So I’ve been writing small little stories that live in my notes app for… years. I’ve decided I’ll start posting some here becauseeee I love reading others fics
I’ll probably post more a little later though i expect this to get no attention. But, maybe this is the fic someone out there has been looking for by chance
Summary: Ghost from TF141 is absolutely infatuated with you, a newer but established member of 141. After a night of drinking following a recent “success,” Ghost is desperate for something. Anything. He can’t get you out of this head.
CW: uhh idk masturbation?, fantasizing about f!reader
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Smooth, slow, catchy alternative music drummed in speakers hanging in the corners of a low-lit bar. Drunk and dancing bodies filled the floors, some already passed out on bar stools and chairs.
Ghost sat on a tall stool with his elbows rested on a high top table, his fifth beer in his right hand that he would occasionally put under his mask to sip. His mahogany eyes were fixated on one person, not even daring to look away for a second.
There you were, swaying gently to the bump of the song with a beer in your hand and a smile on your face. You were talking with a very drunk Soap and Gaz along with designated driver Price. These were your close friends who you’ve been through thick and thin with- who you’ve risked your life for. You’d do it again without second thought, and you knew they’d do the same for you.
Ghost couldn’t possibly look away from you. The way your body so perfectly moved to every beat, how gorgeous your side profile was, how he could see your long eyelashes as you blinked up at your drunk friends. Everything about you was intoxicating. Your scent, your voice, your eyes. He would give up the world if it meant being able to touch you. To run his fingers through your hair. To feel your lips on his. To grab onto your waist… and absolutely dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you into him.
He rebuked those thoughts with a few swift blinks and another sip of beer. Alcohol definitely didn’t help with his relentless sinful thoughts about you- it might as well be gasoline added to a flame. This flame burned hot charcoal into his chest that seemed to have charred his heart. He would like to believe that’s why he’s so mean to you. Why he wouldn’t dare let you get any closer than just being on the same task force.
Why did you have to be so goddamn perfect? The shape of your frame- so small and fragile yet able to take a beating as you proved in your last mission. Your voice was smooth as honey in his ears, he could almost taste its sweetness. Your big doe eyes that made every muscle in his body tense up every time you looked at him. Even just seeing your hand wrapped around that beer bottle… he had to adjust how he was sitting.
This all seemed too much suddenly. His body felt hot and his pants were growing tighter by the second. There was no use fighting these thoughts- he’s tried before and it’s just ended in outbursts of anger and frustration. He knew how to let out at least some of that.
Ghost now lay in his bunk, the sheets a bit messy and strewn awkwardly. He ripped off his mask and threw it haphazardly on his bedside table after he drunkenly locked his door and took off his uncomfortably warm jacket. He had to get these damn pants off. They felt strangling at this point.
God damn you for being so perfect. You made him near-feral while being completely oblivious to the fact, and it drove him nuts. This is something you will never know, and he accepted that he would keep this secret to his grave.
Leather and metal met his warm hands as he worked off his belt, tossing it to wherever it wanted to go. His fingers were a little shaky as he tried to hastily unbutton his pants and failed a few times. His pants were considerably tight, and alcohol surely didn’t do and favors for his coordination. Finally he got the button pushed through and he unzipped, his hands urgently pulling his pants down and off.
He let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes momentarily as he enjoyed the absence of the tight fabric. As soon as his pupils met his eyelids, you forced your way into his mind- evicting any other appropriate thoughts that might have been.
God, why did you have to be so perfect? Part of him was convinced you were sculpted by god, created by a divine being who made every part of you to his tastes. Perhaps his tastes were sculpted to your shape, cursed from the beginning to be infatuated with your figure. The curve in the small of your back, the slight bit of pudge you had at the bottom of your stomach that he knew you tried to hide, how you damn-near bit your lip raw when you concentrated, how well your thighs filled your pants, how you had to cinch the waist of your pants since your hips were wide and your waist was small… all of it. Every part of you. Everything that made up you, starting with every cell in your body. It was all perfect.
His hand took hold of his erection that pressed against his boxer-briefs, feeling just the smallest bit of precum that managed to soak through the fabric. Just the thought of you did this to him. He grasped tightly, trying to give himself any sort of pressure to release this frustration.
Slowly, his hand began to move up and down, although, admittedly, he forgot he still had his boxers on until he realized that the raw fabric against his skin was not all that pleasing.
After a few uncoordinated seconds they were out of the way and his throbbing length was exposed. It was almost painful at this point. He wasted no time in putting his grip on it and slowly beginning to stroke up and down, a certain desperation having a choke hold on him. He closed his his eyes and sighed.
Ghost would give anything to have your mouth replace his fingers, your soft and plump pink lips wrapped around his cock in the most mind-numbing way. You’d look so gorgeous sticking your tongue out, caressing him from the base all the way up, your eyes locked into his while he fought the urge to thrust into your hot mouth, brows furrowed with the unseen effort.
He could almost feel your warm breath on him as your lips kissed along every inch, his member twitching with anticipation of feeling you drool all over him. How you’d finally give him the satisfaction of your mouth, your hand holding the base steady.
He’d love how your throat automatically tightened around the tip when you gagged on it, being such a good girl when taking in as much as you could. He wouldn’t be able to resist bringing a hand up to grip a fistful of your soft hair and guide you, twitching in your mouth when you’d moan from the mild pain.
He would adore how only a line of saliva connected your lips to his length when you’d come back up and look at him with your big, pleading eyes.
God. You’re so fucking hot. You’re irresistible. He was trying really hard not to remember that he only had his hand tonight instead of your hot mouth and hands to grip him.
He could imagine trading places, kissing ever so gently along the velvety skin of your thighs, taking in your scent and smiling as he felt your body twitch the closer he got to your heat. He could so clearly imagine burying his fingers into your hips, pulling you closer to his face, hearing how your breath hitched at the feeling of his tongue touching just the outskirts, sending shockwaves through your body.
He couldn’t stop the soft and quiet groans that now started to escape his lips. He could imagine your moans, at first quiet and muffled as his tongue finally made contact with your clit, circling around it teasingly before applying pressure and feeling your hips buck at the euphoria.
Your taste was addicting in his mind- a poison he wouldn’t hesitate to ingest over and over, not caring how it burned through his skin. He could swear you were a siren with how you moaned his name, your voice so pleading, the tone begging for him to let you finish.
He would work his tongue faster against you, resisting a smile as he heard your sweet breaths quicken, becoming rapid and uneven gasps as you teetered on the edge. He would pull your hips closer, burying his face and his mouth into you until you begged enough.
Ghost could imagine your breath catching in your throat as you were finally guided off of the edge and through your climax, your thighs constricting around his head involuntarily, your body convulsing with the pure ecstasy that coursed through your veins and filled every bit of your mind.
“Fuck…” He groaned softly, his voice barely a whisper as his hand worked his length, a knot of pleasure forming in his core slowly but intensely. Why did you have to be so perfect?
He couldn’t stop his thoughts from imagining finally entering you, teasing the tip around your hole until you pleaded for him to ruin you. And that’s exactly what he would do. He would enter you slowly at first, his chest quickly rising and falling as his heart rate swiftly climbed, until he couldn’t help but shove every inch into you, lapping up the feeling of the resistance of your tight hole.
The way you would whimper his name with every thrust, your nails drilling into his skin and leaving unforgivably kind tracks that almost bled. The pain of it was a drug that you injected into his veins that dispersed throughout his whole body. He wanted it so. Goddamn. Badly.
Pleasure wracked his figure, his muscles tense as he could so clearly feel how you tightened around him. He could so clearly hear your whines and how his and your skin slapped together as he rammed his length into you.
He couldn’t take much more of this. His core tensed with every stroke, his hips ever so lightly bucking upward into his hand, his voice a bit hoarse in his throat as he let out quiet moans of your name.
What he would give for any and every part of your body to replace his hand right now. What he would give just to hear your voice in his ear, whispering encouragement as he neared the edge, asking him with that sultry voice to cum for you.
His muscles tensed, his chest stuttering with his ragged breaths, brows furrowed as his hand worked faster, his muscles tensing, veins pushing against his skin as his blood pumped urgently through him.
Fuck… he couldn’t hold on anymore. The knot in his stomach quickly unraveled and he let out a stifled moan, your face engraved in his mind as he fell apart. His face felt hot as pleasure wracked his body, his hips thrusting into the tight grip of his palm as he felt his own warm cum on his stomach. He watched his cock twitch and pulse with every wave of satisfaction, spitting out white strings of thick liquid.
He bit his lip hard to suppress his grunts and moans, feeling nothing but pure ecstasy with the thought of your hand in place of his. His free hand gripped the sheets hard, his chest absolutely heaving as he was finally starting to come down from his high.
He tasted blood when he finally released the bite on his lower lip- he must have bitten too hard. It doesn’t matter. He’d do it again. He will do it again.
He struggled to find his breath as his body relaxed, his mind catching up and realizing that, yet again, just the thought of you did this to him. You made him absolutely melt. He was putty in your hands and you didn’t have the slightest idea.
After all, how could someone so cold and reserved feel anything but resentment even at the thought of you?
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