, dragging along the textured canvas of your camo shorts— something you didn't wear often, but after dealing with the heat of Hell on Earth (the saudi arabian desert) and coming to terms with the reality that yes, the team will stare at your legs and no, that didn't mean they meant anything by it— Ghost was feigning boredom, as if he hadn't a clue what trouble he was causing.
Waving around a dry erase marker, Price adjusts the belt around his waist with a small tug and your eyes drop down immediately. Was it a sign? Did he know? Christ, the bastard wasn't exactly the type to not speak in code as a warning before calling behavior out—
But then he was turning around, easy as ever, so he could draw a few more lines that didn't have any meaning to you at the moment.
Ghost’s eyes flick to you. You could see them through your peripherals, the honey-browns assessing your reaction. Teasing you. Tempting you. Smug asshole.
Subtly, you spread your thighs a little wider— just a little— and you yawn and stretch, letting your hand fall down to Ghost’s lap, just so you could brush the backs of your knuckles over the heat trapped beneath his zipper. Two could play at this game.
“Aye, wouldn't want that to happen, would we?” Soap suddenly pipes, nudging at your arm.
You blink, nod your head once, twice, and flash him an oblivious smile.
Price puts his hands on his hips like an honest-to-God disappointed father and glances between you both
“No funny business this time,” He says, directing the marker at you each. Making a literal point. How he's never had children was beyond you. “I mean it. When you're told to keep the comms quiet, I expect to hear crickets, not puns.
“Yes Sir,” You murmur as Soap’s head shakes. His snicker is drowned out in your mind as Ghost squeezes his hand tighter. You can feel your pulse where he's touching, and higher, in your throat, thumping away like your body was on the precipice of danger.
Ghost liked the word Sir. Ghost really liked the word Sir. Ghost liked when he had you bent over and helpless, begging him to fill you. He liked to take away your control, to have you at his mercy. He liked making you squirm— clearly— and you liked it, too. Fuck, you wish you hadn't. But you were soaking wet and you knew it, and he knew it, and Jesus Christ how long is this brief going to last—
“Ghost,” Price’s voice cuts into your thoughts harshly. Ghost's back straightens, but his hand stays steady. You see him nod his head and hear him break down a few pieces of information for the rest of the team, all the while, little by little, his fingers climb higher, until the fabric of your shorts is bunching up at your hip.
You can feel the slightly cold air brush against your newly-exposed skin, right beneath where your wetness lies.
You suck in a sharp breath and press your lips into a thin line, staring ahead at the board like it had all the secrets to unlock nonchalance.
Whatever he's saying, it's satisfactory enough to get Price to turn away again. The only desire you can think about satisfying right now, is how goddamn badly you wish the room was empty. Of course, that's when everyone in the room starts reaching for the paper reports in front of them, all of their faces tired and clearly ready to get this shit over with finally.
You reach for yours, taking care to hide the tremor in your hand. Scanning the first few pages, you bite down on your lower lip and furrow your brows to better give the impression that you were studying. All you see is mug shots, CCTV, and the typical red marker scribbles— but what you're feeling?
It's Ghost’s pointer finger lightly rubbing up and down over your wet, thinly-clothed clit, slow and steady, like a metronome of torture.
It's so subtle; a barely-there press that does nothing but also does so much…
Your teeth indent your bottom lip with the force being applied. You don't taste blood, but you're going to if this continues. Ghost isn't even looking at you, his other hand propping the report up. His finger catches on the side hem of your panties and tugs at it a little. With his mask on, you can't see the smugness in his expression when the digit delves deeper to feel the slick between your folds, but you know it's there.
It makes you angry. Frustrated. Itchy. Needy— and you hate being needy like this.
It's like Ghost can read your thoughts. His finger curls as it slowly slips inside, just until the first knuckle fits snugly into your warmth. It's so much and not enough at the same time— and yet it curls again, over and over, each time pulling out a little bit more until he's fucking you with it in a steady rhythm.
A shudder runs through your body, causing your thighs to twitch. Another finger presses to his first and joins in the movement, as though he's rewarding you for being good and silent— inconspicuous maybe for now, but it won't last long with the room being so quiet. You swear you can hear lewd, slick noises after every other pump of Ghost's thick fingers, but nobody glances at you; Nobody even seems to be tuned into the room, their eyes either on documents, or the board, or on Price as he squints down at photographs and murmurs to himself—
Shit. You can feel it building up.
Nervously, you turn a page and it feels like opening a bag of chips in the middle of a movie theater. No eyes on you, no suspicion— you rock your hips once, twice, and Ghost makes a noise of approval under his breath, so quiet you don't think anybody would be able to hear it outside of your close proximity— and it's the fuse to a bomb, because then your thighs are trembling and the buzzing beneath your skin is getting hotter—
You pull a single hand down from the report, where the paper has creased from the force of your fingers nearly white-knuckling the edges, and wind the tips around Ghost’s wrist— not in protest, but as a warning.
As if you were oblivious to how well Ghost could read you.
His fingers disappear from your tight heat for a single second— long enough for your breath to stutter and mind race with panic— before they jump to your clit and rub in tiny, quick, precise circles. Because if not anything, Ghost is determined when he wants to be, even if it meant there was risk.
Especially if it meant there was risk.
Your body spasms as the first wave crashes over you. It's bliss and relief rolled into one— a throb that echoes through your body, causing your pussy to spam around emptiness as your thighs shut and eyes squeeze closed.
Ghost's movements don't stop for slightly too long, and it takes an almost unbearable amount of strength not to cry out or whimper or melt into a pathetic puddle onto your chair.
Slowly, your eyes blink open and scan around the room.
Price is staring directly at you. Confused. Possibly curious?
You feel heat prickling at the back of your neck, warmth spreading over your face. Ghost's fingers tap your clit, making you jump, then slink off to his own lap, leaving a damp trail across the skin of your thigh. You quickly smooth a hand over the fabric so that it's no longer bunched and quietly clear your throat.
“Sir… May I…?”
You nod your head towards the door, where the restrooms lie beyond the hallway.
Price understands immediately and lets you go with a nod of his own. You feel his questioning gaze like a heavy weight on your shoulders as you stand up and leave. But as you walk past, you make sure to smooth a hand over the backs of Ghost's shoulders and give one of them the lightest squeeze.
This isn't over, you're silently conveying.
In the corner of your eye, you see his hand on his crotch, covering the hard line pressing against the black denim. His thumb twitches, and that's all you need to see to know how tonight's going to turn out.
The door clicks shut behind you quietly. Satisfied and blowing out a slow exhale, you stroll down the hall wondering what plans Ghost has in store for you in the future.
Can't believe it's been a year since I last posted a fic... Prompts/requests are still open! and as always, lmk what y'all think! There's room for a follow-up to this one but no promises 🤭🫣 Check my ficlist for more, my AO3 for additional fics, and thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡♡
my favorite genre of video is when objects decide to fall apart for no good reason. saw a vid of a man pouring milk into a mug and it split in half. pissing myself on the floor crying. you know what fuck yeah, rebel against your purpose. you stupid mug
I made Vessel on my tomodachi island and gave him a fly swatter as a joke but he's genuinely obsessed with it... like all he ever does is sit and stare at it. that's literally HIS swatter. #myflyswatter
Bonus below ⬇️
+ Ves getting a horribly drawn EIA album and performing to Lambert (cult of the lamb) and my oc lol. Oh yeah Bucky is also there :)
