[ghostskiss]

masterlist

AO3

*all have mature themes. 18+ only. warnings are at beginning of fics*

Simon Riley x F!Reader

The Interrogation (posted by 2nd account) Capture Poker Face Handle It Hate Late Night Pain

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x F!Reader

How It Happens Pt. 1 Midnight Stranger Pt. 2 Hospitality

[ghostskiss]

Hospitality

Pt.2 to Midnight Stranger

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x F!Reader Summary: pt. 2 to midnight stranger WC: 6.3k Warnings: 18+, mildly dubcon, reader is lowkey scared of him but also isn't telling him "no", maybe a little fear/primal play?, (i really dk how to tag this scene), uhmm, dark!dex, JEALOUS!dex, he thinks you and matt have something going on, manhandling, rough sex, biting, spanking, fingering, PIV, overstimulation, unprotected, creampie, no use of Y/Nben

Dex's not-so subtle moans fill your ears. His jaw working. His fingers press into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. His gaze levels yours with a smile.

Your face burns and you look away while you clear your throat.

"Food's good. Thank you."

You turn back to him, face still aflame as you stand, clearing your plates from the table. "Of course. You need fuel to help heal your...body." You almost cringe at yourself, trying not to glance down at his shirtless state. His damp hair messy on top of his head. You turn abruptly to the kitchen, hands full with the dishes. He watches you closely, tracking your every move. You're trying not to squirm, try not to think about these thoughts he's eliciting out of you. After cleaning the plates, you take your time washing your hands as he stares from the dining room table. Maybe you just needed to keep some distance away from him.

"You feed Matt while he's here?" 

The question makes you frown and pause in your task, looking back up from to catch his stare. Dex's tone every time he's mentioned the Daredevil has been laced with...you want to say, unfriendliness. Maybe even hostility. It confused you, weren't they supposed to be friends? He was sent here by him, was he not? His hands are busy picking nonexistent lint off the sweats you gave him, as he looks away from your questioning regard. 

"Uhm...no, I don't think I have." You actually try to think back to those countless nights. Maybe there was a pizza ordered here or there.

"Too busy with each other, huh?" 

You miss the seething hatred in his tone as your brain tries to think about Matt and food and when the last time you saw him was. 

Airily, without thinking, you reply, "Yeah, we're always busy when he's here."

You turn away to grab a rag to dry your hands, sink water turned off. This means you also miss the way Dex's lips twist up in a sneer, the way his hands clench and bunch up the grey fabric of his sweats. When you're done with your tasks, you turn towards your bedroom door, peering in before turning back to him. You were exhausted. You assess the man still seated at the table, his lips pressed into a thin line. Maybe he really was still in pain.

"I'll get you some pain medicine." You head into your bathroom cabinet, grabbing some acetaminophen and ibuprofen. It was the only thing you had on hand, hoping the two combined with the right dosage would help him ease some of his obvious discomfort.

When you come back, you're shocked to see he's moved to the couch. Pillow over his lap, legs kicked up onto the coffee table in front of him.

Before the two of you had sat down to eat, he'd helped you roll up the ruined rug, despite your protests about his wounds. You stood there and watched his muscles work, trying not to think about his hands on you while his arms worked the rug into a roll. Watched his back muscles roll when he lifted it up, hoisting it over his shoulder. Blushed when he'd given you a wink, not even phased, not even winded. You had to scold yourself when thoughts about him hoisting you up over his shoulder, ushering you into the bedroom, maybe even his hand swatting your ass had clouded your mind. He had looked at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

So the rug was gone. As was his cut up suit. His weapons, however... They sat right next to his feet on the coffee table. They unnerved you, to say the least. Daredevil didn't ever have any real weapons on him. He wasn't a killer. You didn't know much about the man you had in front of you, but you could venture to assume that he was similar to using violence as a tool like Frank Castle. You weren't sure how you felt about that. 

You step closer to Dex, hand reaching out to drop some meds in his outstretched one. Instead of letting the medicine fall into his palm, he catches your hand with his, his rougher and larger hand engulfing yours. You catch yourself from pulling back in shock, instead turning your hand in his so he can properly take the medicine from you. He hums when you finally pull away from him, popping the medicine into his mouth like candy with a devious smile. Your skin tingles from where he'd touched you.

As a distraction, and curiosity, you look back at his weapons, trying to keep cool about everything. You doubted the Daredevil wanted you lusting over his friend, who was obviously in a vulnerable state. There's a moment of silence, as you turn away from his weapons and look around the room, until you're staring back at him. He smiles and pats the cushion next to him. A bit awkwardly, you move around the coffee table and sit on the opposite end of the couch, hands folded in your lap like this wasn't your home. 

Taking a steadying breath, you turn to him with a careful voice, "What...what happened last night? Is Daredevil...is Matt okay?"

It was Dex's turn to look away from your gaze. Which was odd, considering how he never seemed to stop staring at you. His tone was nonchalant, "There was a fight. I can't get into too much detail." He turns back to you, his eyes slowly assessing you, "I'm sure he's fine."

You don't feel satisfied with his answer, "Okay, well, you're going to have to give me more than that. What is going on?" Your body turns more towards him on the couch, brain now on a mission. He was being way too vague from the get go. "Why did he send you here?"

"I told you," his shoulder lifts up in a shrug, "He told me to come. I had to get out of there."

"So, that's the part where I'm concerned, Dex," you stress his name in a scold, "If you came here in such a state, who is to say that Matt isn't worse off? Shouldn't we call the authorities or go check on him?"

He clenches the pillow on his lap, he teeth biting together. "Why are you so worried about him?"

You blink. 

"What?" You ask, taken aback from his accusatory tone.

"I said why are you so worried about him." He almost hisses it out.

"I heard you." You frown at him, suddenly not liking where this conversation was going. All those comments on Matt from him starting to line up together in your head. Oh God. Did he...did he not like Matt? "I...I'm sorry, I'm confused. Why would I not be concerned about him?"

"Are these his fucking sweats I'm wearing?"

Your brows pull together into a deeper frown, glancing at the grey sweats around his legs. They weren't. They were a pair of your ex's you had stolen, unwilling to give them back and in a way, spitefully keeping them after the breakup years ago. They were comfy, and you doubted the SOB was missing them. Maybe it pleased you if he did, but that was besides the point. What was going on in this conversation with the man in your house? On your couch.

You slowly stand from the couch, red flags and warning bells now ringing in your head. God, you were stupid. Falling blind to his attractiveness, thinking he was here because Matt sent him. What if he killed him? You look down at the weapons on the table with widening eyes. Oh God, what if those wounds you patched up on him were from the Daredevil himself? You feel your feet backing up slowly, trying to subtly gain space from Dex.

His eyes darken, his lips parting into a dark smile. "These are, aren't they?" He makes a low furious noise as he stands from the couch. "No wonder they don't fit properly." Dex rises to his full height, tossing the pillow behind him, back onto the couch. He takes a slow step forward as you're taking a slow step back.

Sweat drips down your back. Eyes trailing his down his torso, to the waistband of the sweats. You're about to tell him, No, of course they aren't. Why would you have his clothes here? But your mouth dries and you force a swallow as you see the obvious outline of his thickening dick through the material. You feel your skin burn, desire filling your belly. You feel dizzy from the mixture of fear and arousal. What has gotten into you?

The man chuffs an amused noise as you take him in as he continues to stalk you like prey around your coffee table. Your legs quiver with anticipation, your body wanting to bolt. Fuck, you're wet. He's so tall and broad, the outline of his cock in the sweats burning into your brain. He looks big and thick and heavy. He takes step forward, and you flinch at the sudden movement, heart rate quickening. Your lips part in a pant before your tongue swipes out to wet them. Your mind clouding with desire. Your gaze trails back up his body, his mouth still lifted up in a smirk. Like he's happy to see that you caught on to him. That you're still catching up to the game he's been playing since you let him in. He's somehow moved so subtly, that he's an arm length's away. Your body racks itself into a full shiver, just before you're jolting into action.

Except he's faster. His hand reaches out to snatch your loose pajama shirt, almost tearing the fabric as he pulls your body back to him. His built arms coming around you to capture you against him, his breath leaving him in a short laugh when your back hits against his torso. You can feel the press of his hard cock flush against your ass as you squirm against his hold, one arm of his cording around your waist to keep you trapped to him. His other arm banding across your chest, hand going up to flex over your throat. You let out a small simpering and pathetic sound, pussy painfully throbbing with the contact of his body against yours. He presses his hips into you, the length of his dick grinding in between you two. 

"Easy, girl." Dex's voice presses on the shell of your ear, like he's trying to calm you down. His fingers flex over your throat, not cutting off your oxygen, just keeping you in a hold. "Fuck, you're squirmy." He groans as you try to continue, weakly, to get out of his hold, your ass rubbing up against his hard cock. You feel it jump against you. You freeze while pull in air through your bared teeth.

"What are you doing?" You hiss out to him, biting back a whimper when he grinds into you at the sound of your voice. 

His nose presses into your hair, a shudder racking his body behind you as he takes in a breath of your scent. "Do you fight Matt like this?"

You can't suppress a gasp when his mouth comes down to your throat, his fingers just barely parting for his tongue. He licks you softly, like he's testing your taste. Your eyes flutter shut as your head tilts, giving him more space. Dex notices and hums, pleased with the permission you gave him, his hand coming up to your jaw to tilt your head more as he sucks a spot on your neck. His grasp on you loosens, though he's still keeping you caged against his hard body as he works you up with mouth and tongue. Your panties are thoroughly soaked, and you grind back against him with a small moan. He releases your neck with a sucking pop, pleased to see his mark on you. He wants more of them on you, dark thoughts almost overtaking him until your hand is reaching in between the two of you, seeking out his throbbing length. He chokes when you grip him through the sweats, his head dropping to your shoulder. 

You suck in a breath as your hands grip his girth, feeling him throb underneath your fingers. You work him through the fabric, his hips twitching up to press more into you. Dex's hand leaves your jaw to trail down to your breast, squeezing you through the fabric of your shirt, eliciting another weak moan from you. You hadn't bothered putting on a bra after your shower last night, something you don't ever sleep in. His fingers finding the peak of your nipple, rolling it in between them, causing your grip on him to tighten. He lets out a curse behind you, his mouth going back to your throat to suck another mark into you. When he's satisfied and finished with his bite, he quickly releases you, spinning you around before his mouth comes crashing down on yours, his hands grasping the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. 

A surprised noise leaves you, smothered into his mouth, body rigid with the sudden movement until you soften into the kiss, mouth parting for him. You can feel him shudder again, pleased with how obedient you were being. How soft. How willing. But his mouth turns harsh, consuming, his kiss almost biting and clashing with anger. He's thinking about Matt having his hands on you, swallowing your moans. Having your hands pulling him in. An angry noise spills into the space of your battling mouths, his hands now hooking up under your thighs and ass, hoisting you up into the air with such ease it shocks and scares you. He was so strong, so agile and quick. Your thighs come around his waist, knocking into his wounds and stitches, the pain egging him on as he lets out a anguished noise. You try to slow down, to apologize, to tell him to put you down so you don't hurt him, but he kissing you with such angry abandon that you can't get anything out, can't even think straight as your hands come down to clutch his broad shoulders. His fingers dig into the swell of your ass, gripping you so tightly you're sure to have his fingers imprinted on you. Dex walks the two of you steadily back into your bedroom, placing you onto your bed, following you without his mouth leaving you once.

The situation starts to play your mind, your lower belly burning with want and need, legs spread for him to make space as his cock rubs along your clothed sex. You let out a moan into his mouth, your hands trailing up to his hair, tugging, trying to get him to take his mouth of yours so you can at least speak. The pain just seems to encourage him, his dick humping into your cunt, the friction from his weight and clothes making you hotter and hotter. You pant openly against his mouth, his tongue slipping in with an eager groan. You feel his hands pet along side of you, touching and gripping as much as he can through your clothes. He pulls away to look down at you.

Hell. You're looking up at him with hungry eyes, soft and pliant in his arms. Lips red and puffy from his attacks. Your pupils are blown out in lust, and it makes his stomach tighten as he thinks about Matt of all people in this moment.

"You look up at him like that too? Or is that just for me?" He grips your jaw, making you look at him dead on as your face scrunches up in confusion.

"Wh-" You start, until he's cutting you off by smacking his lips against yours again, teeth biting at your lips. You let out a shrill, hands coming to his shoulders to push him away.

"What is with you?" You hiss at him, thumping a hand against his shoulder as you try to push him off you. You're fighting him again, weakly, you might say, as his fingers wiggle their way under your shorts, making you pause in your fake struggle. You look back up at him, his dark gaze on your face as you watch him watch you feel his quick fingers just outside your soaked panties. He swipes them against the heat of your clothed core, your hips bucking up in response. He presses his fingers against your sopping wet entrance, smiling at the way your mind goes blank just from his touch.

"Tell me you want me more than him." Dex growls down at you, the pads of his fingers pressing onto your clothed and aching clit. You let out a broken gasp as he finds your spot easily through your clothes. 

"Dex," you whine, trying to grind down on his fingers, needing more friction than he's allowing you to have. You give him no other response but a short cry, as he's suddenly shoving your panties to the side, underneath all your clothes, his fingers brutally shoving inside you. Even fully clothed, you feel exposed as two of his fingers stretch you open, making squelching noises around his digits as he fucks them into you. Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh. He can't pull his fingers out properly to thrust them in, so he moves them in a debilitating up and down motion, scissoring them into you, pressing harshly against your G spot. You suck a sharp breath in, your exhale a long devastating moan. He's ruining you, destroying and rewriting you this quickly. 

You don't realize the noises you're making until he's leaning down to swallow them, his mouth sucking another biting kiss into yours. Your fingers clutch the strands of his hair as you keep him to you, the moans and whimpers you're making not stopping, just getting muffled into his lips. There's dull and hot sensation in your core as he works you, he's shoving you towards a sensation you've never really felt before. Your legs tremble with the stimulation, and you almost want him stop - it's so strong. Your muscles clench and release, like you're body is trying to catch up with the way he moves. You can only feel pleasure, as his fingers isolate a perfect spot inside of you, overwhelming you with the fire blurring hot inside your veins and entire body. He pulls back from your mouth, staring down at you. You almost cry when he starts talking again, his fingers pushing you higher and higher-

"That's it. That's it. Fuck yes." 

What is happening? Your pussy is clamping and fluttering around his fingers, your mouth opens with a silent cry and you suddenly feel soaked. Your back arches into the bed, head tipping back, eyes screwing shut and that's when you finally feel it. Sparks zapping inside you, energy sucking up out of your body. You feel your orgasm through your entire body, rather just down there, body cumming before your brain even knew what was happening. You pant as you come down, limbs heavy. Dex eases his fingers out of you, humming a pleased noise in the back of his throat. He pulls his wet fingers out from underneath your shorts, your eyes darken as he sucks them into his mouth, cleaning them up noisily. It makes that need and want crawl back inside of you, core clenching with just the act of him doing that. He smirks around his fingers, teeth biting into his flesh as he looks down at you. Looking every bit of handsome and dangerous. You almost forgot who you were dealing with here, your legs starting to push you back up the bed away from him.

Dex grips your ankle, yanking you back down to him. You let out a weak squeak, helping him anyways when he goes to shuck your ruined shorts and underwear off you. His nostrils flare and pupils dilate as he takes in your lower naked half, his large hands gripping the back of your knees to lift and spread your legs, exposing your wet and fluttering sex to him. You blush, embarrassed by the unwavering attention from him, trying to squirm away from his hot gaze. He groans and presses your legs open even more, his clothed cock coming to rub against your soaking pussy. You watch as your wetness darkens the grey fabric and whimper when he drags his heavy cock against your sensitive slit. He curses at the feel of you, at the sight of you. 

His fingers flex against your skin, letting go of his hold on you. He reaches up instead to strip you of your shirt, completely exposing you to the air. Your nipples peak with the temperature change and you blush, hands going up to cover over yourself. He growls with a frown tugging on his face, knocking your hands away from yourself. 

“Don’t hide. Do you hide with him? Huh?” He palms your breasts, spreading his fingers wide to catch all of you, his cock thrusting against you just once, letting you feel him through the pants. 

You find yourself shaking your head. What were you doing? Why were you playing into this with him? You liked how anger spread through him, made him rougher. Made him act like he had something to prove. Made him possessive. He’s angry with your answer, not necessarily at you, but angry with Matt. Angry that he gets you like this. The anger and jealousy heed inside of him, consume him. He yanks down the waistband of the sweats, not bothering to remove them all the way. His heavy cock smacks down against your soaked pussy, making you jump with the sudden stimulation. You feel him throb against your sex, hot and thick and heavy. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, his tip pink and leaking, twitching and pulsing with need. 

He slides his tip up and down your sopping cunt, teasing your clit with every up motion he drags through. On his next down movement, his tip catches in your fluttering entrance, just barely pressing.

Your hips raise on their own accord, trying to catch him better inside you, a whine spilling out of your mouth. His hands squeeze your chest in response.

”Fuck you better than him.” He mutters, more to himself, as he’s staring down at where you two are just barely meeting, entranced.

You answer him anyway, with a needy and whiny tone, “Please, Dex.”

His gaze snaps back up at you, in shock, his lips parting with a pant. He looks fucked out already, his eyes glassy, hair a mess from your fingers, lips red and swollen from kissing you with abandon. He keeps eye contact with you, a devious smile splitting his lips as he starts pressing inside of you as slow as he can. You let a long whine, keeping your legs spread for him, grabbing onto the back of your thighs to stay open. He gets about half way before you’re panting and shaking, the stretch of him so much that it’s making you lightheaded. It hurts so good. When he bottoms out, your eyes almost roll to the back of your head as you let out a simpering moan. 

“He stretch you out like this?” Dex laughs, his length pulling back just barely before he’s pushing back into you, grinding his hips when he gets flush against you. 

“A-ah. No, Dex,” you whimper out, head tipping back before he’s catching the back of your neck, tilting your head up for you, making you look down at where he meets you.

”Watch.” He hisses out. His cock moves back, letting you see how slick and shiny he is with you. Your pussy makes obscene noises around his girth, as he’s thumping his length back into you, making you watch the way your pussy clings to him and pulls him back in. He lets out a groan as he watches you take all of him, pussy warm and fluttering around him. It feels better than he could have ever imagined. You’re tight and warm and slick. He bites back his own whimper as his hips start picking up.

You let out such perfect noises as his hips smack into you, the slap slap slap and creaks of your bed making music in your house. He feels drunk. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, hearing a cry from you when he sucks and bites. He wants to mark you up everywhere, so the next time Matt sees you, he knows. Knows who you really belong to. Dex leans his weight onto you, his hands coming up underneath your hips, so he can use his strength to fuck you back onto his thrusts. He feels your nails dig into his back, your legs squeezing around his torso, sometimes knocking into his wound at his side, the pain and pleasure mixing something deadly inside of him.

You keen when he lets go of your skin with a wet pop, your chest littered with red marks and bites from him, the sight of you driving him insane. The feel of you. He can feel your pussy clench and tighten around him, more and more. You're getting close. One of his hands leaves your hips, to trail in between you, his fingers pressing and finding your clit. He rubs you in a way you like, by finding out how and where just by the hitches in your breath. 

It does something devastating to you. The stimulation from his cock dragging back and forth, hitting and pressing against your cervix, his fingers on your clit. You moan out, saying something that’s got to be a plead. You don’t hear it though. All you can do is feel, feel the way your body reacts to him. 

“I’m gonna — Oh, Dex. I’m g—gonna,” you start to hiccup in a babble, holding onto him as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. He moans back to you, catching your mouth in his, like he can’t stand not kissing you while you spill over the edge. 

You let yourself go, body filling with hot plasma and euphoria, going away into that dark voided space as you black out while you cum around his thick cock. He pulls back to watch, his thrusts easing up while he fucks you through it, your pussy painfully squeezing around him. He almost chokes as you milk him, having to stop entirely, his hips twitching in need while you clamp down around him. He wants to fill you up so badly he can feel it in his bones. His cock throbs in need, the need he’s denying himself while you come back to him. 

“Come back to me,” he whispers, lips trailing across your cheekbones as you gasp and heave for air. Body trembling. It’s delicate and intimate, this space he has you in now, as he presses his lips against you just barely. Light kisses butterflying across your face and mouth as you come back to reality. 

Dex is kind enough to let you adjust before he’s pulling out of you. You whine at the loss of him, weakly reaching out to him. He lets out an amused and breathless sound, before he’s picking your boneless body up, turning you over to lay prone on your bed. He hoists your hips up, stuffing one of your pillows under them. He braces one hand on the outside of your body, the other tangling into your hair, close against your skull, tugging your head up and back towards him. Your throat is exposed, the pressure making your moans throaty and deep. He shoves back inside you with a single deep thrust, not letting you adjust again before he’s slamming down into you. Your hips and ass tilted up to him with the aid of the pillow.

Dex’s free hand comes back to palm your ass, gripping and groping you as his hips slap heavily into you. He groans watching his cock being swallowed up by your pussy from behind. You’d blush if you weren’t so fucked out and delirious from him, his cock hitting you deep in an angle you’ve never felt before, your animalistic moans struggling to leave your craned throat. He tugs your hair a bit, letting you feel the delicious pain from his grip. A sharp slap hit your ass, a surprised but greedy moan leaving you in reaction. Your pussy clamps down on him and gets even wetter, if that were possible. Dex growls with pleasure, his palm smoothing the pain out from his slap he delivered to you. Liking the way the red hand print started to show already. He plunges into your wetness over and over again, your hips fucking back onto his couch with such a greediness that makes him curse lowly. You cry out with a hoarse voice and he shudders with the sound.

"Let him hear it, let him hear you." He hisses out, tugging your head back after it falls forward. 

You have no idea if Matt is anywhere near your place, if he can hear you, why Dex said that, but it puts a dark thought in your mind. It makes your cunt clamp down on him, thinking about Matt walking in and seeing Dex claim you as his. The thought picks you up and carries to the edge of your orgasm, a cry falling from you. Dex feels it, feels how tight you're getting around him and he almost laughs before he lets out his own devastating moan. That's all it takes before your cumming again around him, the wave of it brutalizing your body and senses. He doesn't slow down, dropping his grip from your hair, hands going around your hips to drag you back onto his cock and thrusts. You're moaning, whimpering, gasping, unable to keep any noise to yourself as you try to come back to Earth.

Dex grits his teeth as he keeps pounding into you, watching your ass bounce with every thrust. There's a ring of frothy white cream around the base of his cock and he has to tip his head back up to the ceiling at the sight. You feel so good, look so good. He doesn't want to stop. You're writhing and squirming around him, no doubt overstimulated, but he can't help himself. He moves over you, putting his torso flush against your back, arms wiggling up underneath you to trap you against him. He slides own of his arms around your throat, hand going to your opposite shoulder, caging you in a chokehold without actually choking you. He can feel your moans vibrating on his forearm, his other arm going around your torso to keep you as close as he possibly can. He cages your entire body, making you feel so small, so trapped, and so dominated that you know he's going to ruin you for anyone else. 

His mouth drops to the shell of your ear, his face pressed just barely behind yours. His dark and low voice make you shudder, his hips still snapping something violent into your pussy. "He fuck you like this? Hm?"

You shake your head, voice tiny and weak, "N-no, Dex."

"He ever make this pussy feel this good?" 

You cry out, tears starting to fill your eyes from how good he's making you feel. How overstimulated you are. His cock hitting a spot deep inside you over and over and over--

"Please," you whine out, not even sure what you're begging for. 

He licks your ear from behind, wanting to get to every part of you. But his cock is throbbing, he's not able to hold back for much longer, his thrusts getting choppier, sloppier. The sound of your pussy squelching and cries filling the room. It fills him with some sort of pride, seeing how submissive he got you. How he marked you up. How he's made you come and cry like this before the end of the day. 

"His dick fill you up like this?" It makes him angry even thinking about it. His arm banded around your throat just tightening briefly. He feels you try to shake your head no, and he loosens up.

"No--no one--no one ever--" you're gasping out, fingernails reaching up to dig into his forearm.

"Yeah? Good." He shudders, thinking about how you're taking him. Taking him so fucking good. He groans, balls tightening up to his body, but he can't stop. Can't stop fucking into you with abandon. With need. With possession. 

"No one ever gets to,hear me?" He hisses out through gritted teeth, making sure you hear him loud and clear when he ducks his voice to your ear.

You'll do anything at this point, you're so high on him. You nod frantically, begging again, pleading and crying and whimpering. Pathetically wet and creaming on his cock just to hear how he claims you with no problem.

"This cock is yours." He fights back a whimper, so close so close. You moan lowly at his admission, starry eyes crossing as your belly starts to fire up again. You feel his head drop down to your shoulder, his teeth coming down to bite gently onto your flesh there. He had claimed you, physically, but he was giving you him. It made you dizzy. Made you hot, made you messy. 

You cry out, gasping, "Fuck, Dex, I'm going to cum again, I--I'm going to--" you're trying to catch up with yourself, trying to stop it, trying to finish it, you're not sure. 

He just slams into you with more force, his whines spilling out of his mouth as your cunt starts to milk him, his cock just hitting the right place inside you, again and again. The wave of your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you crying out in a near scream, his cock bursting inside of you, lengthening and strengthening the force of your orgasm. His hips still as your milk his cock, both of you making obscene animalistic moans and cries, your walls pulsing around him to take every drop of his cum. Dex lets out a broken sound as his weight crushes against you, letting the pleasure of cumming in you wash through him. You can hardly breathe though, so you start squirming and whining for a whole different reason before Dex groans like he's in pain, eases his weight up and off you.

He keeps his cock buried in you, so he can lean back and watch his length leave your perfect hole. There's cum all over your thighs, wetting his cock and matting his pubic hair down. It's so dirty and filthy, it makes him smile as he eases out of you, his cum dribbling out. He makes a soft and enamored moan, the image of your ass up, pussy wet and used with him, burns into his mind. 

He playfully swats your ass before he's tumbling into the bed next to you, sighing out. Exhaustion takes ahold of both of you. You're fucked out, limbs heavy, eyes heavy. Dex leans over, helping you ease the pillow under your hips out, using it with a smirk on his face to prop his head up. You scrunch your nose at him, about to scold him and tell him to use a clean one when a knock sounds at the door.

Dex watches you with an amused smile, as you start to piece together what just happened. The knock sounds again.

Frantically, with panic surging through your sore body, you sit up. "Coming!" you shout out, and try to run a hand through your tangled hair. Dex can't help but laugh, as he puts his wet cock back into the sweats he never bothered to take off. He watches you try to put your shirt on, cum leaking down your thighs. You have bite marks on your back, on your tits, on your neck, really anywhere he could get his mouth on you. You pull your shirt on over your head backwards, and he doesn't bother to tell you the fact. You scramble for your ruined panties, but think better on it, just pulling your shorts on commando. He watches you stumble out of the bedroom, and he hears you open the front door.

"Matt!" You shrill out in a too cheery voice. 

Dex can't help but feel more amused. More smug. He puts his hands up over his head, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. He hears Matt ask if you're okay with a concerned tone. You tell him you've never been better. Dex's eyes close as he takes it all in, victorious. 

Matt can't see your state, but can hear your heart rate. Can smell the sweat on your skin. Can hear another and smell someone else's sweat too. "Is...this a bad time?" He asks you.

"Uh..." You're about to lie to him, he can tell. So he cuts you off.

"Listen, I'm looking for--"

Dex emerges out of the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, that smug look on his face hasn't left. "Right here, buddy. Pretty girl over here was just telling me all about you."

Your face heats as both men turn to you. 

"I really should thank you for sending me over, Matt." Dex moves over to you, looping an arm over your shoulder, tugging you in close to him. His head dips to smack a loud kiss on your lips. He pulls away before you can even react, his eyes dark as he looks down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes.

"And I should really thank you for your hospitality." 

[ghostskiss]

Midnight stranger was soo good i need a part 2 like yesterday

thank youuuu, it's in the works !!! <3

[ghostskiss]

Midnight Stranger

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x F!Reader WC: 4k Summary: Normally you expect Daredevil this late at night…Bullseye comes in his place Part Two Here! Warnings: 18+, Dark!Dex, Jealous!Dex, Possessive and obsessive Dex....of course....., blood and wounds mentioned, also reader stitches dex up, i'm not a dr don't @ me, masturbation, masturbation in shower, uh, i think that's it, reader doesn't get to have fun in this, fun as in....smex..., srry lol, dex is literally insane i'm sorry he's not mentally well, i need him so bad, i might have to make a part two to this idk, No use of Y/N

A knock rings at your door. You turn from your book, glancing at the clock on the wall. It's late, too late for you to be up with work in the morning. Time lost on you. You want to ignore the knock, but from the time of night -or is it early day- you can imagine who it is. 

New York's Devil.

The relationship you had with Daredevil was friendly and informative. He came when he needed things. Things that you had plenty of access to, information, tools, most importantly, your insider knowledge on Fisk. It was something that you didn't enjoy about yourself, that when he had taken over as Mayor, you'd stayed in your position. You remember meeting the tall and dark man, his deep voice raising fear out of you. He'd ask if anyone wanted to leave their position. You think most of the office was terrified to say otherwise to him. The majority of you stayed. You know you had. Despite the feelings of disgust and anger towards your new boss. 

When Daredevil had caught you looking through Fisk's files, late at night in his office, that's when your relationship started. Fueled by the resentment against one man.

Your feet carry you to your front door, not even bothering looking through the peephole to see who it is. You swing open the door, expecting the friendly masked face of the Daredevil. Only for your face to fall in shock and fear. 

Bullseye is on the other side, bloodied, bruised, smiling. He's unmasked, giving you a full painting of the handsome man in front of you, dangerous as they all come. Smirking like he's got the know of it all. He's bracing his arm against your door jam, the sight of it telling you that's the only thing really keeping him up right. You can't tell where he's bleeding from. 

"Is that how you greet him?" Bullseye's eyes trail down your body, taking your attire in. 

You don't know what to say, gripping the handle of your door. Slam it in his face and call the police, your brain screams. But fear has got you frozen in time, blood drained from your face, heart stuck in your throat. 

"He sent me." Bullseye's voice betrays his pain, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his arm shaking with holding himself up. 

Your lips start to part with a remark, with a question, with something, until the giant man in front of you is pitching forwards, falling. Your arms automatically shoot out to catch him, going under his armpits, catching most of his upper body against yours. The air rushes out of you from his weight, his boots squeaking against the floor as his legs fight to keep himself upright. He has the audacity to laugh before it turns into a pained and weak groan. You can feel the warmth and wetness of his blood on you, staining you in more ways than just physical. Your arms shake with his weight and you barely gasp out,

"I can't hold you up!"

Bullseye lets out another anguished sound, trying to help you help him, as you both stumble to the living room, where he pitches onto the floor, taking you with him. You let out a shrill, trying to catch him and yourself to no use. He takes the majority of gravity, hitting the floor with a hard thud and another amused yet tormented sound. His hands have your waist, keeping you pressed against him. You don't let him keep you there for long, untangling yourself from his weak grip, scrambling up off of him and the floor. His arms drop to either side of his body, sprawling out on your floor. He lets out a long sigh, like he's finally letting his guard down, eyelids dropping to a close. You look at the bleeding man on the floor under you, shocked with how much space he takes up. The blood seeping on the floor under him pushes you from your shock and fear into action. 

You spin towards your door, shutting and locking it. Your stomach drops when you smear blood against your white paint and door handle. You look down at your pajamas, shorts and oversized band tee, both drenched in blood. You rush to the bathroom, grabbing towels, alcohol, and a tiny first aid kit you keep under your sink. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, eyes wide with terror, blood stained against the side of your cheek, where Bullseye had brushed his own face against yours. Not dwelling on the way you look, you burst back into the living, dumping all the contents of supplies on to the floor. You drop to your knees, assessing the man in front of you.

He tips his head towards you, shallow breaths quaking in his chest. He watches with curious and tired eyes.

"Where...where are you hurt?" You can't even tell where to start on him.

"Guess you'll have to strip me to find out." The corner of his mouth tips up in a similar smirk you saw on him at the door. Your face flattens in an unamused stare.

"This is no time for joking." You scold him, a breathless laugh from him rewards you. But he's right, you will have to strip him. You stand up, going into your kitchen to grab some scissors, praying to anything that will listen to strengthen your scissors enough to be able to cut through his obviously enforced suit. 

You turn back to him, his gaze up at your ceiling, staring into space. Your heart pangs for a moment. You need to call someone. You'd never thought to grab the Daredevil's number. You doubted he'd give it to you anyways. Complicated things too much. But if he really was sent here by him...

You kneel at his side, slipping the scissors under the sleeve of his suit. It takes you far too long, but within a few hours, his shirt and pants are splayed and flayed off of him. You're dipping a warm rag in soapy water, washing the blood off of his muscled torso, face burning with the fact that you hate he's attractive. He's since passed out, his breathing unsteady. He has tears and gaping wounds on his sides, some too deep. You'd done a poor job at stitching, they hadn't taught you this level of care in school, but it was better than nothing. Just like sewing clothes right?

You drip the bloodied rag back in the warm water, ringing it out. You start on his face and hair, unbothered with how messed up your floor was about to be with all this water and blood seeping into it. At least what he was on top of was a rug. Under that, hard floor. You could clean later, granted he didn't die and bleed out in the night. You wished Daredevil would come soon and tell you what the hell happened, but a dark thought kept creeping into your mind before you'd push it out. You didn't want to think about what state he was in. Or why he'd sent Bullseye to you in the first place. You stand up with a grimace, body aching with how many hours you'd spent on the floor, kneeling over him, cleaning him, stitching him, pressing gauze and tape to his sides. Your back screams at you, though you're not finished, you continue on. 

Gripping your phone, you call your work with shaky breaths and leave a message that you won't be able to come in in a couple hours. You glance at the balcony doors, the sunlight just beginning to peak. It'd been a long night. You look down at Bullseye, his eyes still shut, his breathing still steady. There wasn't any blood leaking out of him anymore, and you let yourself feel a little accomplished at your work. He wasn't dead. Yet. 

You go into your bedroom, ignoring the dried blood caking your hands, and grab a pillow and blanket before turning back into the crime scene. You toss your blanket on the couch, that was for you. And once again kneel with protesting knees, to carefully lift the man's head and stuff the pillow underneath him. Exhausted, you drag yourself up off the floor for one last time and trudge to the shower. You would rather not shower with a stranger on your living room floor in the next room, but you hardly had a choice with how much blood of his you had on you. And you refused to go to sleep with it still caking your body. The shower is hot and relaxing, the red stain washing into the drain. You were too tired to dwell on the morbidity of the situation, exhaustion sapping out all emotion from you. You dress yourself in your bedroom and when it's all said and done, you peek back into the living room. Your guinea pig of a medical disaster unmoved from it's spot. You're not surprised, but a part of you had wondered if he was playing pretend. A deep breath shakes from his passed out state and you sigh too, moving back to the couch, curling up under the blanket you'd brought yourself. This way you could keep an eye on him. You watch his chest rise and fall, before your eyes are slipping shut, sleep pulling you in fast and hard.

---

It's a bird that wakes you, your eyes blinking open, head pounding with the telltale sign that you didn't get nearly enough sleep. Your body aches as you stretch, a frown pulls at your lips as you take in your surroundings. You're on the couch. You sit up, hair a mess from going to bed with it wet, blanket falling with your movement. You turn and look at the floor, the events of last night rushing into you. Bullseye's already looking up at you from his spot on the floor, hadn't moved a muscle except the turn of his head. You stare silently at each other while you gather your bearings. 

He looks...relaxed. Sprawled out on your bloodied floor, blue fabric of his suit strewn underneath him. Boxers hugging his waist and thighs, the only piece of clothing on him that you didn't tear off of him. You avert your gaze from his crotch with a dry swallow, scolding yourself in your head. Refusing to ask yourself: what was wrong with you? Your gaze trails up his torso, his ribs littered with dark bruises, one side stitched haphazardly, still some crusted blood you missed on his skin. He watches you watch him, his gaze warm, yet calculated. Amused still. Like everything that is happening is some form of joke only he's in on. 

"How-" your voice croaks and you have to clear your throat before speaking again, "how long have you been awake?" You have an eerie feeling he was laying awake and watching you for a long time. 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

You sigh, "Okay...how are you feeling?" You stand from the couch, stepping over him to go into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. You drink while he stares from the floor. 

"Like I got my ass kicked. And slept on the floor." 

You make no remark, filling the glass back up with more water to bring to him. He licks his lips as you walk towards him, careful to not spill. With an aching body, you kneel once again, hand coming up underneath his head to help him sit up. He groans, but doesn't say anything as he takes a sip from the glass you put against his lips. You pull the glass back as you let him swallow before offering some more. He takes about three or four drinks before he's shaking his head no more. You set the glass down besides you, far enough that either of you won't tip it. You were careful like that, always thinking ahead just in case. He liked that. He almost wants to preen when your gaze trails his body, his muscles twitching like he can feel the weight of it on his skin. He watches you blush and look away, trying to seem unafflicted, but he saw. He knows. That knowing smirk shows up on his face and you can't meet his gaze while you talk.

"I...stitched two of your wounds. I don't know how well I did, but I really think you need to go to the doctor or something." You look towards your kitchen, trying to gather your thoughts and composure, doing a pretty bad job at it too. 

"You're kicking me out?" he can't hide the bite in his tone. Did you kick out the Daredevil too? He can't help but feel aflame with jealousy as he watches you turn back to him a frown, obviously confused at the way he talked to you. 

"No." You state, trying to gauge why he reacted that way. "Well," you bite your bottom lip while you think and you miss the way his pupils dilate at the sight, "I don't know. I have no idea who you are. Why you're here, what happened last night --" You start to get defensive, puffing up a bit as you rattle on before he cuts you off.

"Matt sent me. Said you were safe. We got into trouble last night."

You try not to react to his name. You'd never known it. "Matt..." you whisper, tasting his name on your breath. The masked vigilante Daredevil was named Matt. Such a normal and common name. You'd always wondered what his name was, after long nights going over stolen paperwork together. Questions ringing in your mind that you'd never had the courage to ask. 

He watches you think of his...whatever Matt was to him. And hears the way you say his name. He grits his teeth, jealously tightening in his chest like a snake wrapping around him. He gave you his name and you were sitting there in La La Land thinking of him, while Dex was right here, bleeding and bruised on your living room floor like a stray you'd pitifully allowed in.

"I'm Dex." He grits out, your attention going back to him with another shocked look. Good, back on him. Push Matt out of your mind. Think of him, only him, put your soft hands back on him--

"Dex." You say his name with a small smile, giving him yours. You shudder when he says it back to you, something dark in his voice. Like he owns it now. You turn away from his burning gaze and almost catch yourself glancing back down at his boxers, your eyes shooting back up at the ceiling.

You clear your throat as you hear a shaky chuckle leave the man in front of you, "Okay, Dex." You sigh, gathering your own dark thoughts. You didn't know him, why were you thinking this way? Thinking about his large hands on you. His muscled torso pressing into you, his arms caging you in. You stand, trying to move these thoughts away, far away. "Can you stand?"

Dex stares up at you, burning arousal coursing through his veins, his dick hardening into a half mast as you stand above him. Curious. He never knew he'd enjoy that, a girl like you standing over him. He wants you to place both of your legs on either side of him, his fingers twitching as he thinks about pulling you over him. He watches a frown cast over your face, nose crinkling and brows furrowing.

"Are you okay? I feel like you hit your head." You reach a hand down, palm up, in an offer to help him stand. 

He wets his lips and sees you follow the movement with your eyes, pink dusting across your cheeks. "Probably," he replies as he sits up slowly, his elbows coming up to support him. He groans as pain shoots through his body, doing nothing to drown how badly he wants you in this moment. He moves slowly, pulling oxygen through his lungs as he tries to keep himself under control and focus on moving with as little pain as he can. He refuses to grab your hand as he stands, suddenly towering over you. You swallow and step back a bit, taking in his large stature, refusing to let your eyes wander from his face. 

His hands clench at his sides, suddenly itching to reach out and touch you as you look up at him with something a little bit more than fear. You take a breath to steady yourself, and his lips twitch with a smirk again. Your face flattens, not liking how amused he finds this situation.

"You really need to go to a doctor or hospital or something. I'm not a professional in what happened last night."

He looks down at his wounds, not seeing anything wrong with them, "Why? You did a good job. I'm not dead. Not bleeding out anymore."

You look down at his stitched side, hands reaching out to touch the bruising around it. You don't pay attention to the sharp inhale he takes, assuming he's flinching only from the pain. "Sorry," you mutter, pulling your touch back, but keeping your gaze on the stitching, not seeing the shudder that racks his shoulders as his pupils practically consume his eyes, "What if it gets infected?"

While you're worrying over his side, he closes his eyes with a clenched jaw, trying to remain unaffected. Did you touch Matt like this? The thought burns into him. He grabs your wrist when you go to touch it again, your attention shooting back to him.

"It won't. We'll keep it clean." His voice is husky, low, and you keep assuming his reactions are caused by his pain. Not by you. 

"We?" You ask, suddenly incredulous.

"I..." Dex pauses, dark ideas coming to him. He shouldn't. But he will. "I don't have a place to stay. Matt said you were safe."  Repeating what he'd said earlier.

You bite down on your lip again, the sight almost infuriating him. Fuck, didn't you know what you were doing to him? His grip tightens just briefly on your wrist, making you stop as you look up at him worriedly.

If the Daredevil...if Matt trust you this much, to send his injured friend, to tell him that you were a safe place...then how could you deny him? It could hurt Matt, whatever he was doing. You trusted the Daredevil. You trusted Matt. Therefore, you'd trust Dex. The decision in your mind comes to your expression and you nod, suddenly resolute. But firm.

"Okay. You can...stay here. I don't have a guest bedroom though, so-"

"We can have a sleepover in your room."

You laugh, the absurdity of the situation, the relief of knowing this stranger was okay, the lack of sleep, all of it, comes out in a release. Your laugh peals off into a giggle, hand waving him off as you turn into your kitchen. "You're silly, Dex." Not knowing he was dead serious, your back turned to him as you look through your fridge, "I'll make some breakfast. Go take a shower, okay? Then I need help with that rug when we're done."

Dex watches with dark eyes as you hum, guard down and back to him as you pull out eggs from the carton. Busying yourself with making him food. He rolls his shoulders and neck, trying to shake off the tension consuming him. He's lucky you don't turn around when he's palming his aching and throbbing cock through his boxers, your hips swaying with a song you're still humming. Sure, he'll take a shower. Use your shampoo. Think of you naked in there. Maybe he'll take his time. Release himself with you in the room next to him. Maybe he'll get caught. His hand grips around his cock, making the blood rush to the tip. He almost groans. Turn around. He begs you in his mind. You don't. 

By the time you do, he's already disappeared into your bathroom, shower turned on. You have no idea the kind of person you'd just let in your space and house. Into your life. You're blissfully ignorant, beating the eggs into a scramble, happy to be of service to something greater than yourself. To be helping Matt. All the while the dark stranger is slicking his cock with your body wash in your shower, thinking about how he can't wait to get his hands on you. How he'd lied about what Matt said. He bites back a moan when his dick throbs in his soapy hand, balls pulling up tight. Not yet, he chides himself, slowly his rhythm as the blood from last night washes away, water cascading down his back. 

Lied about Matt knowing he was here. Lied about him saying you were safe. In fact, the Devil himself told him to stay away from you. That you were too good. He knew then you were something Matt wanted to keep to himself. He didn't know where Daredevil was now, maybe worse off than he was last night. All he knew was he got to you first. 

"Dex?" Your voice calls from outside the door.

Your voice and the shock of hearing you makes him gasp, his cock jumping in his hand at the thought of you walking in. His head falls forward as his hips twitch, unable to stop himself from fucking into his grip, his balls tightening up again.

"Y-yeah?" He moans out, needing you to talk to him more.

You have your head close to the bathroom door, not pressing your ear against it, but close enough so you can hear his reply. You frown, upset that he sounds in so much pain. You'd be sure to get out some ibuprofen or some other pain med out for him.

"You okay?"

It fills him with such need to hear how concerned you are. How cute. His dick leaks with precum, his fist dragging down the length, his thumb swiping his tip when it eases up before fucking back down the shaft. His movements getting jerkier and louder, not able to bring himself to care if you catch on to what he's doing in here.

"Fuck." he curses lowly, before he's replying a little bit louder for you to hear, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." A groan falls from his lips before he can catch it, his orgasm building at the base of his spine. He needs you to talk one more time, once more, he's right there--

"Well, breakfast is ready and I have some clothes set out for you-"

He doesn't hear what else you say, his orgasm seizing him up, cock throbbing in his grip, hips fucking into his grip like he wishes it was your hot and tight pussy wrapped around him. He bites down on his bottom lip so hard, hard enough to taste blood as he tries to keep the devastating moan in his mouth. His cum shoots out of him in ropes, spilling in your shower, balls tightened up so much he loses his breath. He shoots a hand out against the shower wall, keeping himself upright, panting as he comes back down.

"I'm coming, sweetheart." He calls out to you with a biting smile, one you can't see but can hear in his tone.

Your face is flushed, thighs pressed together, not really sure what you'd just heard but you could hear his insinuating tone. You say nothing as you turn back to your kitchen, trying to catch your breath. He wouldn't do that. Surely not, if he was a friend to Matt, he'd be nothing but a respectable man. You convince yourself it was nothing but the pain, and you sit down at your table, ready to eat breakfast, not knowing one bit of better. Not realizing you'd let something, someone, dark and dangerous in. 

He comes out, dressed in loose sweats, missing a shirt still. A hungry expression on his face that finds you wondering just how starved he is. A smile that reminds you of a shark spreads across his lips as he asks,

"What's on the menu?" 

[ghostskiss]

omg hi!! i missed seeing you on here, i hope you’re well!! 💓💓

hiihi, i missed everyone too:,) <3 writer's block sucks ! send me some recs/things you guys wanna see written !

[ghostskiss]

How It Happens

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x F!Reader WC: 9.6k Summary: Dex keeps using your apartment as a hideout. Warnings: 18+, Stalking, Slow(ish) burn, Service Top!Dex, Controlling!Dex, Let's not forget Dex is manipulative and bad...and hotttt, Mentions of blood, Oral (AFAB receiving), Fingering (AFAB receiving), PIV, UNPROTECTED (wrap it up), Creampie, tiny bit of biting, No use of Y/N, Reader has a praise kink, Reader also has feeling of shame around this, 'This' being having sex with a dangerous man, lol Breaking and entering (should i tag that?), he's obsessive and possessive, calls reader: good girl, baby, sweetheart, dirty girl, He lowkey turns into a whimpering mess at the end

Your hands tremble as the tea kettle on the stove screams. How long had that been going off? Your thoughts are racing, skin cold but sweating, heart still pounding. Blood...you can't even think about the blood.

There's a masked man in your apartment.

You can feel his presence from behind you. It's strong, it's dangerous, it's consuming. His breathing is labored, jagged, like he's in pain. A part of you hopes he's in pain. His blood soaks into your couch that you seriously doubt you'll ever be able to get out. His legs spread out like he's getting comfortable, his hand clutching against the seeping wound. You couldn't tell how bad it was, only the amount of blood dripping gave you an indication it was more than a scratch. You wanted to turn and look at him more but you were frozen, staring at the clock of your oven. 3:03 AM. You were scared to turn and look at him, but you wanted to.

What was that saying, curiosity killed the cat?

"Turn it off." his voice startles you out of your thoughts, jolting your body into action. You pull the screaming kettle off the stove, and go straight into auto pilot. You make tea.

Maybe in a few months from now, if you survive this, you'll laugh at the absurdity of this situation. A masked man, a wanted and dangerous vigilante, had crashed into your apartment through the window. AVTF sirens blared down the street. When he'd crashed into your bedroom through the window, you'd let out a scream, tumbled out of your bed, your foot twisted in your own damn comforter, caught like a hare in a trap. He had the audacity to chuckle as you scrambled for your phone, only to throw your own stuffed animal at your hands, knocking your phone away before he hoisted you up from the ground. His blood smearing against your skin, his rough gloves gripped your wrists together, as he pulled your through your apartment like he knew the layout. He'd set you in front of your stove. Told you to make him a cup of tea. A cup of tea. 

So here you were, pouring the piping hot water into a ridiculous looking cat mug. You didn't have any pets of your own, too much work for you, but that didn't mean you didn't enjoy animals and animal themed things. Why were you being self conscious of a mug? This was for a criminal, a murderer, a psychopath. You shouldn't care what he thinks of your interior or animal themed mugs. You should be tossing the scalding hot water in his face and bolting out the door right now --

Your name comes from the masked man, in low warning. He's reading your thoughts, he has to be. 

You grip the handle of the mug, trying to control your shaking hands. It was a hard feat as you carefully tip toe towards him, hands trying to keep steady. He nods to the coffee table where he's got his dirty boots crossed on top. You set it down and take another careful step back. Steam rises in the dark from the kitten mug, the moonlight illuminating from your windows into the living room. It's just enough to see, but not enough to get a good enough look on him. Not that you can. He's masked. But you can tell how big he is. His broad shoulders rising up and down with labored breaths. His left hand clutched against his side, the dark blood you can see just fine. 

With a dry mouth, you start with a creak, "I...I think you should go."

The man barely shakes his head, making no movement towards the tea. Just sitting there. Bleeding and watching. A flash of irritation shoots through you. 

"Yes." you hiss out firmly, "Listen, I don't know what you're doing here, in my apartment of all places, but I can't help you. I won't...I won't tell anyone you were here. I don't know you, I can't even see your identity -"

"You know who I am." He lets out a breathless laugh and adjusts his posture, his feet coming down to the floor. He leans his back away from the cushions, getting a tad bit closer to you. It makes you take a step back, keeping the coffee table in between you two like that'll protect you.

Huffing, you start again, "Still. I don't have anything to fix you." You gesture to his wound.

"You wanna fix me?"

Shame and embarrassment burn your face, his tone shooting something liquid down your spine. What the hell was his problem? Fear was slowly being replaced with anger.

"No. I don't. Not interested, Bullseye." There, you said it. You knew who he was. There were only so many masked vigilantes in blue suits. Suddenly your heart ached for Daredevil, or even Frank. Not that you'd met either, but you would've felt safer if one of them crashed into your window late at night. Bullseye was a maniac, he was unhinged. Barely contained himself and didn't care who got in the way. He had no morale. 

Fear started up again, the bravery and courage quickly shrinking as his name left your mouth, remembering exactly who you were dealing with.

"Dex."

"Huh?" Shock renders you dumb, your brain firing in so many directions at once.

"Call me Dex." he almost sounds amused, watching you try to keep up with him and your own thoughts, "Listen, I need a place to lie low. AVTF is crawling tonight. I'm hit. I'm beat."

Silence folds into the space as you assess each other. Worry swirls in your eyes, something Dex can see in the low light. 

"I won't hurt you."

Your lower lip trembles, "I don't trust you." You glance at your front door for a moment, still trying to figure a way out of this mess.

"Good. You shouldn't. Go back to your room."

Despite your better judgement, you turn your back to him, awareness prickling into your skin, the weight of his gaze following you. It stays even after you close your bedroom door and lock the handle. You doubt a flimsy door lock could do much against a man his size, but it gives you the illusion of a touch of safety. Trembling limbs carry you back into your bed, burying yourself deep in covers like you used to when you were kid, scared of monsters in the dark. The difference from then and now is that you have one sitting in your living room, eyes glued to your bedroom door. And you hadn't even registered he'd said your name.

Balancing your phone in between your shoulder and ear, you sigh, "Well, no, I don't know what happened, but I just need someone to come by and look at it, please? It's been three days since it's been broken. You're the last company I could get ahold of." A hint of desperation seeps into your voice. Your keys jam into your lock and you groan in frustration. Ever since you'd replaced the locks, the keys have a habit of sticking. Finally, it clicks and your door is open. Tossing your keys on your counter, you hold your phone in a better position.

The window company on the other end explains that your apartment building should be providing a window, that you needed to call your maintenance department. Another groan of frustration escapes you.

"I hear you. I've tried, trust me. They can't get a new window in until next week. I can't sleep knowing I have an open area in my apartment where anyone could get in. Or anything for that matter! What if it starts raining?" 

"I'm sorry ma'am, but legally we can't replace windows on any building without a permit or your apartment complex paying our company as a whole. We could fix your window if you were the owner of your apartment, but because you rent-"

"Forget it. Thank you for your time." You hang up and close your eyes, head tilting up to the ceiling. You knew it wasn't their fault. You weren't trying to be rude, but you could cry with how frustrated you were over the situation. You hadn't had a good night's rest in three days. Bullseye screwed that up for you. Opening your eyes, you immediately cringe at the stained couch. Still had to get rid of it. You had tried your best getting the blood out, but you weren't exactly equipped with blood destroying chemicals. Another thing Bullseye had screwed up. Moving into your bedroom, you assess the almost clear plastic you covered the window up with. It wasn't the best, but it kept enough of the outdoor elements out. Another thing Bullseye screwed up.

Anger stirs in your stomach. You can hardly sleep in your own bed because of the broken window, terrified anyone could get in. You can't sleep on the couch with how stained it is. You haven't been able to call a friend over to help you remove the couch, for fear of having to explain this entire thing. What would you even say?

Bullseye, one of the most wanted men in New York City, smashed your window, bled all over your couch, and left early in the morning? You can imagine the questions. Why didn't you call the Task Force? 

Well, you see, you answer your imaginary detective, I was scared he would kill me before I got to the phone.

Why did you make him a cup of tea?

Because he asked for it.

Why did you just go to bed?

Because he told me to.

You smack your hand against your forehead, cringing at the thought of arguing with yourself and over the events of the other night. Seriously, what had you been thinking? You blame the shock and adrenaline. Rolling your shoulders, you snap yourself out of your thoughts. Something you had some issues with lately, obviously. Staring across your room at the plastic-barricaded window, you let out a breath. A shower sounded nice, but that was another thing you'd been too nervous to do. What if someone came in while you were in there? Chewing your bottom lip, you decide you'll be fast and bring a change of clothes in the bathroom with you. Gathering your stuff, phone included, you step into your bathroom and lock the door. 

The water pelts down onto your skin and you wish with a passion that you could just relax. But you can't, not with what happened a few nights ago and certainly not with that window. You're in and out of the shower in under ten minutes. Clean, but not refreshed. You pull on your sleep shorts and tank top before leaving the barely fogged up bathroom. Stepping into the plush carpet of your bedroom, a slash of fear crosses you. The plastic window has a cut straight down the middle. Your heart crawls up your throat as you freeze at the sight, phone clutched in your hand. Dusk is settling in, the last rays of sun leaving you like the last bit of security and safety before the night.

Trying not to hyperventilate, you press 911 in your phone. Two rings before an operator answers, and you quickly rattle off your emergency, that you think there's an intruder in your house. You step back into the bathroom, trying to be silent as you shut the door and lock it. The operator stays on the line with you, but you can hardly process what she's saying. You're trying to listen to the sounds of your apartment, ear pressing against the wooden door.

"Why is your window not fixed yet?" A deep masculine voice says from right outside, like he's standing the same way you are.

You barely catch a shrill in your throat as you scramble away from bathroom door and in your startle, you drop your phone. You race after your phone, picking it up and almost cry when you see it somehow hung up on the operator. 

You hear him sigh lowly, "Are you going to answer me?"

A multitude of emotions race through you, so many you can't settle on a single one or know how to feel. A part of you feels relieved that it's him, and another is scared. You have no idea what his intentions are with you. The operator had said the police were fifteen minutes out. Fifteen minutes of this, whatever this was. It feels like it'll be eternity. 

"Bullseye-" you start, your voice wobbly with fear and adrenaline.

"Dex." He interrupts you, still right outside the door.

"Dex." You start again, this time a little bit more confident, "The police are on their way."

"So?"

Shock again, renders you speechless. So? You bite your lip in worry and frustration. Oh God. What if he kills them all? And then you? What will the cops do against someone like him? Someone who can't miss a target. They don't even know who they're up against. You hadn't known either so you couldn't warn them.

"I hear your brain working a mile minute, sweetheart."

Gritting your teeth and steeling your nerves, you practically seethe at the door, "What are you doing here? If you wanted to kill me you should’ve done the job the other night.” 

“If I wanted you dead you’d already be. I need a place a lie low again.”

Anger sears through your veins, “My apartment isn’t a damn hotel and if it were you’d owe me a lot! Look at the state of my window and couch!” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“My window?” You grind out, incredulous at this conversation. You get closer to the door.

”Your apartment complex should take care of that.”

Your brows pinch with frustration. No one can help you with the window. It must be the build up of anger, from lack of care from practically everyone you’ve spoken to about your window, the lack of sleep, the lack of safety, whatever it is, it builds up and pours out in this single moment.

Without thinking, your brain turned off from your anger, you rush through the bathroom door, not registering how you unlocked the knob so quickly or how fast you seem to be moving. Your hand knocks in the wounded side of Bullseye, his shocked and pained groan rushing out of him with the hit. You push against him further, using the momentum, making him stumble back until you shove him hard enough that there’s space between the two of you.

His eyes are filled with surprise and mirth, his scarred face unmasked. A flash of surprise and attraction rush through you as you glare at him, his lips turned up in a mischievous and smug smirk. His smugness quickly squashes your temporary emotions, back to anger you go. You don’t falter.

”It’s your fault that it’s broken! Your fault I can’t sleep at night, I don’t feel safe, I can’t take a shower longer than ten minutes, I’m—“

A hard knock on the door causes panic and doom to shoot down your spine and in your stomach. Worry etches across your features and you rush towards Dex, hands pushing him gentler, towards the plastic window.

”You have to go,” you whisper to him, urgency filling your voice. He’s letting you push him towards the window until you get just right in front of it. 

“NYPD open up!”

You look back towards your bedroom opening, “Just a minute!” Turning back to Dex you gesture to the window hurriedly, “Go!”

You won’t have the lives of these men just doing their job in your hands. Or more blood stains in the apartment. The thought makes you nauseous.

Dex makes a noise of amusement, a smile teasing his lips, “I’ll be right outside. Make sure they don’t get too close to the window.” 

You nod frantically and basically push him out as he climbs through the plastic onto your balcony. Running through your bedroom, you shut the door behind you and rush to the front door, opening it up for the three policemen. They look at you in question, and then past you into your apartment. You stiffen. You hadn’t even thought about the bloodstained couch, adjusting your posture to hide the room behind you.

“I’m so sorry, it was a false alarm.” you start, sweat gathering along your brow as you lie to the officers.

”I thought you said someone had cut into your window? That it was broken?” The first officer starts, his hand resting on his gun at his hip.

With a dry throat, you shake your head. Lying is not your best suit and you try to keep a blank face, “No, I’m so sorry, I checked it and it was just torn from the wind.”

The cop gives you a once over, not buying it. “What wind?” 

"Well regardless," the shorter cop in the back starts with a much calmer demeanor, "We'll need to sweep your apartment. To make sure you're safe, we can't just leave without checking."

You swallow and stare at them before stepping aside. If you argued, you're sure it'd look even worse than how you're acting now. Suspicious. You stay at the front door as the walk cautiously inside, shutting the door behind you. You pray Dex has left the window, that he's still not out there. Trepidation fills you as the officers get to your couch, the one who was more suspicious of you, turning to look at you for an explanation.

Sweat rolls down your back, "Uh, that was my paint. I've been working on a project."

"A project?" He turns and looks back at the stained couch with slight disgust. It was gross. You needed to get rid of it.

"I don't have a shampooer." You try.

"Hm." He returns to sweeping the living room, looking out at the dying light outside your windows. His gaze settles on the bedroom door, "Is that where your broken window is?"

"I, um, yes. It is. In my bedroom. But really, I just came out of there, you don't have to go in. There's nowhere really for anybody to hide in this apartment." It's true, it was small. New York was expensive to live in.

"Why'd you shut the door?"

You surprise yourself with a calm shrug, "Habit. Trying to keep the elements and bugs to one room."

The officer gets closer to the door, looking back to his two coworkers. They nod, hands on their guns as the officer opens the door, and this is when panic really settles in you. You follow him in, trying to stop him suddenly as he starts towards the damned broken window.

"Wait! Really, it's okay, you don't have to check!"

Your words are useless as he nears closer to the window, hand reaching out to part the plastic, you heart beating in your ears. He pokes his head out and you brace yourself, waiting in dread.

He turns back around. "All clear." He steps away and notices how relief sags your entire body. "You really need to get that fixed."

"Tell me about it," you grumble, keeping an eye on the window. Where had he gone?

Moments later, the officers have left after giving you a long talk about calling and wasting time, but to be assured that you were in good hands if something really did happen. You know, the whole mansplaining thing men did in positions of power. You couldn't wait to be rid of them now for more reasons than one. And that one reason, was gone.

You'd checked the window and the small balcony you had that you'd imagined he would have been standing at. The night air met you and you shudder, quickly ducking back into bedroom. Turning to your bed, you grab the big kitchen knife you had grabbed earlier and a pillow. You yank off your comforter and go back into the bathroom, making a not-so comfy makeshift bed in the bathtub. You felt safer this way, with door being able to lock. Sleep hardly comes.

A week later your window's been fixed, giving you a sense of security back. Though something else has been nagging your mind.

You haven't seen Dex since that night the cops came. Haven't heard a thing on the news. A large part of you is worried, which concerns you in itself. Why would you care about someone like him? After all this trouble he's given you.

There was something that had happened, though. To know that he was maybe still alive. A furniture company had come knocking on your door right after you got home from work, the day after the cop incident. They were called to remove your old couch and replaced with an even better one. Something way too expensive for your own accounts. You'd asked who called and the men frowned, confused at your question, answering with an obvious, 'your boyfriend.' That had put color in your cheeks. You didn't doubt who it could have been, knowing you'd never told anyone about the couch. Remembering his words, 'I'll buy you a new one.'

You close your front door, exhausted with the work week. You were glad it was Friday. Reaching up in your kitchen cabinet, you grab a bottle of wine saved for special occasions. It wasn't really special, but you felt like you could relax for once. Your new couch was something you enjoyed sitting on, despite it reminding you of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Showered and in your pajamas, you slink down onto the couch, glass of wine and TV on. You make it about thirty minutes with the glass half full before you're out like a light. 

Something tickles you awake. If you can call it that. You're drifting in between that soft spot of sleep, hardly conscious, fading in and out. It trails along your collarbone, causing you giggle and stir away. You sigh as it moves down your bare arm, back up, tickling your skin into goosebumps. It feels good. It feels overstimulating in this sleep state you're in. You want more. You want it to stop. Your head rolls to the side, the tickling moving to your cheekbone, dusting over your skin, down your face to your lips. It makes you part them, your tongue dipping out to chase the movement. A suck of breath above you jolts you awake. Your eyes part to see a dark figure above you, shrieking, you scramble up on the couch, feet kicking under you.

Dex watches your reaction to him with amusement, staying still, frozen in time. His hand still lingering in the air from where he was touching you. Oh God, you licked him. Embarrassment stains your face. 

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?" you hiss at him, hand pressing against your chest where your heart threatens to burst.

"I see you like the new couch."

You're dumbfounded, really. You hardly know what to do or say with him. You look down at the couch under you and you nod, glancing back up at him. "I was going to say thank you, but it was your fault my couch was ruined in the first place." Speaking of, your gaze trails along him. He seems fine, like he's unharmed, in regular clothes of all things.

Since he hasn't hurt you, yet, you find your confidence. There needs to be some serious boundaries set in place with this man. You stand, a little too close to him, expecting him to move back to accommodate you. He doesn't. Like he likes standing that close to you. You clear your throat and take a small step back, giving yourself some distance from him. He watches you with an unwavering gaze, like he's studying every moment you make. It makes you feel like prey. A shudder racks through you, causing you to look down at your attire, similar to the last time you saw him, you're in small tank top and shorts. You practically feel naked. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look back up at him with a little more conviction.

"You cannot stay here."

"I was just going to ask for some tea." He raises a shoulder in passive shrug.

Pressing your lips together in irritation, you ignore how his gaze flicks down to your lips. "I'm not making you tea."

"Why not? You listened so good last time."

You refuse to acknowledge that.

"You stole my mug. Don't think I didn't notice."

"I wasn't trying to be sneaky about it."

"So, you just stole it without caring?"

"I didn't say that. I cared about it too much, which is why I took it." Dex's smirk comes to life. It makes you want to smack him.

"I liked that mug."

"I know."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing out slowly. Changing the subject, you gesture around the apartment, "How did you even get in? Don't tell me you broke my window again, or I'll be severely upset."

A chuckle releases from him as he shakes his head, "No broken windows. The newer version is much easier to unlock."

You're still. Speechless. 

He uses it to his advantage, stepping closer to you, his hand slowly reaching out to pinch a lock of your hair between his fingers.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, watching him watch you.

"Missed you." Another shrug as he twirls the lock of hair in his fingers, inching closer to you. Unease and...something else you refuse to admit burns in your belly. "It's getting harder to stay away. I didn't mean for all this to happen, not like this."

You wet your lips and Dex watches the movement like a hawk. "How would it happen, if you could change it?" Your curiosity burning inside of you. His darkness calling to you like a moth to an open flame. The consuming way he's staring at you. It makes your skin prickle with a whole different reason, heat beginning to crawl under your skin, spreading through your lower belly. 

"I'd make sure we met in public. Somewhere you like. That café down the street," his fingers drop your hair, moving to your collarbones, trailing lazily against your skin. You shudder. "You'd order your regular. Hot vanilla latte. With whipcream on top. Light cinnamon dusting. I'd get the same. I always do." You don't know how to process all of this as he's touching you. Your brain turning off with his touch, his breath hitting you as he whispers softly, closer and closer to you, until he's close enough to kiss. He doesn't stop. Two hands on you now like he can't help himself. Your skin burns with want. It's wrong but so good. You're entranced.

"I'd say something about it. Spark the conversation. You'd tell me things about you, things I already know. Your name. What you do for work." his head dips to your throat, an inhale of your scent makes him shudder, his breathing getting heavier, "I'd make you tell me where there's a good pizza place. I already know your answer. I'd ask if you wanted to join me. You'd say yes because why would you say no to me?"

You shiver as his nose brushes up to your ear, his hands just barely grazing against your sides. Like he's still testing if you're going to pull away from him or not. When you don't, he presses his hands into you, fingers spreading like he's trying to touch enough of you all at once. He groans lowly at the contact. You're trembling now, not sure if your body is reacting to the fear of his admittance, or to the burning want of him. Perhaps both. 

"How...how is it going to happen now?" your voice is small, breathless. 

Dex takes a long inhale, like he's trying to control himself. He raises his head, away from where he was breathing you in, to catch your gaze. His pupils are wide, his hands squeeze you slightly when you look up at him with need. Something he's been fantasizing seeing on your face for a long time now. 

His voice is rough, husky, full of want and desperation, it rakes up your body hearing it. "I'm going to sit you on the couch I bought you. You're going to take your shorts off." as he's painting the scene, he's turning you back towards the couch, keeping you facing him. Two small steps backwards and the back of your legs are hitting the cushions. You sit. He watches you darkly as he slowly hooks his fingers under the band of your shorts, pleased when you lift your hips to help him take them down. You're blushing now, watching him with bated breaths. 

"You're going to spread your legs and I'm going to kneel." His grip is surprisingly gentle, for such dangerous and calloused hands. It makes you shiver, the contrast of it. The contrast of him. His hands part your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours even as you try to dip away from it as he spreads your legs open. Shame and desire eat at you, the fabric of your underwear doing nothing to hide how wet you are. He kneels.

The sight of this broad shouldered man kneeling in front of you makes you a little light headed. This isn't right, but it feels so good. Dex is reading your expressions, the hitch of your breath, the pink dusted on your cheeks, like he's saving it away. Keeping it in a file in his mind for later. You try not think about it, what he said. Try not to let it talk to you in a way that a part of you likes it, likes that he has an obsession with you, that he's so carnal. That he wants to know everything little thing about you, even the ways you react to him. Especially the ways you react to him. You start to feel yourself want to back out and he knows it already. The palm of his hands petting down your thighs, closer to where you're aching and wanting him to touch. It distracts you again. 

He needs you to not think about what's right or wrong. Like he does. He could be a little bit more like you. But you need to be a little bit more like him right now. 

Dex tilts his head in a way that feels like a predator pinpointing a weakness. You feel weak to this attraction, this want, this need. Good. It's how he's been feeling about you lately. You bite down on your lip as his thumb gently brushes over the waistband of your ruined underwear. Your core clenches. 

"You're going to let me take these off," the way he says it, it's not a demand. It's not even a command. He states it like it's a fact, something that's just going to happen. He isn't reveling in it, he isn't being pushy, he's being honest. And you know that you will. You're going to let him do whatever he wants to do you. You're going to listen to him, because when haven't you? 

You nod and he hums, that familiar smirk coming back to his lips. He mocks your nod back to you. "I know, baby. You're going to let me eat you out. You're going to cum on my mouth. And you're going to make a mess." 

He hooks his fingers under your panties and you lift your hips again, aiding him without a word. What do you even say to that? You're worried anything you say will sound like begging. He does it slow, and you're not sure if he's doing it to torture you or to give you one last chance to back out. Your hands grip the cushions underneath you, breath quickening as he reveals the evidence of your desire. He sucks in a sharp breath as he lays eyes on you for the first time. You bite back a whimper at his reaction, like he's enamored and in disbelief. You're soaking, pussy painfully clenching with want. 

"Fuck." And that's the last you hear from him before he's dipping his head down, latching onto your clit so quickly and precisely that you startle with a cry, hands coming down to grip his head, unsure whether you want to pull him in or push him away from the hard contact. 

You try to squirm, but his large hands hook under your hips, holding you to him. He yanks you down close to him. He’s licking you up like he’s starved, he’s firm and unashamed when he groans loudly against you, the vibration of it adding to the stimulation. You let out a loud moan in response, fingers flexing in his hair. His grip tightens on your hips, your reactions causing him to react in fervor. 

His tongue flattens to lick up as much surface of you as he can, his tongue coming up your clit, circling around before he’s adding a sucking pressure to it. Your gasp comes out sharp and in shock, fingers flexing against the strands of his hair. He doesn’t stay on your clit for long, drifting his mouth to lick a slow and vicious lick along your slickness. He dips his tongue back down, slipping inside you, nose bumping up against your clit while you grind down into his mouth. You fight a whimper, which catches pathetically in your throat as you rock your hips. 

Dex’s dark eyes gaze up at you, the moment causing your thoughts to catch up to you. The weight of his eyes were heavy, you can tell how he's cataloging every moment, every movement, every sound you make. How long has he been watching you? God. What were you doing? 

He seems to notice you falter, his tongue dragging back up slowly to your clit, done with teasing and tasting you. He wants to make you cum. Wants to turn your brain off, defy the logic and the fear still inside of you. He latches back onto your clit so accurately that you almost blank out for moment, your hips coming up to squirm away from him. He lets out a groan deep in his chest, as his arms come up to wrap around your thighs, sealing your fate to him.

"Oh, God-" you let out on a broken moan and that seems to encourage him even further. His mouth keeps the pressure around your clit, his tongue adding a flicking motion, up and down, side to side, until he hears which one you like best. Until you're sitting still in his grasp, letting him consume you. That's when he knows he has you. 

And you have him. You're so close, his mouth hurling you towards the throes of your pleasure, body subconsciously clinging to him, trying to get what it wants. Your hands are tangled in his hair, like a part of you thinks he's going to lift his head and stop. You're ensuring he'll stay there and finish what he started. Your back arches, your moans eating away at the silence, louder, longer, breathier. Your head tips back before it falls forward, catching his never ending gaze again and that's when you fall apart. 

You come hard, vision spotting, the last that you saw clearly was Dex's dark eyes leveling yours right between your thighs. The image burns into your mind as you come down, heart beating through your chest as you heave for air. 

He pulls back from your clit, the missing contact makes you want to cry out. His weighted gaze is still on you, never left. Never will. It makes you shy, starting to close your legs on impulse, causing a quiet but sharp, tsk, from him. Reprimanded, you blush, holding your legs open, letting him see the aftermath of your soul crushing orgasm, pussy still pulsing with the aftershocks of it. 

"Good girl," he breathes quietly and the praise goes straight through your stomach to your core. The pleasure spiking in your blood. He notices and smirks, his lips coated in your shine. Maybe that's all you needed, some encouragement.

His fingers swipe down the core of your pussy and you bite back another cry. He pushes them back up against you slowly, just missing your throbbing and sensitive clit, parting the lips of your cunt. You watch his eyes grow darker at the sight and his jaw clench as he takes the sight of you in. You can feel the slick of your pleasure and want drip out of you, onto the couch. His other hand comes down to barely brush against your fluttering opening. You suck in a breath as you watch him. 

"You made a mess." his fingers coating in your cum as he traces your hole.

Shame paints your face and you fight yourself from shutting your legs again. You start to say something to defend yourself, lips parting, and he shakes his head. He looks happy, lips tipping up in a sharp and dangerous smile. 

"I said you would." His fingers push inside of you, making an obscene squelching noise with how wet you were. 

Your remark dies, whatever it was you were going to say, and he loves watching your brain go blank for all the right reasons. You don't need to talk or think. He'll do all the decision making from here. All you had to do was listen and be good. And you were good, you were so good. You were good like this, like he knew you'd be. His fingers hook up in you, his weapons against the world now turning into extensions of what he wanted to do to you. He fucks them up into you while his thumb swipes your sensitive clit. His fingers stretch you out in a way that you know will do nothing to prepare you for the real thing. His stature is large, you can only imagine what he has down there, something you haven't seen with his kneeling posture.

Your head tips to your shoulder, like you hardly have the energy or care to keep it up, eye lids drooping. Though, you're still looking at him. His chest swells with pride. You're moaning without thought, pleasure drunk eyes on him, nipples poking through the flimsy fabric of your tank top. The sight of you makes him feel crazy. How long has he pictured this exact scene in his head? Imagined the noises you'd make? The way you'd look with his fingers deep inside of you, legs spread open for only him. His fingers fucking up into you with deep thrusts, thumb still swiping gently on your clit. He can feel your wet pussy clenching around him, pulling him back in and he fights a moan, thinking about it wrapped around his cock. His thoughts about you turning darker as he watches you take what he gives. Your perfect lips fall open to tumble out another moan, his free hand going up to cup your chin. Sharp shock rings through him as you dip your chin to catch his thumb in your mouth, cheeks hollowing, tongue slicking against him. The shock turns into straight primal need. 

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" his voice is just barely above a whisper, keeping the conversation close, like the two of you are sharing a secret. His other hand still fucking a steady rhythm up into you, each thrust he swipes that thumb harder against your clit. Your hips twitch and you nod, moaning with your tongue and mouth still wrapped around his thumb. His nostrils flare. He didn't expect this. But he likes it. He's corrupting you, he's turning off your logical part of your brain and he's making you into something entirely his. 

He keeps fucking his fingers into you with a steady rhythm, each thrust his thumb delivers a swipe against your sensitive clit. He can feel your cunt clench more and more around him, and he is starting to see the telltale signs of when you’re getting close. A flush in your chest and across your cheeks, your moans getting louder and airier, thighs and hips twitching with the stimulation. Your hot mouth lets his thumb go to breathe out his name in a plead. 

He groans hearing it, almost whimpering back to you. It makes him feel insane, he has to make you stop chanting his name like that or he’s going to yank the waistband of his pants down and give it to you. He has to make this night last, has to study you more, touch you more. He leans forward, catching your mouth to consume his name and your moans. 

You immediately embrace him, something that makes him shudder with need. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close to you as your lips part to swipe your tongue against his. He whines into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core, pushing you right to the edge. You cling to him as his fingers keep pushing up into you, hitting a spot that makes a pathetic noise fall from the back of your throat. Dex swallows it, his hand cupping the back of your head to keep your mouth against his as he kisses you senseless while you fall apart. 

Your thighs tremble as you come back to your body and reality, heavily aware of Dex’s mouth on your skin. He gently eases his fingers out of you, causing a loud whine to leave you. 

An airless laugh leaves him in response as his mouth trails down your neck, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll give you more.”

You shiver at that, not sure how much more you can take. You’re weightless, thoughtless, overstimulated. His hands snake under your back and hips, pulling you to him as his mouth latches onto that sensitive spot on your neck. You moan lowly, rolling your head to the side to give him more room, goosebumps ticking on your skin. He’s lifting you up now, arms wrapped around you, keeping you against him as tight as he can as he stands. Your weak legs wrap around his waist, shaking arms around his neck. You feel where you’re moving, back into the bedroom. His lips move back to yours, catching another kiss from you as he gently eases you down to your mattress. 

His fingers grip the hem of your tank top, slowly pulling it up and over your head, exposing you to him fully now. He breathes out, taking you in. Naked and sprawled on the bed just for him, unwound from the orgasms he’d given you. His knees dip onto the bed, and you reach up to touch his shirt.  He shakes his head once and you frown.

”I can’t see you?” you ask in a small voice.

Dex stares down at you, your nipples tight in the exposed air. He wants them in his mouth, wants to make you cry out. His gazes goes back to yours. “Not right now. It’s not about me right now.” You didn’t understand, he didn’t want to be distracted when he still had so much to discover about you. Didn’t want your hands and eyes all over him while he was supposed to be mapping your entire body. He wanted his hands, eyes, and mouth on you instead. 

You’re not used to this intense amount of attention. You’re feeling shy again, almost like a bug under a microscope. His features soften, realizing he’s losing you again to that logic in your brain.

”I need to see you. I need this. Please understand.” His hands move to either side of you, caging you against him and the bed as he hovers over you, his head dipping down close.

You bite your lip, brow dipping in question. You’ve trusted him this far, though the post orgasms and reality of the situation were weighing into you. Especially now, as you lay naked and vulnerable under him, no doubt in your mind where this was going to end. 

You wet your lips, a movement yet again tracked precisely by the man over you. “How’s it going to happen?”

He’s gaze flicks back to your eyes, pleasure and mirth filling his. He knows what you’re doing. Giving him the go ahead while asking for reassurance. He likes this, this game you’re playing, like you were playing earlier. He leans back down to you, mouth just brushing above yours.

"I'm going to kiss you again." His lips capture yours, pulling you in a kiss that leaves you dazed and breathless and wanting him all over again. Your hands come up to grasp his broad shoulders, causing him to shudder. It was strange, he wanted you touching him but it was so distracting. He wanted it too much. So he leans back, breaking the kiss, grabbing your hands gently, easing your hands and arms down over your head. He's got them pinned with one of his. You test his grip, with a pout on your face. He laughs again, want and need making his voice darker, "Later, sweetheart. Later." He likes this too, having you manhandled onto the bed, pinned with nowhere to go, looking up at him with such need. 

"You're going to keep your hands there like a good girl." He watches with slight amusement as your keen with the praise. He hardly has the patience anymore when you buck up your hips to grind against his length. He hisses out at the contact, his own hips twitching in response, rolling forward to grind down into you. You let out a small moan and Dex shudders as he stares down to where you're connected against him. His free hand goes down to cup one of your breasts, earning him a gasp and your back arches, trying to give him more of you. He swipes a thumb over your nipple before he's dipping down to suck into his hot mouth with searing lick. 

Dex's grip on your hands leave you, but you keep them where he left them. For fear of disobeying of him. You hadn't tried it yet, maybe you never would. Listening and obeying him felt so much better. But you did ache to touch him, to pull him into you, to dig your fingers in his hair and keep his mouth against you. You didn't. You were good. 

His hands roam and grope you, mapping your body like he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin. How you feel against him. His mouth switches to your other peaked nipple, giving it the same attention. His fingertips trailing down the sides of your ribs, making you squirm, his clothed and hard length still pressed against your naked and sensitive pussy. The texture of his pants is almost too much, too harsh, but you can't get enough. It's just like his attention on you. He rocks into you, groaning at the stimulation. He's been leaking and throbbing since he first broke into your apartment. Months ago. He remembers the night he finally made contact with you. A miscalculation on his part. He hadn't meant to broke the window. Hadn't meant to scare you. But he liked it. Liked how you trembled in fear and still listened to him. That's when he knew. Knew you were perfect.

He moans against your skin, his mouth trailing down your sternum now, licking, sucking, kissing. His hands roaming still. You feel dizzy with the overstimulation, arms trembling over your head as you grip your own hands together to keep them there. Dex eases up, lips puffy and red, eyes glassy and dark with lust. If he had his camera he'd take a picture of you right now, to remind him of this moment. Skin flushed, hair a mess, sprawled out on your bed just for him. Staying still just for him. He takes a breath to steady himself.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

It's soft, the way he says it, like a part of him can't believe it. Again, like earlier, he delivers it in such a way where it's not demand. Not a threat. Not menacing, or dark. It's a soft fact. Like there's nothing you can do change it, and like he knows there is nothing you'd do to change it. 

But you answer him anyway.

"Please, Dex." you breathe out, the raw unfiltered need for him showing through your tone in such a way that makes his eyes grow dark. 

He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat before he's tugging his shirt off and over his head. You watch with curiosity and awe, his muscles moving with his body, reminding you of just how dangerous he is. Scars litter across his torso as his muscles flex and move with every moment he makes. The wound that got the two of you in this mess, still healing at his left side. A dark yellow bruise surrounding it. He leans back, his fingers hooking at his waistband, his focus zeroed in on your expressions. He wants to see how you react to him. Wants to see the way you look at him for the first time. The evidence of his desire pressed harshly against the seam of his pants, doing nothing to really show you just how big he is until he peeling away his pants. No underwear. The fact makes your mouth dry and heartbeat quicken. You see a light dusting of his happy trail as your eyes travel down lower, lips parting as you take him in. He's rock hard, thick and throbbing. Precum dripping from his pink tip. You subconsciously wet your lips and Dex makes another pleased sound. He'll get your mouth on him later. 

He doesn't let you take the sight of him in for long, before he's parting your legs and crawling on the bed in between them. Your thighs shake with anticipation, hips jolting when his skilled fingers swipe through your slick once more, like he's still making sure you're ready enough for him. He takes a steady breath, as he looks down at your exposed cunt, catching a groan at the sight of you, cock jumping with need. He hitches his hips up, sliding the tip up against you, teasing the both of you while getting himself wet with you. He groans at the contact, his length spreading you open, dragging his cock against you. You moan, hips raising to meet him as you feel just how long and thick he is. You would shudder at the thought if you weren't aching for him. Dex braces his hands on either side of you, head hanging low so he watch where you two meet. He lifts his hips, catching his tip just barely at your entrance as you rolls your hips down. Your breath catches and he starts to ease in slowly, the stretch and the burn beginning. A whimper escapes you as he keeps pressing, the pressure pulling noises out of you that you didn't know you had. 

"Easy, baby. Relax." his voice is shaking, like he's trying to hold himself back, his gaze coming back up to catch your expression. Your brows are furrowed, mouth parted, chest stuttering with the air you're trying to pull in. He keeps shifting forward. He drops down to his elbows so his upper body is pressed more against you, his mouth coming to catch yours. You let out a whimper into his mouth and suddenly he shoves forward, done being nice about it at all. You let out a shrill, hands coming down to grip his shoulders, nails digging in. He lets out a devastated moan against your mouth, breaking the kiss with pleased hiss.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Fuck." His hips stutter, his forehead coming down to press against your shoulder as the initial shock and pain turn into burning desire. "I couldn't hold it anymore, you feel so fucking good." his hips roll deep into you, pulling a sharp gasp from you as he hits your cervix, fingers digging into him again.

His mouth bites down into your shoulder, as he whines into your skin. This wasn't going according to plan but he couldn't stop. Your pussy clenching around him so tightly, so slick and warm and perfect. He could cry. He drags his hips back before he's snapping them back up into you, your moans quickly turning into something he needs to hear, to feel. To have. His pelvis grinds against your clit before he's snapping his hips back and forth, his own mouth spilling obscene noises and things he can't believe he's saying to you.

"So good. So good, fuck, I'd never thought - never imagined how good," he whines, mouth leaving kisses and licks across your skin, anywhere he can get as he fucks into you, loving the way your nails dig into him, how you touch him. "How good you'd be."

His words make you moan and clutch to him, hands digging into his hair now as his cock drags inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up. He's heavy on top of you, keeping you pinned against him and the bed, his thrusts taking the air out of you with each push. You can hardly catch up with what happening, how he's talking to you in such a whimpering tone, it makes your skin burn with desire. How long had he thought about this? His mouth catches yours to steal your breath and kiss, before he pulling back, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts. Your vision nearly goes black as your eyes rolls back. 

"So pretty, baby. Taking my cock. God. F-fuck." he growls out into your ear before he's looking down at you, watching you take him. He licks a stripe up your throat, nipping your jaw before he soothes it with a kiss. Hands and mouth and cock branding you in a way that you know you'll never escape the feelings from. Even his words.

You can't say much of anything with the way he's delivering his hips into you, the pleasure ballooning in your belly as he drags you closer and closer to the end. "Dex," you whine, his name the only thing your brain can settle on. 

It spurs him into a furious snap of his hips, the slap of your skin and obscene slick coating him filling the room with your moans and cries. His arms wrap around your torso, pressing you close against him, bear hugging you while he keeps fucking you into oblivion. He's unhinged in the way he fucks you, like he can't stop, can't help himself. His own brain finally turned off, debased into a creature of need. Not a creature with everything under control, you under control. Himself under control. This is his most human form and you've brought it out of him. 

His gaze captures yours, his brown eyes glassy with unshed tears, the sight shocking you before you're pulling him into a kiss. He whimpers into it, hips stuttering. He pulls back with a begging voice, "Tell me you need me." his lips just barely leaving.

You moan out, legs wrapping around his hips to keep him against you. You're so close, the pleasure and pressure building deep inside you with every thrust he delivers.

"Tell me." he whispers again, fingers gripping onto you in a way that you know will bruise later.

"I need you, Dex." you have your own form of whine in your voice now, panting as you get closer, "Dex-"

He interrupts you, "Tell me to never leave. That you won't leave me."

His admittance makes your breath stutter, heart flutter. The obsession he has on you is clear enough to you now, and you don't hate it. You're curious by it. Morbidly so. You know you shouldn't want it, but it makes your blood yearn and want with such force that it turns out the logic and the fear of it out your mind. Your pussy clamps down on him and he almost chokes. 

"I won't-" you gasp, fingers digging into his back, "Dex, don't leave, please don't. Don't stop." 

He revels in your begging, his voice dark, "Good girl. Now give it to me."

It's like he already has your body trained, already knows it's tells. Already knew how close you were. Knew what would send you off the edge. Your body seizes up as you let out a cry, hands gripping him tightly against you as you break on a moan. Pure euphoria rips through your body, cunt convulsing around his thick cock, making his hips stutter with a cry of his own, your orgasm pushing him over the edge. His head drops into the crook of your neck, both your bodies trembling as you come down from the white hot explosion inside of you. Your chest heaves, limbs boneless as you feel his cock pump inside of you. You feel full and peaceful. Not worried about the consequences of your actions just yet. 

Dex lets out a pleased sigh, holding you still against him, making no move to remove his softening cock out of you. He nuzzles his nose up your neck, breathing you in as you both settle into this new time and reality. Your fingers find themselves drawing swirls and meaningless things on his back, earning goosebumps on his skin. He shudders against the stimulation, enjoying the feel of your hand on him. 

You're the first to speak after a few minutes of this bliss, "I want my cat mug back."

"You're not getting it back." He smiles against your skin, "Unless you come back to my place."

"How's that?"

"It'll happen like this..."

[ghostskiss]

I just done playing cod mw3 and Soap death killed me from the inside, just want to console my mind, I want to see Simon with Soap'ssister!Y/N as lover having each other after the trauma please??? i love your writing and i believe you can ease my heart <3

hey bby! sorry for the late reply, i hope this eases you after some time <3

———

Pain

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Lil Sis Y/N

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ANGST, Trauma bonding, Character Death, Mentions of depression, Grief, Sadness, Blood/Injury TW, Bathing in a tub, Soft!Dom Simon, Massaging/hands all over F! body, Clitplay, crygasm, tbh kind of DDLG-esque ((to me at least)). No DDLG wording used though Tried not to spoil too much on Soap's death for other readers!

note: please take care of yourselves loves. if you relate to Y/N in this, i am so very sorry and it does get better. be patient and kind with yourselves and reach out. people need you as much as you need them and that is a strength. not a weakness.

———

Pain.

Pain is what you've been feeling. Disaster, chaos, sadness. But pain was King in your heart. The deciding factor for many things in your life since your big brother has...

You grip your chest and double over in the kitchen, dropping your coffee mug in the sink. Sucking in a breath, you allow the grief to wash over you in the deadening wave that it is. That's what you've learned over these past couple of months. They come and go in waves, this thing called Grief. It hurts every time. Sometimes at night you wonder if they'll ever go away. If it'll always feel like you're drowning without him here. Your big brother. Johnny.

Even though you're clenching your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as you feel through this pain, you haven't cried lately. It's like you've cried so much the first couple of months that your tear ducts have stopped working. A few more moments pass and you stand up straighter, looking at the broken mug in the sink. You feel nothing now, like you hadn't been in agonizing pain just seconds ago. Enough to have made you drop and break one of your favorite mugs. Awhile ago that would've made you cry. You used to be so raw with emotion after the passing of Johnny. Now nothing seems to get you to except the random waves of grief.

Touching a shard in the sink with mild disinterest, you think about all things you used to do. Things that made you feel something. Anything but this never-ending pressure and weight on your shoulders, like you're carrying it around like a support blanket. Your finger slips on the shard, the ceramic cutting into your pointer finger, blood welling to the surface quickly. Another glance of mild disinterest as you bring your hand up to study the open the wound. It hadn't even hurt. How...odd. The warmth of the red liquid trails down your hand to your wrist, as it slowly leaks from your finger.

The doorbell rings, pulling you out of your morbid trance and you blink, almost in shock from the sound. Some days it feels like you're holed up in world different from others entirely, that no one can get you here. The doorbell rings again and this time your feet seem to be unglued finally. Ripping off a paper towel, you press it to your finger and yell out weakly,

"Coming."

Your voice cracks painfully and you wince. When was the last time you'd spoken out loud? The grip you have on your finger tightens as you glance around your home. Christ, when was the last time you'd cleaned anything? Eaten? When was the last time -

Someone pounds on the front door. You zoned out again in the middle of the front entry way. Trying to blink away your dazed state, you reach for the door, opening it. A breath catches in your throat, staring at the...

Ghost.

Ghost.

The man stares down at you in his own confused state, his dark eyes behind that mask he wears taking in inventory of every little thing. In the past you would've shrunk away from his searching gaze. In the past, you would've felt fear. You would've felt self conscious. You stare up at him and will yourself to feel something, anything.

You realize he'd been talking to you and you blink again, voice croaking, "Sorry? What?"

"Why the hell are you bleeding?" His head nods to your hands.

You glance down confused, had already forgotten what happened moments ago. The blood has seeped through your meager little paper towel and was making a fine mess down your arm again. Detached, you state, "Broke my mug."

Ghost is silent for a moment, watching you watch the blood trickle down even more. He's almost unnerved, seeing you in this state. How long have you been like this? His jaw clenches under his mask and he gently grabs your hand with injured finger, squeezing it to keep the blood from flowing as he redirects you back inside. The fact that you move in zombie-like trance pains him. Something he knows well. Seeing it in you...seeing it in Soap's baby sister. And knowing what you're feeling or you're lack of feeling makes his chest hurt.

In your dissociated and detached state, you move with him as he guides you through your own home from behind you. You don't feel entirely here on this plane of existence. But you know that you trust this man, that he's going to help you with your injured finger. That this was a man that your brother trusted with his life. His life.

That thought snaps you out of it and you inhale sharply, taking in your surroundings like you'd been asleep this whole time. Ghost has since sat you down at the kitchen table, glass of water next to you and some ibuprofen. The water runs in the kitchen sink and you can smell your lavender hand soap. Your head turns to the kitchen, catching Ghost's gaze as he dries his hands off. He stares at you and then nods to the items on the table. Turning back to it, you grab the glass and frown, seeing your already bandaged finger. You drink some water and down the pain killers with it as Ghost comes around and pulls a chair from the table to sit in front of you. He gently grabs your hands into his and holds them, leaning his elbows on his legs.

"How are you?" his voice is quiet, not exactly a whisper, but something above it. It's nice. It's calm. It's familiar, in a way. You think about the last time you'd seen him. When was it? Johnny's funeral. Johnny.

"Hey."

You look up from your joined hands, realizing yet again you'd went away somewhere. Ghost's eyes ping to yours, back and forth, like he's trying to read your mind. Like he's trying to figure out where you're going too. How to keep you here with him. How to keep you present. He leans closer, and you don't even flinch. Like you're in and out of your own consciousness, not aware of anything. His bare hands run up your arms softly and he notes the goosebumps raising as he tickles you. Good. At least you're somewhat aware of that. You blink again, coming back to him from the stimulation. You shiver slightly and Ghost hums, deciding that physical touch is going to work at least for now.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, peering up at him. Your eyes are wide, like he's waking you up out of a dream you'd been stuck in for awhile. This is going to hurt, he realizes. He gently squeezes your shoulders.

"To check in on you. Soap..." his voice dips, "Johnny told me to look after you. I...I'm sorry I haven't been here." He stops at that, not knowing what to say. He doesn't have an excuse. He can't say it was work. Can't say it was anything but his own selfishness, his own pain, his own anguish. He'd lost a brother too.

Something in his voice triggers it in you. Something that starts to slowly swell up inside, like a different kind of pressure. You feel more alert, sharper.

"You're sorry?"

Ghost nods and lets out a slow sigh, his fingers still loosely trailing on your skin. It's starting to irritate you slightly, as you feel his touch awaken your skin. "I don't have an excuse. I made a promise and I couldn't keep it. But I'm here now. I'm here. And if I had known...if I had known you were like this I wouldn't have been... I don't know. Scared. Scared to see you. I was -am- grieving too."

Scared to see you. The man who was the last person with Johnny. The man who had him more than you had him. The man who took your brother away from him. Scared of you. Grieving too. Like he had his brother killed. Killed. Taken away.

Anger. Anger is what this new feeling is. You almost revel in it, almost shuddered with excitement that you're finally, finally feeling something other than the pain. Your heart rate picks up and you almost feel delirious.

"If you hadn't known I was like this?"

Ghost catches the change in your tone and his gaze jerks back up to you in question. You can see his brows dip in confusion as he pulls his hands away from you.

"Honey, look around this place. You...you're not doing okay. I shouldn't have waited this long." He says gently, like you're not aware of how bad you are. Like you have no idea how much you've been in. Like you're not aware at all.

"I know I'm not doing okay, Simon." You spit out behind clenched teeth, "My brother got killed."

Ghost flinches at that, jerking back into his seat as he stares at the ground.

You feel like you conquered something. You feel in control suddenly, prideful that you hurt him with your words. You stand up abruptly, knocking your chair back and Ghost looks up at you with pain in his eyes. You feel high off of that fact. You aren't the only one in pain anymore. You don't have to feel it. You can inflict it.

"You weren't the one who lost your family." Another flinch from the man in front of you, "You weren't the one who had random men show up at your front door step and tell you your brother was killed. You weren't the one who had to go to the funeral and see people who knew him, but not the way that you knew him, people who didn't grow up with him, people who took him away from his real family, people who only worked with him not loved him-"

"I loved him."

Your next words catch in your throat as you gaze down at him in shock.

"What -"

"I said I loved him." Ghost stands up slowly, his hands up like he's approaching a wounded and feral animal. You back up in fear like one anyways. "I loved your brother. I loved Johnny. Johnny loved you. He loved you. He'd always talk about you. He'd show me the letters you'd write him when we'd be shipped out. He'd show me pictures of your family. He'd tell me anything he could about you. He loved you. I know you loved him. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I'm sorry I couldn't share the things I had with Johnny, but I'm here now and I'm ready. I'm ready to share anything you want to hear, I know we weren't close before this, but your brother was my best friend. He was a brother to me. I know that our pain of losing him is different, but we still lost someone dear to us. Your brother was dear to me. You alone for that are dear to me as well. I will not let you walk through this alone anymore, sweetheart."

Ghost slowly reaches up and brushes your cheeks and that's when you realize you're crying. A sob catches your throat as you throw yourself at the man in front of you, burying your face into his chest as you cry. His arms come around you, keeping you to him, holding you as your body shakes with emotions. It's not only pain now. Nor anger. There's love and relief. Because now someone does finally understand where your heart and head have been since your brother passed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Simon I didn't -" you start, staring up at him with tears blurring your vision. He shushes you and shakes his head, thumbing your tears away.

"Allow yourself to feel everything in this. No emotion is wrong. Anger is healthy." He rubs your back as you press your face in his chest again, breathing him in. It feels good, being hugged by a man such as him. After a few moments, Ghost untangles you slowly from him and jerks his head to the stairs. "Let's get you in a bath."

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

You stare down at the bubble bath lit with candles in a bit of anxiety. It looks warm and welcoming. Holding your finger up you stare at the gauze wrapped tightly around it. Strict orders under Lt Ghost was to not remove the bandage, even when you complained you'd had to leave your entire hand out of the bath then.

Startling you into a slight jump, Ghost's voice comes from behind the paper thin bathroom door, "You okay? I don't hear you in the bath."

You gnaw on your bottom lip, "Yeah, I'm uh...thinking."

"Thinking?"

You dip your toe in and shudder in delight. Yeah, that man might not look it, but he runs a good bubble bath. You lower yourself slowly, careful not to get your bandaged finger wet. Your body seems to groan with relief as you settle back into the water, head dipping back to lean on the edge of the tub. A few quiet seconds go by before Ghost is at the door again.

“You okay?”

You nod and then realize he can’t see you. “Yeah.” your voice sounds calm and at peace for once. You look around the dimly lit bathroom, candles on the counter lighting the room just enough. “I just wish I could wash my hair. Or anything really. I can’t get my hand wet.”

You think he’s gone by the lack of reply. Which is fine, you didn’t expect him to sit outside your bathroom door the entire time, even if he said he would. That’d be ridiculous to ask of him —

“I can do it. Wash your hair, I mean.” His voice is so soft from behind the door you think you made it up.

“I—”

He starts up again, this time a tad louder and rushed, like he’s trying to find the right words without offending you, “I won’t look. Obviously. There should be enough bubbles to uh… cover you. Not that I’d look even if there weren’t any. Just. Listen I’ll only help wash your hair. Don’t want you to get your bandage wet.” He pauses for a second. “If you want.”

You think it over while looking down at the bath. He’s right, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. You chew on your lip, thinking it over, probably for too long. Letting a slow sigh to calm your nerves, you nod and call him in. He comes in silently and you tense, feeling his presence fill the room. What are you doing? This is your brother’s…lieutenant. War buddy. Best friend. You’re letting him in the bathroom with you while you’re naked for Christ’s sake.

You turn to catch him rolling up his sleeves, bare hands grabbing the edge of the tub to help lower himself down to his knees. You feel yourself shrink back into the bubbles, glad for the low lighting so he can’t see you blushing. He’s staring at you softly, like he’s watching every tiny reaction you’re having to him. Studying you to see if you’re too uncomfortable. You don’t want him to leave so you sit up a little, moving closer to him. He nods a bit and reaches up to untangle your hair from the pile you placed on top of your head. He sweeps his fingers through your hair and your eyes close, allowing yourself to feel in the moment. Not think it. He grabs your bath cup and dips it in the water, letting the warmth cascade through your hair. Gently, he tips your head back so it doesn’t get in your eyes, his large hands are surprisingly soft as he finishes getting your hair wet enough for shampoo. His fingers massage your scalp with the suds and you groan, leaning into him more.

He chuckles, “You’re acting like a cat.”

“Do you like cats?” you ask, curious. Your eyes are closed and you hum as he rubs your head more.

“Hm. I’d like you if you were a cat.”

“You hardly know me. What if I were a bad cat?”

“No such thing.”

He dumps more water through your hair, rinsing you free of all your past worries and fears. You feel your body relax more and you sigh, sad that this is going to end soon. Your eyes peer open at him and you shiver, now thinking of how you have a man, this large mysterious man bathing you. You’ve known of him, met him a couple of times when Johnny would come home and bring him along. But he never talked much, in fact, you were a little scared of him sometimes. Johnny always joked with him but you swear the man was mute around your family. Seeing him so…intimately under the lighting of your bathroom, his rough but gentle hands on you, washing you and touching you, had your heart clenching and your thighs pressing together under the water. Was that wrong of you? What would your brother think right now? In the beginning it was appropriate enough, but now with these thoughts running rampant, it didn’t feel like an innocent hair washing session. You were suddenly so aware of how naked you were. How the bubbles in the bath were dissipating like they do after some time.

Ghost looks at your bandaged finger, grabbing your hand to pull you closer to him to inspect it. He makes a satisfied sound in seeing that you haven’t gotten it wet.

“Need me to wash you?”

Your throat dries as you stare at him, as he’s casually looking over your hand in his. You think of those very same hands on your body. His fingers caressing you, sudsing you up with your body wash. You’re about to tell him no, to be respectful to him. He’s probably innocently thinking he’s helping you and here you are getting worked up over him just washing your hair.

“I won’t…I won’t—”

“Do anything I don’t want you to?” You finish for him, not sure if that’s what he was even going to say. He nods anyways and catches your gaze to level it, like he’s telling you means it. Not only with his words but his eyes. You nod back and you stare at each other for a moment longer before he’s reaching for the wash. He pours some in the palm of his large hand and you swallow, turning your gaze away from him, the eye contact beginning to have been too much.

His hands connect with your shoulder softly and you close your eyes, tension leaving you quicker than you thought. He leans you forward a bit and gets your back, dipping under the water and coming back up. Your head lulls to the side as he comes back up and sweeps his hand across your collarbones, raising your arm to get your armpit and you giggle, though he seems to be taking his job seriously. He grunts at your reaction and turns your body a bit to get the other side of you.

You shudder, trying not to squirm under his tickling touch. His hands dip under the water to grab one of your legs and you squeal, catching the sides of the tub so you don't tip under. He laughs lightly, lathering up your calves and feet, your toes trying to wiggle out from underneath his grip. It's light and playful until you sit up, completely forgetting the setting that you're in. Ghost's hands drop from you and he sits back abruptly, making you frown and glance down at yourself. Bubbles from the bath are slowly falling from your breasts down your sides and stomach, your nipples tightening from the change in temperature. Ghost's wet hands grip the edge of the bath and you're both frozen, like you're both shocked at what you're witnessing. Heat fills your body and you turn towards him more, hearing the ever so slight hitch in his breath as your nipple grazes his knuckles.

Your uninjured hand grabs one of his and tugs gently, getting him to unglue his fingers from the tub. He watches you move your joined hands towards your chest and he utters your name out in a low warning. You pretend not to hear him as you guide his hand to cup a breast gently.

"You didn't wash me here." You whisper innocently, now looking up at him through your wet lashes. You feel Ghost's fingers spread before lightly gripping you in response. You shiver, pressing more into his touch.

Ghost lets out a noise in the back of his throat, like he's unsure on how to proceed. "We--"

You grab his other hand and do the same thing, the sudden action cutting him off from whatever he was about to say. His eyes drop to your breasts and he swipes a thumb across your nipple before testing the weight of you in his palms. You let out a small sigh, eyelids drooping from the feel of his warm hands on you. He plays with you like that, sweeping, feeling, testing, and washing your tits as you struggle to keep your head up from the pleasure. His fingers trail down to your sternum, even further to your belly button and you're nodding your head, like you're trying to encourage him to keep going.

"You want me to wash you there too, honey?"

You're nodding again, eyes half open while your press as much of yourself into his hands. Practically begging him without saying the words. Ghost hums and he pulls away entirely, standing up to chuck off his sweater that's gotten wet from the bath. Underneath he's got a plain black t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and you sit back, taking the large man in as he settles back down.

"Turn around. Lean your back here." He pulls your shoulders against the tub, his hands coming around you. You look down and watch his hands fondle your tits, fingers coming around to pinch your nipples lightly, just giving you enough pressure to gasp. His head settles in the crook of your shoulder, material of the mask brushing against your neck lightly, tickling you. He turns and whispers darkly in your ear while one hand trails down the front of your body, other gripping your chest.

"Let yourself feel. Stay with me."

Your eyes drift shut as his fingers go lower and lower until you're raising your hips to catch his finger tips into your sex. He chuckles airlessly, pressing into your aching clit. "Right here, baby?" You nod again frantically, whining out as he starts pressing slow circles. Your clit throbs as his fingers catch it, rolling it and playing with it as you gasp out. "Keep that bandage dry." The tone he delivers that in has an underlining connotation of a threat. An or else.

It makes your breath hitch and your head lull back, hitting his shoulder as he leans into you from behind the tub, his fingers playing slowly, exploring you. His other hand cups and plays with your breasts and he hums with curiosity when he finds the right spot, the right pressure. You don’t need to tell him, he can tell by the way you tense and then melt into him, almost like you’re fighting against the pleasure he’s giving you. His cock strains hard against his jeans and he curses himself about the morals and lines you two are crossing, yet he can’t find it in himself to care. In the throes of your pleasure as you cry out louder, your hands that were on the tub’s edge start to slip and the masked man tsks at you.

“Hands out of the water.”

You whimper and place them back on the edge, gripping and holding so you don’t entirely submerge yourself in the water containing you. Ghost picks up the pace of his fingers circling your clit and you moan out, hips bucking up. You’re close.

“Ghost,” you gasp, not sure what you’re about to say or beg or plead for.

“That’s it. Let go. Let go.” his voice is coaxing, like he’s gently leading you, not demanding you. Nurturing you, taking care of you. Your body responds like it was a command, toes curling, head falling backwards, breath catching and then crescendoing as your legs tense up, capturing Ghost’s ever moving hand to your pussy as you come. It’s breathtaking and blinding, and by the time you come back to reality, you’re gasping for air like you finished running.

Ghost lets you gather your bearings before he’s slowly untangling himself from you, rinsing the rest of your body off. He helps you stand on your wobbly legs, pulling you up and put of the tub with ease. A warm large towel comes around you and he dries you off thoroughly before wrapping it around your body and pulling you into him. He rests his cheek on top of your head, rubbing your back in the embrace. You can feel yourself crying, though you’re not sad. You blink away the tears as Ghost holds you.

“Let’s get you in bed sweetheart.”

He transitions you into your bed, and you reach out for him with watery eyes. He sighs a bit, but kicks off his boots and clambers into the bed after you, somehow just knowing this entire time what you need. The bandage, the bath, the feeling of something other than the pain in your heart. He pulls you into him, keeping you wrapped in the covers and he softly kisses your forehead through his mask. Your eyelids droop. Even though you’ll never get your brother back, and Ghost will never get his back, you’re here together. Going through it together. You were never really alone, even with how bad it hurt and how much you thought otherwise. It didn’t hurt right now, but it may in the future and that’s okay. You had time. You’re going to take it one step at a time.

“I’m right here baby. You’re okay.”

And you knew he was right.

[captainfern]

*comes sniffing in your ask box for treats*

throwing in a silly little request for Simon and Price sharing a partner maybeeee? ily 👉👈

🐩

Fade To Black

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader x Captain John Price

["Fade To Black" by Metallica]

[18+]

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• summary - your boyfriend's love making you feel good <3 that's the summary lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.4k • warnings - fem!reader, all porn zero plot<3, established poly relationship, oral [f!receiving], fingering, m!masturbation, voyeurism?, unprotected piv, soft!ghost [use of pet names, praise, obsessed boyfriend things], implied dom!price [minor degradation, minor dumbification], ghost loves you, price loves you too, breeding kink [predictable with my writing i know 😭], both men are possessive, strong language

🍪 - for you !! with a side of cod smut, of course ;3

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Your relationship with John and Simon was, quite possibly, one of the best aspects of your life.

They both took care of you so well, and ensured you had everything you could possibly need. They both spent quality time with you, together and individually, and both spoiled you like good boyfriend's should. They both protected you, too– Simon's hand on the small of your back in public, shooting dark glares at other people brave enough to glance in your direction– John's warm hand in yours, guiding you through a crowd, his thumb brushing soothing stripes across your knuckles.

Both of them loved you. Both of them were totally, utterly obsessed with you.

How could they not? You were just so good for them. Always worrying about them, patching up the wounds they often returned home with, cooking for them after a long day working. You tended to their needs first, in more ways than one– example, you never complained about dropping to your knees in front of them if they needed some kind of release.

God, they loved that part. They loved the part of you that was so eager to be good for them. Both of them. How willing you are to let them toss you back and forth between one another, bend you over the couch, spread you out on the rug, pin you up against a wall. Obviously, they loved everything about you, but a pretty thing like you being theirs and theirs alone? A blessing.

But just as much as you loved to service them, they loved to service you. It was in their nature, of course. Looking after their girlfriend? Their future wife? It was instinct.

And besides, even when it was their turn to give more, you were still always good for them.

Late one evening, John returned home and kicked off his shoes. Usually, you'd rush to the door to greet him, even if you did have to wriggle your way out of Simon's hold sometimes. You'd wrap your arms around him and hug him tight, and he'd return the hug with a kiss to the top of your head.

This time was different. You didn't rush into the entry-hall to greet him with the most beautiful smile. Instead, John was greeted by complete silence as he walked further into the flat.

Well, it wasn't complete silence.

Other times where you'd failed to greet him, he couldn't help but frown. This time, his lips quirked into a knowing smile as he made his way towards the living room.

Your breathy whimpers filled the flat, paired with your own laboured breathing and low grunts from Simon. He had you sitting upright on the couch, your legs folded over his shoulders as he kneeled on the ground in front of you, his face between your legs. Simon's grip was tight on your thighs, gripping the flesh and holding your legs in place, which were now beginning to tremble. He grunted with each flat lick of his tongue up your wet folds, followed by another low-pitched noise when he shoved his tongue deep into your cunt, his nose nudging your puffy clit.

You had a handful of his dark blond hair, almost brown in the low light of the living room, fisting it tightly as you arched against the couch. Your eyes were closed, your mouth parted as more whimpers fell from your lips, including whines of Simon–! which made Simon moan against you. He was painfully fucking hard in his trousers.

John watched from the doorway for a moment, leaning his shoulder against it, listening to your sounds. After a moment, Simon pulled away from you for just a moment to utter "Look who's home, baby" before sliding his tongue back inside you.

John couldn't help but chuckle at the fact Simon knew he was there without even turning around.

Your eyes flew open, immediately finding John's. You sucked in a breath, trying to hold your whimpers at bay, long enough to greet him with watery eyes and a small pout.

"John." You keened, eyes immediately closing as Simon's pace picked up. You let out a loud moan that made John's cock twitch in his trousers as he crossed the room and sat beside you on the couch.

He leaned over to kiss you– smoothing his lips against yours before slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss by grabbing hold of your jaw and angling your face closer to his. You moaned into his mouth, his other hand finding the back of your neck, pinning you in place so he could lick further into your mouth.

Below, Simon grunted into your core, muffled. John pulled out of the kiss, still holding your head, looking down to meet Simon's eyes.

"Got something to say?" John asked, cocking his head to the side. You whimpered in his hold, and Simon's eyes darted from John to you, and back and forth a couple times.

John knew Simon all too well. Each time you let out the smallest whimper, the breathiest whine, the longest moan, his cock would twitch, growing harder in his boxers. He loved the noises you made. So with John kissing you...

John smirked, slotting his mouth back against yours, his eyes still on Simon. You moaned into his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut. The noises were quiet now, just deep hums in the back of your throat. Simon's brows pinched as he glared at John. John winked at him.

Simon grunted against your cunt, his tongue moving in and out of you. Small dribbles of your slick slipped down his face, coating his chin as his efforts increased, pace quickening, nose pressing tighter against your little bundle of nerves. He could hear the way you were moaning into the kiss, and his eyes remained firmly on your face.

He knew you were close. Your thighs were slowly tightening around his head, and you were arching further off the couch. Your thighs quivered in his hold, the slick walls of your cunt pulling tighter around his tongue. He groaned into you, letting one hand run up your thigh and over your mound, cupping you there while this thumb pressed heavily against your clit. He rubbed fast circles and finally, finally, you broke the kiss– pulling away from John to moan, "S-Si, fuck, please– please, please–!"

Before John could pull you back into the kiss, you came around Simon's tongue. You moaned, long and drawn out, as Simon licked you through it, still thumbing your clit gently. The sound filled Simon's head, making him reciprocate his own moan, lips parted against the slick mess of your core. He continued swiping licks up your folds, around your leaking hole, until you were squirming against him, John placing kisses along your jaw.

Simon pulled away, kissing your thighs as he went. After placing one final kiss to your inner knee, he got to his feet, knees cracking as he pushed overtop of your body, shunting John out of the way so he could grasp your face and kiss you.

John let out a laugh. "S'that how it's going to be tonight, hm?"

Simon didn't respond. He simply cupped your face and pinned you back against the couch. His knee slotted between your legs as he kissed you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You tasted yourself when your tongues met, and you whimpered his name into his mouth.

When Simon– begrudgingly– ended the kiss, he flopped down on the other side of you. But he pulled you with him, grasping your hips and pulling you into his lap, your back against his chest. He immediately attached his mouth to the curve of your neck and shoulder.

John watched you and Simon for a moment. "Has he been treating you well, sweetheart?"

You nodded, Simon's arms now winding their way around your midriff, holding you to him. Your head lolled back to allow Simon more room, but your eyes remained on John.

"D'you have a good day?" You asked.

"Mhm," John replied simply. "I missed you, though."

"Missed you too." You mumbled, eyelids fluttering when Simon sucked harder, skimming his teeth against your sweat-slicked skin.

John cocked his head, watching your expressions for a moment. He smiled, content, before grabbing a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray at the end of the couch. He relit it, and the familiar sound of the lighter clinking had your eyes opening like some sort of Pavlovian response.

John inhaled and then exhaled, smoke curling out above his head. You watched him with glistening eyes, and he could see your focus drifted across the way his fingers held the cigar. His smile widened, and he lifted his free hand, beckoning you over to him with a curl of two fingers.

Straight away, you weaselled yourself free of Simon's hold. He frowned.

Of course, he let you go and you didn't actually force his hands away. If he wanted you to stay, his arm's wouldn't have even budged.

You crawled into Price's lap, smiling at him when his free hand rested hot and heavy against the bare expanse of your lower back.

"Hold this for me." He whispered, grabbing his cigar and handing it to you. You took it from him, a wisp of smoke fluttering across the skin of your cheek.

His other hand skimmed down the front of your body, over the dips of your breasts and tummy, until he reached your cunt. He groaned when he ran two fingers down your folds. You were so fucking wet. With ease, he slipped his fingers into your sopping cunt, straight to the knuckle. You hummed low in your throat, head tilting forward.

"Fuck, you're wet," John muttered, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. "S'this just from getting your pretty pussy eaten, hm? S'all this 'cause've Simon?"

You moaned. "Yes–!"

Behind you, Simon grunted, and was pulling his cock out of his trousers and fisting it slowly. His eyes watched the two of you closely, the head of his cock leaking pre-cum. What was left of your arousal on his fingers, he smeared it across the hard shaft of his cock, his other hand cupping his balls as you rocked yourself against John's fingers.

John chuckled lowly. "Naughty fucking girl, aren't you, sweetheart? Listen to how wet this cunt is." He pulled his fingers out and then thrusted them in roughly; the sound eliciting was a loud, wet squelch that made your tummy flutter. John hummed, appraising you with dark eyes. "So fucking wet, isn't she, Simon?"

Simon grunted, the movement of his hand speeding up. He jerked his cock, gripping tighter at the base, pausing only briefly to thumb at the reddened tip.

John grinned, then nodded at the cigar you were still holding. You got the hint, drowsily holding it out for him to take into his mouth. He inhaled deeply, and you pulled it away when the hand on the small of your back danced upwards. He cupped your neck and pulled you down to kiss him. He exhaled the smoke into your mouth and you whimpered as you felt it sting the back of your nose and throat.

The kiss was wet, messy, and tasted of smoke. His tongue was relentless against yours, saliva pushed from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin as he forced more and more whimpers from you. He continued to fuck you with his fingers, adding an abrupt third while he sucked on your tongue, before pushing his tongue back into your mouth with a grunt. The smoke was bitter in your mouth, his saliva tasting of it, but it made you moan out anyway– a sound that had Simon dropping a whispered "oh, fuck" behind you.

The heel of John's hand pressed hard against your swollen clit, causing your entire lower body to shudder. The sensation of three of his big fingers inside you was enough to have the pleasure in your lower stomach rise. The roughness of the digits inside you, thrusting against your warm, slick walls and that spongey spot inside you, had your head spinning.

"John, m'gonna– please can I come?" You mewled out, almost dropping John's cigar as your fingers began to tremble.

"You wanna come?" John whispered. "You wanna come? And you're asking your captain for permission? What a good fucking girl you are, sweetheart."

You always loved it when both your boyfriends brought their ranks home. Maybe it was because you were a civilian, but it always had you feeling some type of way.

You mewled again, high-pitched at his words. Behind you, you could hear Simon grunting and groaning, and the wet fap fap fap's of him stroking his cock. You wished you could see it. He always looked so pretty when he jerked off. Such a pretty boy.

"Come 'round your captain's fingers, then. Go on," John said, fingers nailing that spot inside you each time. "And kiss me while you come."

You did– when your orgasm crashed over you, you crashed your mouth onto John's. You shook against him, cunt squeezing his fingers tightly and thighs shaking against his lap. You whined his name into his mouth as, once again, his tongue found yours, pushing more of the acrid taste of smoke into your mouth. His free hand left the back of your head and he plucked the cigar from your hand when he pulled away from the kiss. He placed it back into the ashtray, his other hand leaving the wet heat of your cunt. He grabbed hold of your hip and began grinding you down against the bulge in his trousers. You blew out a long, whiney breath.

Behind you, Simon's orgasm was approaching. Tired and bordering overstimulated, you managed to turn your body to watch Simon as John slowly rocked you against his lap. You whimpered out "you're so pretty, Si" when you finally got a good look at the way he was fucking his fist, his hair dishevelled, lower face still shining with your slick. His cock twitched in his hand at your words, and he moaned your name. Your clit began to throb with need.

"Christ," Simon hissed. "Can– fuck– can I come on your tummy, baby?"

"Please." You whined, butterflies filling your stomach.

John helped you twist in his lap until your back was against his chest. Simon got off the couch and approached, still pumping his cock with his lower lip snagged between his teeth. He grunted with each movement of his hand.

Meanwhile, John weaved his arms around you, large palms cupping your tits as he leaned back further against the couch, exposing more of your midriff to Si. He squeezed your tits, rolling your hardened nipples between his thumb and forefingers, his smoky breath brushing over your shoulder. He nosed at the pulse behind your ear, eyes watching Simon as more pre-cum leaked from the blond's cock.

"Beg for Si, sweetheart," John whispered in your ear, loud enough for Simon to hear. When you whined, John tutted in your ear, rolling your nipples harder between his fingers. "Use your words."

You gasped out. "Fuck– please, Si. Want your– oh, fuck– want your cum, please."

Simon's mouth dropped open, a guttural groan following as he jerked his cock once, twice more, before pushing his hips towards you. He came in hot spurts, covering the soft shape of your tummy in stripes of milky white. He grunted out your name, fisting his semi-hard cock with cum-covered knuckles.

"Fucking hell..." Si breathed, standing over you and John still. John let go of you, running his hands down your body soothingly.

He looked up at Si, who was now ripping his shirt over his head and pulling his trousers and boxers all the way off. John was the only one still completely dressed.

"You want her first?" John asked, rubbing your thighs. You leaned back into him, humming contentedly, eyes closed.

Simon cocked his head. "You don't–?"

"I'll watch first," John said with a smile. "Besides, I've got a cigar to finish."

The real reason John loved watching was, well, exactly that. He always loved watching how you reacted to Si– how you reacted to his touch, his mouth on your skin, his praise. He also loved the way Simon bullied his fat cock into the tight heat of your cunt. John's eyes almost closed in pleasure at the thought.

Simon offered John a grateful smile, before he was gently guiding you off of your other boyfriend's lap. He gathered you in his arms, hugging you for a moment. You squirmed slightly; his seed being smushed between the two of you.

"How do you want me, baby?" He asked you as John grabbed his cigar, situating himself more comfortably at the end of the couch, beginning to unzip his straining trousers.

"Want you on top of me..." You whispered, carefully prying yourself from Si's grasp and flopping onto the plush rug beneath you. You spread yourself out on the rug, sighing through our nose, your body on perfect display.

Simon was hard again. "On the floor?"

"Mhm..." You smiled at him, and you heard John chuckle in the background. You looked over at John. "So the captain get's a good view."

John cracked a smile. "Yeah? You want to get fucked on the rug like a good little whore, hm?" He had pulled out his cock by this stage, pumping himself slowly. Like Si, he was big, the tip reddened and leaking dribbles of pre-cum.

You smiled, biting your lower lip.

Simon settled onto the soft rug between your legs, large hands massaging your knees before grabbing the backs of them and pulling you closer to him. You couldn't help but giggle as you were yanked down the rug, but the giggle dissipated to a stretched out moan as you felt the solid warmth of his cock against your inner thigh.

He grasped his cock at the base, running the ruddy tip up and down your soaked folds. He hummed in pleasure, smearing more of your arousal against the curve of your arse and your inner thighs. The sensation made you shiver, and he squeezed your thigh in comfort.

"S'alright, baby, I'm here," Simon cooed, circling the wet tip of his cock around your swollen clit. "I'm right here..." He mumbled, dragging the tip through your folds until he reached your leaking hole, pressing against it gently.

Your back arched off the rug, your entire body heating up. The one hand he had on your thigh felt like it was burning you, searing into your skin. You whimpered out for him– Simon, Simon, Simon– hands scrambling for purchase, grabbing at the soft rug.

"I know, my girl, I know, 'm gonna give you what you want," he told you, circling the head of his cock over your cunt. More arousal leaked from you, meaning more arousal smearing onto his cock. He stuttered around a groan. "Such a p-pretty pussy, baby. So wet. And such a good girl, too. Been such a good girl for me and John."

John groaned from the couch, muffled around the shape of his cigar. He had stopped stroking himself, and was gripping his cock, hand resting near the patch of dark hair at the base. A hazy cloud of smoke hung in the air above him, and you could smell it– smell smoke, John, Simon, sweat and sex. You took a deep breath.

"Here you go, darling, take what you need," Simon whispered, leaning over your body to place a delicate kiss to your lips as he slid his cock inside you. His pace was deep and slow, dragging against your gummy walls and dragging embarrassingly loud noises from your mouth. Simon groaned too, the feel of your wet heat around him almost too much. When he bottomed out, he mouthed at the crook of your neck. "I love you."

Tears were in your eyes now. He was just so big. But he was so, so soft with you. Gentle.

"I love you too, Si," you said, kissing his cheek. You then looked over at John. "I love you too, captain."

John bit back a moan. Captain. Cheeky girl.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Simon shifted his hips, dragging his cock out of you. It glistened with your arousal, and it made his face grow hot. He bit back a whimper when he pushed inside you. You gasped, and he did it again. Again and again until he had a set a rhythm that had your entire body on fire, writhing against the rug.

"Si." You moaned, arms moving around his shoulders until the tips of your nails were scraping across the muscular planes of his back.

The head of his cock filled you deep, knocking up against the base of your cervix. The sounds were wet and lewd, paired with your moans and Simon's hushed grunts. John watched and listened, his cock twitching against his stomach as he pumped himself, his cigar resting between his lips.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck. Such a good fucking pussy," Simon grunted into your neck, before he lifted himself back up to look into your eyes. He ground his hips against yours, his cock bullying up against the plug of your womb, stretching you open. You mewled, high-pitched and desperate, scratching at his back. He smiled, strands of damp blond hair falling over his forehead. "That's it, baby, mark me up."

No doubt his back would be striped with red lines by the time he was done with you.

Your body was burning hot against the rug, sweat building at the base of your spine as that familiar knot in your stomach began to grow tighter– pulling and pulling as Simon fucked you.

He had both hands on your hips now, pulling your body to meet his with each of his timed thrusts. On the couch, John had to slow the movement of his hand so he didn't come too soon.

"S'that feel good, sweetheart?" He asked you, taking the cigar out of his mouth for a minute. "Is Simon making you feel good?"

"Yes..." You whined, overwhelmed. You felt so good.

John repressed a groan at the whine in your voice. "Then tell him. Tell him how good his cock feels inside your tight cunt."

Simon closed his eyes. "Christ, cap–"

You moaned, then moved one hand away from Si's back, to his head. You grasped a fistful of his hair and tugged gently, forcing your boyfriend's eyes to open and a strained moan to fall from his mouth. You kissed him, then uttered against his lips, "You're making me feel so good, Si. I l-love your cock– oh my god–!"

Si had reached a hand down and was now rubbing circles on your clit. Your words had his brain swimming, his thrusts deepening and pace quickening. The tight ball of pleasure was drawing tighter and tighter in the base of your tummy, your cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Yeah? You love this cock. baby?" Si mused, a noticeable quirk in the corners of his mouth. "Well, it's all yours, isn't it? S'your cock, jus' like this is our perfect– fuckin'– pussy."

Si punctuated the last three words with heavy thrusts, making you cry out. His words were slurring as his orgasm neared, sweat dripping down his abs.

Our.

That made John groan and come all over his hand and stomach. He moaned your name, head flopping back against the couch, the remnants of his cigar already in the ashtray. The moan of your name was followed by a "Jesus Christ, Simon."

"John–" You moaned, wriggling against the rug. You were so close, and as Simon maintained his deep, heavy thrusts, it wasn't long before your cunt was beginning to squeeze him tighter, your legs shaking around him.

"Please, Si," you gasped. "Please, please–! M'gonna, oh my god, m'gonna come– please don't stop."

Simon grunted above you, his fingers still working against your clit, his cock still rutting into you deeply.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered. "Come on my cock. That's it, baby, yeah– good fuckin' girl."

You came around his cock with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing him tight as the ball of pressure snapped in your tummy. Your orgasm was hard, slamming over you and rendering you breathless, your head floating. Your clit pulsed beneath the movements of his fingers, and in your blissed out state, you vaguely noticed the shapes he was drawing across your clit.

S... I... M... O...

That cheeky son of a bitch.

N...

You sobbed out, your orgasm finally settling and your body going lax against the rug. Simon moved his fingers away from your clit, and used both hands to grab each of your knees. He bent your legs, pushing them up against the rest of your body, folding you in half so he could split you deeper on his cock.

You wanted to scream. He was hitting so deep. You were so fucking full.

"Good girl..." You heard John mutter behind you. That made your stomach flip.

Simon was close. He was huffing, grunting. His eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated so much his eyes almost looked black. His gaze never left your face as he pounded into you, his cock sliding against your slick walls, drawing dribbles of your arousal out of you with each thrust.

"M'gonna come in this tight cunt," Si whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. He spoke louder when he continued his sentence. "You want my cum, baby? You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up, fill this pretty tummy?"

"Please–!" You sobbed.

"I will, pretty girl, I will. Want you to take it all... take it all like a good girl," he moaned. "Get you– get you pregnant. Fill you up with my kids. I'd look after you, baby. We'd look after you."

You were almost crying now.

"M'comin', baby," Simon all but growled above you. "Take it all. Take it, take it, take it–"

He came, moaning around your name. He came a lot, too– liquid warmth flooding your insides, leaking out around the shape of his cock, punching a moan from his lungs. You shook beneath him, trickles of his cum dripping down the soft flesh of your arse.

He didn't pull out. He simply moved to the side and kept you hugged against him, lying against the rug with you. He looked up at John, who was still sitting on the couch, half-dried cum splattered across his shirt.

Simon smiled. "Join our girl and I on the rug, cap?"

John smiled in return. "No time for rest, Simon. It's my turn."

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ended it here cause i'm lazy but i hope you enjoyed x

[ghostskiss]

Late Night

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader WC: 3.2k Summary: A drunk late-night conversation takes a bit of a turn Warnings: 18+, Alcohol consumption, Oral (afab receiving), Fingering, Drunk/Buzzed Reader and Ghost, Service!Ghost, kind of a hint to a hand kink in this ?

Taking a swig from your flask, your eyes lock onto Ghost’s from across you. The two of you’d been lazily drinking together, late after a mission. It went well. It was supposed to be a celebration, not…whatever this was. Your cheeks are hot and heated from the alcohol and the question your lieutenant just asked. You’re trying to avoid answering him, but his heavy gaze says he’s not letting it go. You feel dizzy and turned on, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache. The alcohol isn’t helping. Neither is his hard gaze, or the fact that his mask is pulled up. The edge of Ghost’s lips tip to a slow smirk. Like he knows. He knows.

Clearing your throat, you sit up a little further in the couch, trying not to squirm, but fail anyways. You pass the flask to him, his fingers brushing softly against yours. You pull back like it burned to feel him, your gaze sniping down to the hand gripping the bottle. You avert your eyes, feeling like you’ve been caught. His hands are bare, veiny, and large. They’re strong. You’ve felt them before, innocently of course. He’s placed one of those very hands on a shoulder, praising you after a job well done. You think about his hands on you. On your throat, between your –

“You’re really not going to answer me?”

You shiver. His voice has a husk to it, a gravel that makes you want to jump him. What the hell was in that booze? It feels hot in here, making you dab the back of your hand onto your forehead. Fuck, you’re nervous. Of course you’d be nervous, the topic you two had somehow landed on isn’t one that professional. Totally not professional. Not even a topic most friends get into. Wetting your lips, you watch your hands play with a pillow you’d put over your lap. You’re fidgety. Flighty.

“I… I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” You deflect, ignoring the way your voice wobbles a bit at the end. You chance a look up Ghost, peeking at him through your lashes. His fingers are mindlessly trailing on the flask in his grip. Distracted at them, you stare, watching them. How’d they feel on your skin? Would he tease his own fingers on you like that?

“Mm. What’dya got to be embarrassed about? It’s not like it was your fault.” He shrugs, his voice jolting you out of your thoughts. You blush again, looking away from him.

“I don’t know.” You repeat yourself, brows furrowing, going back to the question he’d asked. Do you like being eaten out? You shudder, thinking back on the dark expression he gave you when you meekly shook your head. When you told him the last time you participated in it, the guy was so bad it turned you off of it forever. That you didn’t even want to bother with the act anymore, in case your partner was that bad again. Then he’d continued, barely blinking, keeping you captivated in his fiery gaze, What’s his name? When did this happen? Tell me more.

That’s when you stopped, that’s when you started thinking about him. Not the guy that’d ruined oral sex. No. Him. Well, that’s a bit of a lie. Sometimes your mind wandered. When he’d walk in front of you, letting you trail your eyes on the planes of his shoulders, his back, the way he walked. Or how his hands looked when he grabbed his gun, or worse, his knives. His jaw under his mask, or like right now, his lips showing you a teasing smile, or the muscle jumping in the jaw when you’d say something. Or when his dark eyes would catch yours.

You’re staring at him, you realize. And he’s staring right back, letting you drink your fill of him. You watch him bite back a smile when you come back from your Ghost dreamland. Sucking in a breath, you glance over your shoulder, to where the clock is hanging on the wall. It’s late. You’re sure everyone is asleep, just like you should be.

“Thinking of leaving to avoid me?”

Jumping, you turn back around, noticing he moved closer while your attention was elsewhere. Fuck. You shouldn’t have drunk that much. You’re not too drunk, but you’re definitely not sober. You watch with wide eyes as Ghost settles himself on the couch next to you. He gets comfortable, like it isn’t making your heart leap out of your chest, his arm coming up behind you, resting on the back of the couch. Blinking slowly, like you’re trying to sober yourself, you turn a bit toward him.

“It’s late.” You say, ignoring his question again, “And we’ve been drinking. I – I don’t think we should be talking about this.”

He tilts his head as he watches you, being quiet for a moment. The silence makes you realize how slick you feel. How heated your skin is. How you’re this close to tugging him on top of you and begging him to fuck you. You try not to shiver under his stare.

“No? You’re the one who started this conversation. What was that question you asked me earlier?” The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, the sight going to be burned into your brain for the rest of your life, you’re sure. “What was it?” His voice drops and he leans forward to you a bit, “‘What’s your favorite position?’”

You choke a bit, astonished that you’d even asked him that. You wave him away, brushing it off like you aren’t seconds from rushing to your room and taking care of this ache you have. He’s right, you’d started it. But it was because…well, you’re not sure. You think you wanted to make him feel as unsettled as he makes you. He’s so stoic and unfeeling, you wanted to catch him. You wanted to trip him up. Instead, he’s got you squirming. He’s got you flustered, almost panting.

“That was earlier,” you say, a bit breathless with proximity of his presence. “I’m tired now.”           

This, Ghost lets out a chuckle at. “Right. Well, I’m wide awake.” The hand on the back of the couch reaches up to brush lazily at your shoulder. His fingers pinch a lock of your hair and tug gently before he pushes your hair from your neck. You’re still. So still and hardly breathing. Like you’re worried any movement will make him stop.

“I think I could change your…aversion.” Ghost says so quietly, so darkly, that you barely hear him.

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to take your eyes off of his. Did you hear him right?

“My aversion?”

“Mm yeah. You know.” He shrugs like you’re not talking about…like he’s seriously not thinking about— “I’d make you come on my mouth. On my tongue. I bet you’d make a real mess too. I can make it good for you.”

Your lips part in surprise, eyes widening, shock spreading on your features. He almost laughs, biting his lower lip to stop himself from smiling at you. Your hands are fisting the pillow on your lap, a flush is traveling up your chest to your cheeks, pupils blown, legs pressing tightly together. You look good. He knows without a doubt he could make it good for you. Maybe even get you addicted to the feel of his mouth. He knows without a doubt he’d be addicted to the feel of you.

“R-right now?” You sputter, hands tightening on the pillow.

His fingers brush against your neck, making you shudder, eye lids drooping a bit with pleasure. Sensitive already.

“Unless you’re tired like you said.”

Shaking your head quickly, you start to say no, no you were lying of course, but Ghost is already standing up from the couch. He gently grabs the pillow from your death grip, settling it behind your back. His gaze is heated as he stares down at you. “Lift up your hips.”

You lift your hips, his hands scooping under you to pull your pants off. You squeak in surprise a bit, earning an amused noise from the man above you. He leaves your panties on, enjoying the way you immediately close your legs to hide the sight from him. He doesn’t mention it until he’s on his knees, tugging your body to the edge of couch. He grips your thighs, making him groan with the feel of you finally in his hands. His hands press up the back of your thighs, making them press into your chest. Your breath hitches, as you realize how exposed to him you are, underwear molding to your wet cunt.

“Hands here.” He grabs your hands and places them on the back of your knees, keeping your legs in the position he put them in. “Keep them there.” He looks up at you, confirming you heard him. You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from protesting. You hold your legs to your chest the way he wants. Your hips jolt up at the feel of his thumb running up your clothed slit.

“Easy. Ya sensitive, love?” Ghost drawls out as his thumb swipes down, notching against your soaked entrance. A whine catches in the back of your throat as you nod up at him.

He likes you like this. You’re always put together, not letting anything ever get to you. He’s not sure if the alcohol has gotten to you like it’s gotten to him, but he likes it. Your cheeks have a flush, you’re almost shivering under his stare, chest raising in a shaky breath, lips parting in a slight pant. Fuck. You look so good. He’s lucky. He’s so lucky that you’re letting him do this, and he almost wants to thank you. His jaw ticks as he sets it, his heart rate picking up. Not only has he got you like this; he’s got you wet. When did that happen? When the two of you were talking about how he liked to fuck? He’s lucky you couldn’t tell how badly he wanted to take his hard aching dick out and make you suck on it on front of him when you asked him that question. Lucky you couldn’t tell how eager he was to talk about the topic –the positions— he’s wanted you in. Fantasized about you being in. He wets his lips, watching your reactions as his thumb presses a bit harder, running up to press against your clothed clit.

“Y’gotta tell me if I’m too rough, or if you want me to stop.” Ghost’s words come out a bit rushed, like he’s trying to warn you. His chin dips to catch your distracted daze, his thumb stopping the teasing movement that’s got you in a different place. You blink, looking up at him and nod again. He shakes his head with a tsk, “Tell me.”

“’Kay.” You breathe out, hips tilting up, trying to get him to move his thumb again.

A groan slips from him. You’re grinding on him. You’re that desperate. He curses the dumbass that didn’t take care of you, but he’s also thanking him. Thanking him for this moment, for ruining something that he’s going to make so good for you. He dips his mouth to your thighs, running kisses down them. His thumb still teasing your soaked cunt, running up and down in a leisured pace. You’re already trembling, he doubts he has to keep you on edge for long, but he wants this to last. He doesn’t know how many hours are left until sunrise, until this little piece of heaven you’re giving him will be over with.

Your fingers clench around the hold you have on the back of your knees. The light scruff of Ghost’s face pairs well with his hot mouth. A whimper slips from you, your head tipping back a bit at the feel of it. He’s driving you insane, his thumb pressing against you, teasing your clit just enough to make you whine. His mouth trails a flaming path to your soaked pussy. Your head snaps down to watch. His eyes are already on yours as his mouth falls open, his tongue coming out to lick flatly up against your sex. He makes a punched-out noise as he tastes you, your hands leaving the hold of your legs, grabbing onto sides of his masked head. Your breath has hitched into high whine. His hands come up to keep your legs open the way he wants them, pinning you down to the couch. Suddenly, he’s sucking the fabric of your panties, sucking the wetness that’s saturated the fabric.

You taste good. Ghost’s jaw aches like he’s sucking on something sweet, drinking down the slick that your underwear has collected for him. He struggles to keep his eyes open, half-lidded, as he watches you. Yeah. You looked as fucked out as he feels, his cock straining painfully against the fabric of his jeans. He has half the mind to reach down and fuck his hand as he gives you pleasure. The thought makes him groan against your sex, and fuck, you liked that. He needs to taste you correctly. He reluctantly pulls back from you, fingers rushing to your hips to rid you of the barrier from his mouth. He lets the soaked piece of clothing fall to the floor as he comes back to sit on his heels, taking in the sight of you. You blush at his attention, legs about to try and close again. He shakes his head with a soft sound.

“Show me. Show me how wet you are for me.” His hand comes to the front of his pants, squeezing his cock that’s bulging. He groans at the contact, watching with a dark look on his face as you spread your pussy between your fingers. Fuck.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out a breathless laugh like he can’t believe it, “you’re soaked.”

He’s right. Now that there’s no fabric to catch your wetness, it’s leaking down your entrance to the couch beneath you. He sucks a breath in through his clenched teeth. This entire night is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. The taste of you is going to be something he won’t be able to get enough of.

He moves forward, dropping down to be level to your sopping aching cunt. He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t tease. He collects saliva to the front of his mouth and spits slowly onto your clit. The motion makes you moan lowly as you try to stay still for him. You feel like your body is on fire, the anticipation as you feel cool wetness of his spit gather with your own wetness, the way his hands tense against the flesh of your thighs as he keeps you right where he wants you – everything is consuming you in ways you didn’t think was possible. It’s never felt like this. Never felt this good. You’re trembling when Ghost closes the distance, his tongue licking a long stripe from your clenching core to your clit. You let out a pained noise, not that it hurt, but because it felt so good. You’re not sure you’re all the way here in this moment, his tongue taking you to a place you’ve never been before.

Ghost is in his own mind similar to the way you are. The pleasure is mind numbing, just having you under him. Having your soaked pussy spread open for him, his tongue licking, teasing, moving up and down, side to side, anything that’ll get you to squirm and choke on air. He’s attentive, he’s making sure anything he’s doing to you is giving him a noise that makes his cock twitch with need. The way he’s eating you is sloppy, he’s getting his face wet with you, licking and sucking, humming even. His tongue dips into your hole, fucking into you before coming back out to lap up at your clit. He’s not gentle. Doesn’t want to be. He wants to see your tits bounce with the way he’s devouring you. Even under your shirt. His tongue rasps over your swollen clit and you gasp, back bowing for him. He huffs a breathless laugh against your sex and delivers a hum through you, letting it vibrate against your aching flesh.

“Si—” You choke out.

The broken moan on his name makes him feel insane. He wants to hear it again. Needs to hear it again. He’s drooling for it, his lids barely open as he watches you cry out for him again. He feels your cunt clench and he groans, latching his mouth around your clit to suck. Sucks hard with his tongue coming out to flick the needy little bud. You’re bucking now, like you’re not sure if you’re trying to get away from the pressure, heart rate skyrocketing. You hear yourself chant and moan pleasepleasepleaseplease. But you’re not entirely in your body, you’re hovering above awareness, mind in a haze.

That’s how you cum. And you cum hard. You’re vaguely aware of Ghost moaning against your sex as you gush on his tongue as he laps it up. You’re not aware of the way you shriek, the way your nails dig into Ghost’s neck, scratching and holding him there as your hips falter.

Ghost’s been watching you this whole time. He’s not missing it for anything. He doesn’t care how badly he wants to pull his throbbing cock out and cum with you. He cares about how your moans sound, what you look like when you cum. How you taste. The way you blink down at him, eyes watery, mind not completely there. The sharp breaths you’re taking. Your fucking nails burning and dragging into his skin. Yeah. Mark him up. He eases his sucking on your clit, making sure he doesn’t overstimulate you and works on cleaning you up. He’s drinking down your sweetness, swearing that there’s no way you could pull him away from this pussy. From worshipping you. He wants to make you cum again. He needs it.

“Simon,” you breath out. The way you say his name makes him tremble with need. It’s soft, it’s trusting. It’s just for him. His eyes drift closed like he’s in heaven. “Si,” you start again, trying to get his attention. Your hands wander from their grip on his neck to his jaw. Finally, he looks back up at you, but keeps languorously licking your fluttering entrance. You have his attention but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop.

“Can you make me come again?” You ask, simpering little thing.

Ghost groans his approval of your question against you, fingers coming up to get them wet with you. He pulls a bit back, still hovering close over your pussy so you can feel the air of his words against your clit as his fingers dip into you.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He smiles darkly as you cry out when his thick fingers get knuckle deep. “Take your shirt off this time.”

[ghostskiss]

Late Night

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader WC: 3.2k Summary: A drunk late-night conversation takes a bit of a turn Warnings: 18+, Alcohol consumption, Oral (afab receiving), Fingering, Drunk/Buzzed Reader and Ghost, Service!Ghost, kind of a hint to a hand kink in this ?

Taking a swig from your flask, your eyes lock onto Ghost’s from across you. The two of you’d been lazily drinking together, late after a mission. It went well. It was supposed to be a celebration, not…whatever this was. Your cheeks are hot and heated from the alcohol and the question your lieutenant just asked. You’re trying to avoid answering him, but his heavy gaze says he’s not letting it go. You feel dizzy and turned on, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache. The alcohol isn’t helping. Neither is his hard gaze, or the fact that his mask is pulled up. The edge of Ghost’s lips tip to a slow smirk. Like he knows. He knows.

Clearing your throat, you sit up a little further in the couch, trying not to squirm, but fail anyways. You pass the flask to him, his fingers brushing softly against yours. You pull back like it burned to feel him, your gaze sniping down to the hand gripping the bottle. You avert your eyes, feeling like you’ve been caught. His hands are bare, veiny, and large. They’re strong. You’ve felt them before, innocently of course. He’s placed one of those very hands on a shoulder, praising you after a job well done. You think about his hands on you. On your throat, between your –

“You’re really not going to answer me?”

You shiver. His voice has a husk to it, a gravel that makes you want to jump him. What the hell was in that booze? It feels hot in here, making you dab the back of your hand onto your forehead. Fuck, you’re nervous. Of course you’d be nervous, the topic you two had somehow landed on isn’t one that professional. Totally not professional. Not even a topic most friends get into. Wetting your lips, you watch your hands play with a pillow you’d put over your lap. You’re fidgety. Flighty.

“I… I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” You deflect, ignoring the way your voice wobbles a bit at the end. You chance a look up Ghost, peeking at him through your lashes. His fingers are mindlessly trailing on the flask in his grip. Distracted at them, you stare, watching them. How’d they feel on your skin? Would he tease his own fingers on you like that?

“Mm. What’dya got to be embarrassed about? It’s not like it was your fault.” He shrugs, his voice jolting you out of your thoughts. You blush again, looking away from him.

“I don’t know.” You repeat yourself, brows furrowing, going back to the question he’d asked. Do you like being eaten out? You shudder, thinking back on the dark expression he gave you when you meekly shook your head. When you told him the last time you participated in it, the guy was so bad it turned you off of it forever. That you didn’t even want to bother with the act anymore, in case your partner was that bad again. Then he’d continued, barely blinking, keeping you captivated in his fiery gaze, What’s his name? When did this happen? Tell me more.

That’s when you stopped, that’s when you started thinking about him. Not the guy that’d ruined oral sex. No. Him. Well, that’s a bit of a lie. Sometimes your mind wandered. When he’d walk in front of you, letting you trail your eyes on the planes of his shoulders, his back, the way he walked. Or how his hands looked when he grabbed his gun, or worse, his knives. His jaw under his mask, or like right now, his lips showing you a teasing smile, or the muscle jumping in the jaw when you’d say something. Or when his dark eyes would catch yours.

You’re staring at him, you realize. And he’s staring right back, letting you drink your fill of him. You watch him bite back a smile when you come back from your Ghost dreamland. Sucking in a breath, you glance over your shoulder, to where the clock is hanging on the wall. It’s late. You’re sure everyone is asleep, just like you should be.

“Thinking of leaving to avoid me?”

Jumping, you turn back around, noticing he moved closer while your attention was elsewhere. Fuck. You shouldn’t have drunk that much. You’re not too drunk, but you’re definitely not sober. You watch with wide eyes as Ghost settles himself on the couch next to you. He gets comfortable, like it isn’t making your heart leap out of your chest, his arm coming up behind you, resting on the back of the couch. Blinking slowly, like you’re trying to sober yourself, you turn a bit toward him.

“It’s late.” You say, ignoring his question again, “And we’ve been drinking. I – I don’t think we should be talking about this.”

He tilts his head as he watches you, being quiet for a moment. The silence makes you realize how slick you feel. How heated your skin is. How you’re this close to tugging him on top of you and begging him to fuck you. You try not to shiver under his stare.

“No? You’re the one who started this conversation. What was that question you asked me earlier?” The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, the sight going to be burned into your brain for the rest of your life, you’re sure. “What was it?” His voice drops and he leans forward to you a bit, “‘What’s your favorite position?’”

You choke a bit, astonished that you’d even asked him that. You wave him away, brushing it off like you aren’t seconds from rushing to your room and taking care of this ache you have. He’s right, you’d started it. But it was because…well, you’re not sure. You think you wanted to make him feel as unsettled as he makes you. He’s so stoic and unfeeling, you wanted to catch him. You wanted to trip him up. Instead, he’s got you squirming. He’s got you flustered, almost panting.

“That was earlier,” you say, a bit breathless with proximity of his presence. “I’m tired now.”           

This, Ghost lets out a chuckle at. “Right. Well, I’m wide awake.” The hand on the back of the couch reaches up to brush lazily at your shoulder. His fingers pinch a lock of your hair and tug gently before he pushes your hair from your neck. You’re still. So still and hardly breathing. Like you’re worried any movement will make him stop.

“I think I could change your…aversion.” Ghost says so quietly, so darkly, that you barely hear him.

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to take your eyes off of his. Did you hear him right?

“My aversion?”

“Mm yeah. You know.” He shrugs like you’re not talking about…like he’s seriously not thinking about— “I’d make you come on my mouth. On my tongue. I bet you’d make a real mess too. I can make it good for you.”

Your lips part in surprise, eyes widening, shock spreading on your features. He almost laughs, biting his lower lip to stop himself from smiling at you. Your hands are fisting the pillow on your lap, a flush is traveling up your chest to your cheeks, pupils blown, legs pressing tightly together. You look good. He knows without a doubt he could make it good for you. Maybe even get you addicted to the feel of his mouth. He knows without a doubt he’d be addicted to the feel of you.

“R-right now?” You sputter, hands tightening on the pillow.

His fingers brush against your neck, making you shudder, eye lids drooping a bit with pleasure. Sensitive already.

“Unless you’re tired like you said.”

Shaking your head quickly, you start to say no, no you were lying of course, but Ghost is already standing up from the couch. He gently grabs the pillow from your death grip, settling it behind your back. His gaze is heated as he stares down at you. “Lift up your hips.”

You lift your hips, his hands scooping under you to pull your pants off. You squeak in surprise a bit, earning an amused noise from the man above you. He leaves your panties on, enjoying the way you immediately close your legs to hide the sight from him. He doesn’t mention it until he’s on his knees, tugging your body to the edge of couch. He grips your thighs, making him groan with the feel of you finally in his hands. His hands press up the back of your thighs, making them press into your chest. Your breath hitches, as you realize how exposed to him you are, underwear molding to your wet cunt.

“Hands here.” He grabs your hands and places them on the back of your knees, keeping your legs in the position he put them in. “Keep them there.” He looks up at you, confirming you heard him. You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from protesting. You hold your legs to your chest the way he wants. Your hips jolt up at the feel of his thumb running up your clothed slit.

“Easy. Ya sensitive, love?” Ghost drawls out as his thumb swipes down, notching against your soaked entrance. A whine catches in the back of your throat as you nod up at him.

He likes you like this. You’re always put together, not letting anything ever get to you. He’s not sure if the alcohol has gotten to you like it’s gotten to him, but he likes it. Your cheeks have a flush, you’re almost shivering under his stare, chest raising in a shaky breath, lips parting in a slight pant. Fuck. You look so good. He’s lucky. He’s so lucky that you’re letting him do this, and he almost wants to thank you. His jaw ticks as he sets it, his heart rate picking up. Not only has he got you like this; he’s got you wet. When did that happen? When the two of you were talking about how he liked to fuck? He’s lucky you couldn’t tell how badly he wanted to take his hard aching dick out and make you suck on it on front of him when you asked him that question. Lucky you couldn’t tell how eager he was to talk about the topic –the positions— he’s wanted you in. Fantasized about you being in. He wets his lips, watching your reactions as his thumb presses a bit harder, running up to press against your clothed clit.

“Y’gotta tell me if I’m too rough, or if you want me to stop.” Ghost’s words come out a bit rushed, like he’s trying to warn you. His chin dips to catch your distracted daze, his thumb stopping the teasing movement that’s got you in a different place. You blink, looking up at him and nod again. He shakes his head with a tsk, “Tell me.”

“’Kay.” You breathe out, hips tilting up, trying to get him to move his thumb again.

A groan slips from him. You’re grinding on him. You’re that desperate. He curses the dumbass that didn’t take care of you, but he’s also thanking him. Thanking him for this moment, for ruining something that he’s going to make so good for you. He dips his mouth to your thighs, running kisses down them. His thumb still teasing your soaked cunt, running up and down in a leisured pace. You’re already trembling, he doubts he has to keep you on edge for long, but he wants this to last. He doesn’t know how many hours are left until sunrise, until this little piece of heaven you’re giving him will be over with.

Your fingers clench around the hold you have on the back of your knees. The light scruff of Ghost’s face pairs well with his hot mouth. A whimper slips from you, your head tipping back a bit at the feel of it. He’s driving you insane, his thumb pressing against you, teasing your clit just enough to make you whine. His mouth trails a flaming path to your soaked pussy. Your head snaps down to watch. His eyes are already on yours as his mouth falls open, his tongue coming out to lick flatly up against your sex. He makes a punched-out noise as he tastes you, your hands leaving the hold of your legs, grabbing onto sides of his masked head. Your breath has hitched into high whine. His hands come up to keep your legs open the way he wants them, pinning you down to the couch. Suddenly, he’s sucking the fabric of your panties, sucking the wetness that’s saturated the fabric.

You taste good. Ghost’s jaw aches like he’s sucking on something sweet, drinking down the slick that your underwear has collected for him. He struggles to keep his eyes open, half-lidded, as he watches you. Yeah. You looked as fucked out as he feels, his cock straining painfully against the fabric of his jeans. He has half the mind to reach down and fuck his hand as he gives you pleasure. The thought makes him groan against your sex, and fuck, you liked that. He needs to taste you correctly. He reluctantly pulls back from you, fingers rushing to your hips to rid you of the barrier from his mouth. He lets the soaked piece of clothing fall to the floor as he comes back to sit on his heels, taking in the sight of you. You blush at his attention, legs about to try and close again. He shakes his head with a soft sound.

“Show me. Show me how wet you are for me.” His hand comes to the front of his pants, squeezing his cock that’s bulging. He groans at the contact, watching with a dark look on his face as you spread your pussy between your fingers. Fuck.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out a breathless laugh like he can’t believe it, “you’re soaked.”

He’s right. Now that there’s no fabric to catch your wetness, it’s leaking down your entrance to the couch beneath you. He sucks a breath in through his clenched teeth. This entire night is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. The taste of you is going to be something he won’t be able to get enough of.

He moves forward, dropping down to be level to your sopping aching cunt. He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t tease. He collects saliva to the front of his mouth and spits slowly onto your clit. The motion makes you moan lowly as you try to stay still for him. You feel like your body is on fire, the anticipation as you feel cool wetness of his spit gather with your own wetness, the way his hands tense against the flesh of your thighs as he keeps you right where he wants you – everything is consuming you in ways you didn’t think was possible. It’s never felt like this. Never felt this good. You’re trembling when Ghost closes the distance, his tongue licking a long stripe from your clenching core to your clit. You let out a pained noise, not that it hurt, but because it felt so good. You’re not sure you’re all the way here in this moment, his tongue taking you to a place you’ve never been before.

Ghost is in his own mind similar to the way you are. The pleasure is mind numbing, just having you under him. Having your soaked pussy spread open for him, his tongue licking, teasing, moving up and down, side to side, anything that’ll get you to squirm and choke on air. He’s attentive, he’s making sure anything he’s doing to you is giving him a noise that makes his cock twitch with need. The way he’s eating you is sloppy, he’s getting his face wet with you, licking and sucking, humming even. His tongue dips into your hole, fucking into you before coming back out to lap up at your clit. He’s not gentle. Doesn’t want to be. He wants to see your tits bounce with the way he’s devouring you. Even under your shirt. His tongue rasps over your swollen clit and you gasp, back bowing for him. He huffs a breathless laugh against your sex and delivers a hum through you, letting it vibrate against your aching flesh.

“Si—” You choke out.

The broken moan on his name makes him feel insane. He wants to hear it again. Needs to hear it again. He’s drooling for it, his lids barely open as he watches you cry out for him again. He feels your cunt clench and he groans, latching his mouth around your clit to suck. Sucks hard with his tongue coming out to flick the needy little bud. You’re bucking now, like you’re not sure if you’re trying to get away from the pressure, heart rate skyrocketing. You hear yourself chant and moan pleasepleasepleaseplease. But you’re not entirely in your body, you’re hovering above awareness, mind in a haze.

That’s how you cum. And you cum hard. You’re vaguely aware of Ghost moaning against your sex as you gush on his tongue as he laps it up. You’re not aware of the way you shriek, the way your nails dig into Ghost’s neck, scratching and holding him there as your hips falter.

Ghost’s been watching you this whole time. He’s not missing it for anything. He doesn’t care how badly he wants to pull his throbbing cock out and cum with you. He cares about how your moans sound, what you look like when you cum. How you taste. The way you blink down at him, eyes watery, mind not completely there. The sharp breaths you’re taking. Your fucking nails burning and dragging into his skin. Yeah. Mark him up. He eases his sucking on your clit, making sure he doesn’t overstimulate you and works on cleaning you up. He’s drinking down your sweetness, swearing that there’s no way you could pull him away from this pussy. From worshipping you. He wants to make you cum again. He needs it.

“Simon,” you breath out. The way you say his name makes him tremble with need. It’s soft, it’s trusting. It’s just for him. His eyes drift closed like he’s in heaven. “Si,” you start again, trying to get his attention. Your hands wander from their grip on his neck to his jaw. Finally, he looks back up at you, but keeps languorously licking your fluttering entrance. You have his attention but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop.

“Can you make me come again?” You ask, simpering little thing.

Ghost groans his approval of your question against you, fingers coming up to get them wet with you. He pulls a bit back, still hovering close over your pussy so you can feel the air of his words against your clit as his fingers dip into you.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He smiles darkly as you cry out when his thick fingers get knuckle deep. “Take your shirt off this time.”

[ghostskiss]

Are you writing anything new? Love your stuff

something may or may not be in works <3

[ghostskiss]

Hate

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader WC: so many omg (9.2k) Summary: On a pranking war, you end up taking something from Ghost to get back at him. He’s bound to get back at you. Warnings: 18+ Enemies to lovers, Voyeurism, Stalking (? Kinda.), Teasing, PIV, Oral (AFAB receiving), Dub-con elements (I think? Just tagging that in case. Reader wants him but isn’t letting him know it), Spit, Biting, A bit of blood, Hate Sex, Edging, Overstimulation, Creampie, Condescending!Simon, He’s kinda mean in this Sorry (heheh)

Irritation is settling into your bones. Maybe even your hair follicles. The pores in your skin. Your entire soul. The point is, you’re irritated. Pretty soon, you’re going to be pissed.

Stomping through the building to the mess hall, you fume. You’re thinking of all the ways you can get back at him. This has been going on for weeks. Months, actually. You’re ready to throw your towel in. Wave around a white flag. You don’t care how smug the bastard is going to be. You don’t care if he gives you that knowing smirk under his mask, unable to see it, but still somehow knowing he’s laughing at you anyways. Hands clenching at your sides, you swing the door open. Soap flinches, seated at the table, his eyes shooting to you. Surprise plasters on his face.

“Uh-oh. Incoming.” Soap starts, his gaze going from your storming form to his friend, Ghost. The pair are enjoying their dinner it seems.

“Riley.” You grind out, coming to a hot stop behind him. Weirdly, he had his back to the door.

He doesn’t even bother to turn.

“Yes, dear?”

Soap tries to hold a laugh back, coughing. “Shit, what’d you two get into now?”

It’s not unknown to the rest of the 141. The thing you and Ghost have, the going back and forth, the endless pranks on each other. It started as an accident, your accident. Sometimes at night when you’re lying in your bed, you stare at the ceiling, wondering what would have become of the two of you if you hadn’t done what you had. It was an accident; you even apologized to him! Multiple times. He still would not let it go. He got back at you. And then you got back at him for thinking he could get back at you. The cycle continued. Still does, to this day. All because you’d accidentally -accidentally- switched out his shampoo for yours. Something so stupid and trivial snow balled into…into this!

Your hand opens over the table, the item falling to the middle of it. You should’ve dropped it into his food. Soap looks down, shock spreading across his face before he sputters with laughter. It makes you angrier. It’d be fine if Soap was laughing at something you did to Ghost, but when it’s turned around, it makes you want to kill the both of them.

A small black plastic spider sits in the center of the table. It looks ridiculous now, under the lights of the mess hall, but it was scarier in your dark room, sitting right on top of your pillow.

Ghost lets out an unimpressed snort, “The hell is that?”

“What do you mean, ‘the hell is that?’ It didn’t crawl into my bed by itself, Ghost!” You shrill out, ready to punch him in the head, really. You never should have told anyone about your fear of spiders. It’d been another accident; this time alcohol had loosened your lips. You never thought it’d be used against you like this.

Soap slaps a hand to his mouth, trying to contain his glee. It looks like he kicks Ghost under the table. “You put that in the lass’s bed? You’re cruel, Lt.”

The man gives a noncommittal shrug and finally looks at you from over his shoulder. His mask is pulled up enough to eat. It’s normal for him to be comfortable enough to expose that much of his face in front of Soap, but the rest of the team? Forget it. He seems to notice his mistake, pulling his mask back into place. You don’t miss the curve of his smile before he does. It sends a shock down your spine, and you feel yourself falter a bit before fixing your scowl.

“You scared of a little toy? Explain to me how you’re on the team, again?” He stands, apparently done with his dinner. You have to move back to give him space, and of course, he doesn’t ask you to move. You do it anyways, pissed that he knows you’ll move to accommodate him.

You cross your arms over your chest as he pushes past you, tossing his food in the bin. He leaves the mess hall like you’re not throwing daggers at his back. Huffing, you turn back to Soap, who’s playing with the tiny plastic legs on the toy spider. Pointing the toy at you, he chuckles, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

Sighing, you sit down, anger almost disappearing now that the idiot who caused it is gone. You snatch a bread roll off Soap’s plate, sinking your teeth down into it.

“Gotta give it to him. Where the hell do you think he found this?” He flicks the toy to the table, not bothered that you’re eating his bread.

You shrug and swallow the piece before answering, “Who knows.” Your gaze is fixed to the toy, and then a thrill runs through you. A smile crawls to your lips as you fixate on it.

“Christ, lass, you look absolutely evil.”

Standing abruptly, you push yourself away from the table. Soap calls out to you, and you ignore him. You’re on a mission now. Your feet take you through the building to the sleeping quarters. You mentally check the time. Ghost was just eating dinner. Next, he’ll be in the showers. Without fail, you can count on the routine your lieutenant keeps. It’s not like you’re paying that much attention. Everyone knows, so that they can steer clear of him. The time he eats dinner, the time he heads to the showers, the time he cleans his guns in the weaponry room. He’s very vocal on the times he needs to be left alone. Soon, he’ll be bedded down for the night. You need to utilize the time that he’s in the showers.

You’re standing outside his quarters, staring down the closed door. A nervous chill hits you. It feels violating, this plan that you’re scheming. To even be going into his quarters. Anger comes to you now. He crossed that line with you, remember? He went into your room, somewhere in between the time you’d got back from your operation with Gaz and the time it took you to get ready for bed. You’re just playing the game he started, as always. Steeling your nerves, you push the door open. Of course, it wasn’t locked. The audacity someone had to have to sneak into Ghost’s room. He’s cocky enough to think no one would.

As the door creeps open, you slip in the dark room, shutting the door as carefully as you’d open it. The dark’s adjusting to your eyes as you lean up against the door. Taking a deep breath, you regret it instantly. It smells so much like him. You step forwards into the room, captivated. You can see a bit, but you don’t want to risk turning on the light. Pulling your phone out, you activate the flashlight on. It luminates the room as much as it can, and you suck in another breath. There’s nothing personal in here. It looks barely lived in. You at least have some things in your room, books, pictures. The only reason you know it’s his room is the singular knife on his desk. That’s what you’ve come for. Not wanting to test your luck, you shoot your hand out and grab it, leaving his room.

You’re pacing quickly down the hall, passing the corridor that leads to the showers. Your walk slows to a crawl as you listen intently, ears straining to pick up anything they can. The showers are still running, good. It gives you a bit of relief, and you continue on your mission. Hiding the knife in your room is not going to work, that’d be the first place he’d look. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you look down at the object in your hand. It’s a simple pocketknife, small and black. You have no idea why he’s so fond of it. In meetings, it’s the thing he toys with, flicking it back and forth in his gloved hands, opening and closing, running a gloved finger on the edge it. It irritates you because it’s distracting, always. Price never calls him out on it either, letting him fidget with it like he’s a kid that can’t sit still. Your thumb catches on the hidden blade, popping open with a satisfying click. There’s an old engravement on the blade and you squint, trying to read it. No use. It’s obvious the blade has been used and worn over with how ever long he’s had it, years you’re guessing.

Shutting it, you ignore the wiggle of uncertainty in the back of your mind. Of course, it means something to him. That’s why you’re taking it. It’s a line the two of you have yet to cross, but you’re still pissed about the toy spider. If he’d heard the shrill of fear you’d let out, you would be more eager to do this. It was humiliating, how scared you were, only to realize the thing hadn’t moved an inch as you clutched your hand to your heart, pressed up against the door like it’d jump and attack you. The courage it took to step near it, to touch it with a pen you’d grabbed from your desk.

The memory makes you grit your teeth. You hate him. It was one thing to prank each other, it was another to come into your room and deliver your worst fear, plastic toy or not. Your hand clenches around the knife handle and you close it with determination. Fuck him. You head to the locker rooms. You have a locker, just as everyone else. You hardly use it, however, as you have too much trust in your team to ever put anything in there. Thinking back to the combination of the lock, you put it in wrong several times before getting right. Opening the empty locker, you place the knife down and shut it, spinning the lock, and checking to see if it’s locked. A tension filled sigh leaves you. For now. The tension will be back tomorrow, when he finds out his knife has gone missing, you’re sure. You’ll need to practice your poker face.

Heading back to your room, you settle down for the night. Of course, you check for any strategically placed toy spiders. When you find none, you climb slowly into bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was in here. He placed the toy on your bed. You wonder what he thought of your small space, your things. If his hand trailed on your covers before he left.

***

“No. There isn’t enough time, you’ll go out to this building,” the eraser of the pencil in your hand presses against a point on the map, “and you’ll move to the roof. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Lass—” Soap starts, and you cut him off with a mere hard look.

The two of you have been here in the mess hall for too long, arguing with half eaten bagels and coffee that’s getting cold. Going back and forth isn’t something you really do with Soap, it’s Ghost. But he’s got something up his ass about this op. The extraction is supposed to happen at a different point, he’s supposed to take the package and head to the roof of a building in the opposite direction going in. He doesn’t agree with splitting up in enemy territory, neither do you, but it’s how it has to go down. Only the two of you are assigned to this job.

“Don’t start, seriously.”

“Why don’t we get more people on this?”

“You know why, Soap. Everyone has a job to do, this is ours. I’m not about to ask Price to stretch his crew thin when it already is.”

“I know exactly who to ask. I bet if I tell Lt, he’ll do it, no questions asked.”

You roll your eyes and huff, settling back into your chair. It’s been two days since you’d stolen his knife, and he’s still livid. No one knows exactly why, he wouldn’t say what’d happened, but you knew the moment he walked into the meeting two days ago. You knew he knew that you knew why he was uptight. Not that you told him. You denied knowing anything on why he’s in a piss poor mood, even when your mates pulled you aside to ask what you did. You could’ve boasted, told everyone you finally got a one-up on him. But you liked knowing that you got so deep under his skin that he wouldn’t even ask anyone where his knife went. Wouldn’t even confront you. That should scare you, you know, but you’re high on the achievement.

Soap scrunches his nose, “Well, maybe not. You’re on his shitlist, y’know.”

“Whatever. I’m on his, he’s on mine. That doesn’t matter because he’s busy. Everyone is busy, just do your job.” You take a sip of your cold coffee, pulling a face from the temperature.

“No, I mean, you’re really on his shitlist now. He told me his knife is missing. And I saw that devious smile on your face before it disappeared. Do you even know about that thing? He’s had it since he was kid.”

You shrug, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You push away from the table, grabbing your paperwork and mug full of forgotten coffee. Making your way to the kitchen, you dump the remains of your mug into the sink, rinsing it out and washing it thoroughly. The door behind you kicks up, and you sigh.

“Seriously, if you’re going to start up again, let me remind you—” you start, turning towards who you presume is Soap.

The words die in your throat, your mouth a little open in shock. Luckily, your paperwork is on the counter, you would have dropped it otherwise. Ghost stands before you, head tilting in mock question.

“Remind me what?” His gruff voice comes out.

The air is tense, heavy with danger. You’ve been on Ghost’s bad side before. Or so you thought. Nothing can compare to what you’re feeling now, locked the kitchen with the presence of a man who is pissed. You successfully avoided him for two days, until now. Your throat dries and you swallow, the movement caught by him, his eyes dipping to your throat. He takes a daunting step forward, causing you to take one back, pressing into the sink behind you. Shit. Is this how his true enemies feel? A bead of sweat drips down your spine, your heart beating quickly under your breastbone. Dark eyes of his are latched onto yours as he moves closer, caging you in. He isn’t touching you, but you can feel the heat coming off his body in waves. Angry heat. You start to feel panicky. This isn’t the first time he’s cornered you, or tried to use his presence to make you feel uneasy. You used to pride yourself on how well you could handle the pressure from him, that you were never scared of him. This is…different. This has weight, it has fear.

“Where is it?”

His voice hits you like whiplash, your gaze shooting up to his. He simply whispered the question, anger nowhere to be heard in his tone. It makes you feel queasy. Your eyes are searching him, trying to figure out what has got him so calm, if it’s a trick. His posture says anything but. Ghost has never been able to hide anger from his tone, so how is he doing it now? He’s just watching you as you scramble for an answer, patient when he should be anything but.

“Where is what?” You counter, tone steady. You’re clinging onto the training you have to mask your nerves. Maybe he’s doing the same.

Ghost leans forward, face coming close to yours. Christ. You felt panic before, now it’s true fear. His hand comes up and you tense, ready for him to grab you, lash out at you, something. He’s moving slow, like he enjoys seeing the fear rush through you, as you press painfully into the edge of the sink behind you. He likes seeing you squirm as you try to guess what he’s doing, why he’s doing it. His hand reaches up behind you, his body pressed close to yours, eyes never leaving your face. The hand shuts the sink off behind you, the water that’d been running stops with a trickle. He steps back, like the proximity never happened.

“Well, I guess you don’t know. G’luck on your op tonight.” Ghost says, almost cheerfully, turning away and leaving the kitchen.

You blink.

Even without his presence, your heart rate doesn’t understand the danger is gone. A breath shakily leaves you as you slump against the counter. God, he was so close. He’s never been that close to you before. He’s tried to intimidate you before, sure. Chewing on your bottom lip, you think about the knife in the locker. Should you put it back? Could you sneak it back into his room without getting caught? It feels too serious, it feels like you really crossed a line here. Fuck. Then he’d know it was you, probably already does, who else would steal his things? He more than likely has already hatched a plan to get you back. There’s no point in giving it back now.

Good luck on your op tonight.

“Shit.” You mutter, his voice ringing through your mind. He’s never said that before. Praises and encouragement aren’t just given to you by him. It hardens your resolve. Grabbing your paperwork you leave the kitchen, straight to Price’s office.

Lifting a hand, you knock on the closed door in front of you. Your captain’s voice calls an affirmative to come in. You walk into the dimly lit office. Price is sitting at his desk, lazily reading some paperwork.     

“Go on.” He says. Christ, what are you doing here? This is cowardice. This is the lowest Ghost has ever made you go.

“I need more time on the op Soap and I are on. We need more people. It’s insanity to have just the two of us. Soap agrees.” This isn’t a lie. None of it’s a lie, why does it feel like you’re lying to your Captain?

Price’s gaze leaves the paperwork, and he apprehends you silently. He looks surprised, leaning back into his desk chair. “You’ve never asked this before. Must be serious.”

You nod silently. What he doesn’t know is the suspicion you have about Ghost sabotaging the operation. To get back at you. It’s something you hope he hasn’t done, but why would he say that to you? Good luck.

Price lets out a sigh, “This is going to push us back. But fine. If you and Soap think it’s right. I pride myself on listening to my team. Safety first. Keep the paperwork, I’ll work it out. Tomorrow then.”

His tone is dismissive, so you salute before you turn and leave. Fuck, fuck. What is wrong with you? You’re marching down the halls to your room, ready to just mindlessly lay in bed. You have to give Ghost back his knife. This is dangerous, it has the taste of blood in your mouth. He wouldn’t really sabotage your op, right? Right? Whatever the case, you stopped the operation for a night, at least.

Flinging the paperwork haphazardly onto your desk, you sigh out, taking off your attire. If you aren’t doing the op tonight, you’re going to hole yourself in your room and think about what to do. Maybe you’ll give Ghost his knife back tonight, and finally, once and for all call a truce. It’s gone on long enough, hasn’t it? You hate to be the one to give in first, but this is serious. It was only a matter of time until it got out of hand, until one of you decided to mess with the other deeply. You always kind of thought Ghost would be the one to cross the line first, but it seems like you have. Exhaustion falls around you, seeping into your bones. You shrug your pants off and get into something comfier, a large t-shirt you like to sleep in. A nap is calling your name. You’ll deal with consequences of whatever later.

***

It’s dark when you startle awake in your bed. You’re groggy, the blankets around you are twisted at the end of your feet, like you kicked them off during your sleep. Your shirt is pulled up, exposing your bare abdomen and underwear. A groan rushes out of you when you pop yourself up to your elbows, blinking slowly. The nap had hit you hard, you feel out of sorts. Your senses are coming back to your body at a snail pace. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, flinging your legs over the edge of the bed and you fix your shirt back down. Damn, that was…that was a good nap.

Something barely moves in the corner of your eye. You freeze. It came from the small chair in the hidden corner of your room, the one you move to your desk when you need it. When you don’t, it’s where you pile your laundry before you can get around to fold it. Was that good nap making you hallucinate? Are you still dreaming? You swear it’s just your pile of clothes.

Doesn’t matter. You’re scared. You keep frozen in time like you hadn’t seen the movement, left hand inching under your pillow to find your pocketknife. It was hidden there for times like these, times when you felt nervous in your own room. Your hand brushes against nothing, the movement in the corner of your eye starting again. Heartrate spiking, you drop pretenses and brush your hand under your pillow wildly. The pile of clothes at the chair is starting to look like a body. A man.

“Looking for something?”

Shock hits you so hard you flinch, like it was a physical hit. Fuck.

“Eye for an eye, right? Isn’t that how this whole thing started?” Ghost’s low voice crawls over your body. Goosebumps run across your skin.

“Ghost, what the fuck. You scared me.” You breathe out, a bit relieved it was just him. The turning feelings from fear to relief to anger rushes over your mind. Jumping up from the bed, you face him, able to barely see him in the dark of your room.

“What the fuck!” You whisper-shout at him, “What are you doing in here?”

Not the right thing to say, you guess. He stands to his full height, yet again moving you with the mere presence of himself. He’s daunting, towering over you in the dark. You can just see the outline of him, his stature. He looks bigger in the dark like this, in the shadows. Anger is steeling your nerves.

“You were watching me sleep?” You’re still whispering, incredulous. “Wait until the team finds out what a fucking pervert you are!”

A dry chuckle comes from him, humorless. “You’ve no fucking idea.”

You don’t have the time to process what he just said, as he suddenly shoots a hand forward, gripping your jaw. Your hands cling to his forearm, clawing at him. His hands are bare and so are his arms. Shit. This shouldn’t be making you feel hot. Were you still dreaming? He’s pressing into you, making you stumble backwards until the back of your legs hit your bed. He shoves you not too kindly at all. You can see him a bit better now that he’s closer, your eyes now adjusted to the dim light. A scowl moves on your face as you lay back on your hands to glare up at him.

“What. Are you. Doing.” You hiss out at him, pissed. He thinks he can come into your room and just bully you like this? Man handle you as he pleases?

Ghost tosses your pocketknife onto your bed. You get the memo.

“Fucker. I’m going to give it back to you, okay? You didn’t have to go this far. Sabotage my op or creep into my room and piss me off to high hell. Christ, even I wouldn’t do this.”

“Oh, but you did. You creeped into my room.” Is his response. Oh, so he did sabotage your op. He didn’t deny or confirm it. No answer is an answer. Hot anger flares inside you.

You scramble up your bed, going to your knees to get somewhat more of a height than laying down. “Motherfucker, you did that first! You placed that spider on my bed! A spider, Riley!” You jab a finger into his chest, feeling the hot and hard muscle there.

“Yeah? And who started this whole thing, huh?” He asks in his timbre of a voice, the sound doing something devious to you right now. He snatches your hand that was jabbing him, gripping it with his own. You gasp lowly at the feel of his skin on yours. What the hell? You’re supposed to be mad at him. Focus.

“I told you it was an accident! How many times do I have to say, huh? When are you ever going to get it through your thick fucking skull that I didn’t mean to switch my shampoo for yours? It’s not like it made you bald!” You don’t know that - you’re sure it didn’t, but you have no idea what his hair even looks like under his mask.

“You have no idea what it made me.” Ghost growls out lowly, jerking you a bit closer to him with the hand he’s captured. Your free hand hits his shoulder in attempt to get him to let go.

“Tell me then. Tell me what was so bad about using my shampoo one time that you just had to go out of your way to make my life miserable. Tell me.”

The two of you are practically panting. You’re vibrating with anger and…need. The tension between you is crackling, the energy in the room is suffocating. You’re too close to him, dangerously thinking about things you shouldn’t be. Especially about him. Your hand is still caught in his, your other clutching his shirt over his shoulder. When did you do that? You watch him tilt closer, dark eyes on yours.

“It made me hard.”

The reaction you give him isn’t something you expect. It sobers you. It pulls you out of whatever trance he has you in. This isn’t…fuck, this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel towards him. His words shouldn’t affect you like this. It shouldn’t make your core clench, it shouldn’t make you feel slick between your thighs, it shouldn’t make you so aware of how easy it would be right now to lift up his mask and kiss him. It makes you struggle in his hold, trying to get away from him. This can’t happen. You’re supposed to hate him.

Ghost grabs your other hand, keeping you still, gripping both of them in his own, against his chest. You’re squirming and he tugs you forward again to whisper in your ear, mask brushing against your sensitive and on fire skin.

“When I opened the shampoo bottle and, fuck. And smelled you? It made me so fucking hard I had to jerk myself off. It made me so mad that you did that to me. Made my cock ache and pulse. I wanted to find you and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”

A whimper escapes you as you think about it, Ghost in the shower, naked and soaked with running water down his broad back. Cock in one hand, shampoo in the other. It’s perverted, it’s wrong, but God, it makes you hot. Your thighs clench together to relieve your ache. You try moving again but he isn’t letting you escape him. Not now.

“Wanna know something? I’m not even mad you stole my knife. I’m mad you went into my room. I could fucking smell that shampoo of yours even after you left. I can smell it now.” For emphasis he inhales deeply, a groan coming from deep in his chest that vibrates your hands that are pressed there.

“You’re crazy.” You hiss out lowly to him, tugging against his grip.

“Mm. Maybe. Wanna know something else?” He asks, his tone a bit teasing and he tips his head back a little to watch your reactions. It’s cute, watching you act like this isn’t getting you off.

“W-what?” You squeak, watching him as closely as he’s watching you.

“I’m hard right now. Have been since I snuck in here. Watching you squirm in your sleep, like you knew I was watching, begging me to touch you. You kicked off your covers right after I got in here. Like you were already getting hot for me.”

You shake your head, trying to get his words out of your brain. “No, I wasn’t. It was – it is hot in here.” Deny deny deny. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this. Maybe this is his payback, getting you hot and bothered only to leave you high and dry.

“Really?” His gaze dips down to the front of your shirt. “If it’s so hot, why are your nipples hard like you’re cold? You cold, baby? Or is it something else?”

He’s mocking you.

You grit your teeth in annoyance. “Fuck you. This is messed up, even for you. Is this you getting back at me? You win, okay. I’m done. Good job. Now get out.”

Ghost tilts his head, like he’s studying you in question. You hold his gaze in defiance, not letting him win the staring game at least. He breaks the hold he has on your hands but doesn’t move away from you. He tilts his chin downward as he looks at you through his lashes.

“I’m not joking. This isn’t me trying to get back at you. I’m telling you. I’m telling you that I’ve been obsessed with you ever since Price brought you in. That it makes me so angry and hot that a stupid little girl like you can debase me into this.”

A slap rings into the small space. The noise comes before you even register that you hit him, his masked face turned with the movement. A pained and pleasured noise comes from him before he looks back at you, something in his eyes ablaze.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too, baby.”

When he says that, nothing holds you back anymore, your hand shooting out to grip the hard length in his pants. He chokes like he wasn’t expecting that, his head dropping to watch you palm him through his jeans. You’re not gentle, and you think he likes that. Likes that you’re touching him with angry abandon.

“Fuck, you really are hard.” You breathe out in wonder, squeezing him and rubbing him roughly. His hips buck into your hand. Your clit throbs painfully and you catch a noise in your throat.

“Gonna let me touch you now?” He asks letting out another pained noise. You nod in response, not bothering to voice it out. His hands waste no time in grabbing the front of your shirt. He isn’t taking it off, just lifting it up to see what’s underneath. He lets out a low curse, balling up the material at your neck with one hand. His fingers swipe across a nipple gently before he’s palming the weight of your breast in his hand, fingers spreading to catch all of you before squeezing hard. It makes you gasp and in response you meanly squeeze his cock back. A chuckle leaves him and he eases the hold he has on you.

He rolls a nipple through his fingers, plucking and pulling. His movements pull a low moan out of you, and he seems pleased, continuing the action. Impatiently, he tugs your shirt up and over you, leaving you just in your panties. Your hands don’t leave from him, feeling it throb under your fingers when he sits back to stare at you. Once he’s got his fill of looking, his rough and calloused hands trail up your sides, petting you heavily in anyway he can. Your head tilts a bit as he feels you up.

“You like me manhandling you, huh? Dirty girl.”

You glare up at him, letting go of his length in response. He doesn’t care, tipping you to lay on your back. The bed beneath you dips to catch your weight. Ghost’s hands trail over your thighs, up and down, catching on the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down and you help him, glad he doesn’t comment on how your hips push up to help him slip them down. He’s taking you in again, looking up as long as he pleases, his hands trailing anywhere there’s skin. It’s overstimulating having his heavy hands paw at you. He’s hooking his hands under your knees, pushing your legs up and open, spreading you. A sharp breath intakes. Your slick is pooling, leaking, making you and the sheets messy.

“Ask me to eat you out.” He growls lowly, staring at your exposed cunt.

Your brow furrows, irritation coming to you in the fog of your arousal. “No.”

“No?” He counters, like he’s not surprised. He’s dropping to his knees, his hands still keeping your thighs spread. The angle from the bed and him on his knees is the perfect height, lining him up right to your spread cunt. He tugs his mask up, exposing the lower half of his face. You feel your pussy clench around nothing at the sight. Shit. He hovers over your pussy, attention unwavering. He spits on your aching clit. Shit. You might just ask.

“Look at you. You liked that. Don’t think I didn’t see that.” He spits on your sex again and you moan at the feeling of it. It shouldn’t be this hot to have him spit on you. His mouth opens, tongue dipping out, drool leaking from him onto your pussy.

“C’mon. C’mon. Ask. Look, I’m drooling for it baby. Don’t you want me to eat you out?” He laughs down at you, his breath and drool dripping onto your aching already sopping cunt. Your hips tilt up to try and catch his mouth. He keeps the distance between your clit and his mouth, tongue still spilling all over you.

Letting out a frustrated noise, you meekly ask, “Can you?”

“Can I what? Huh?” The tip of his tongue barely brushes against your clit and your hips flinch with the brief contact, grinding against nothing.

“Can you eat me out.” You grind out, hands ready to grab his head and shove him into your needy cunt.

He tsks, “What’s the magic word? Ask nicely.” He brushes against your clit again as he speaks. You let out a noise close to agony.

“Please, Riley. Please eat me out. Can you, please?” It’s desperate, the way you ask, your hands clenching the bed sheets beneath you. You don’t care how it sounds, how fucked out you sound, whiny and needy.

“Good girl.” He breathes out, tongue sliding into your slick from the bottom to the top. His tongue dips into your fluttering entrance up to your throbbing clit. He’s taking his time tasting you, making you grind against his face. “That’s it,” he groans against your cunt, the words vibrating through you, “grind that pussy on my face.”

You cry out, hands now clinging to his head, nails digging into his mask. You hope you’re hurting him somehow through the fabric. You’re pissed he’s making you feel this good, how good it feels to grind your sopping cunt on his tongue, lips, and chin. His hands are holding you down, letting you grind but not letting you squirm away from his mouth. Fuck, he’s going to make you cum, the way he’s devouring your pussy. Your hips tilt up and down, stuttering in the movements, your panting getting choppier, legs shaking. You feel him groan against you, knowing how close you are, continuing with his sucking, licking, tasting. He’s slurping up your pussy, latching onto your clit painfully as you cry out, back arching up as your cunt contracts painfully around nothing. Ghost doesn’t stop, licking up your arousal, your cum, everything that he can take. Letting out a satisfied noise he releases you from his mouth before you become too overstimulated. His face is wet as he stares up at your heaving form. He quickly reaches out and slaps your sensitive pussy. You squeal, legs closing tightly as you scramble away from him.

“What the fuck?!”

The question is ignored as he smiles darkly at you, standing to his full height. “Knew you’d be messy.” He groans, a bit to himself as he strokes himself through his pants. Your eyes track the movements, thighs squeezing together again.

“Fuck you,” you spit the words out at him, shooting daggers.

“You want to? Okay baby, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to keep playing your little games. I would’ve let you whenever you wanted.” He laughs at the look you give him, unzipping the front of his pants. Your response dies as you watch the motion. He pulls his cock out, stroking it lightly as you watch. He’s letting you take him in. Letting you think about the size and girth of him. Your gaze shoots back up to him, ready to tell him no. Hell no. That thing is not getting anywhere near you. It’ll break you in half. A smirk splays on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He doesn’t wait for you to voice your concerns, he’s dipping to the bed, placing his body over yours, caging you in with his weight.

“Let me kiss you.” He mutters down, his eyes catching yours before dipping to your parted and panting mouth.

You answer him with taking his bottom lip in between your teeth. You bite him meanly, wanting to get a reaction out of him. He laughs breathlessly, jutting his cock against your wet pussy. It makes you moan, releasing the biting hold you had on him. It lets him press his mouth against yours, sucking your lips against him. You can taste yourself on his mouth and you whine, hands running up his broad and muscled back to his face. You tilt his head, deepening the kiss. When his tongue hits yours, your hips buck up against his cock, grinding his length against you. He answers with a moan into your mouth, sucking on your tongue. You feel dizzy at the taste and feel of him.

He pulls back from your lips slightly, rolling his hips, letting you grind against his length, soaking it with yourself. “Taste so fucking good.” His head dips to your throat, his tongue blazing a hot trail up to your jaw. His mouth is nipping, tasting, pulling sounds out of you that are pathetic as you press your clit against his throbbing length. The weight of him is on you, the heat of him, it’s making you lose your mind. If you haven’t already.

“Every time you get on my fucking nerves, I think of this. Making you squirm and cry for me.”

“Shut up.” You moan out, hips tilting up at his words. You’re trying to catch the tip of him now, ready for him to fill you up. He’s not letting you, knowing exactly what you’re trying to do. Trying to get the tip of him in you so he’ll fuck you. He’s going to make you work harder for it.

“Why? You get wetter every time I say something.” He laughs dryly, “See? You just fucking keep creaming on my cock. Dirty messy girl. You want me to fuck you. Is that it? Want my cock to stretch you out?”

Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, and he groans, cock jumping between the two of you, making you both moan at the feel of it.

“Yeah. Mark me up. Make me bleed.” His voice is low and growly. He leaves your embrace to shuck his shirt off, coming back down to press you against the mattress. He catches your throat in his teeth, biting and sucking. Crying out, your nails drag down his bare back. Bastard. He hurt you on purpose, so you’d do exactly what he wanted you to. He eases the bite with his tongue, swirling and tasting.

“I h-hate you,” you hiccup, rolling your pussy against him, “just fuck me already.”

Ghost makes a noncommittal ‘hmm’ in the back of his throat as he trails kisses on your collarbones. He’s never nice and gentle for too long, delivering a mean bite without soothing the pain afterwards. You make a keening noise and thump a hand on his shoulder in frustration. He finds that pretty funny, huffing a breathless laugh against your skin as he continues is his assault, obviously in no hurry. He licks a slow and warm line across your breasts. Angry at his carelessness, at his lazy touching and licking, you lean up and catch his collarbone in your mouth. Your teeth sink down harshly.

“Fuck.” He growls out, cock thrusting against you as the taste of blood coats your lips. Of course, he’d get off on the pain. Of course, he’d think it’s the hottest thing in the world, pissing you off –

You release him with a cry, his heavy cock pressing into you now. Your heels catch underneath you, ready to scramble out from underneath him. You see the mark you made on him, the press of your teeth on his skin, the crescents already bruised. He catches you, gripping your hips as he lets out a slew of curse words as he keeps moving forward into you, mingling with your pained noises. It’s thick. So painfully thick, your wetness doing nothing to prepare you for how big his damn dick is. You pant and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to adjust to his size. Your hands scramble up to his biceps, your body trying to take him, push him away or keep him still, you’re not sure. Ghost knocks your feet out from beneath you, grabbing the back of your knees to press them up close to your chest. He’s crushing you and you let out a short angry noise as he presses closer, catching your lips with his. He sucks a kiss, dodging your still biting teeth. He keeps pressing you until he’s got you in a mating press, cock bottoming your vision fades for a moment, you let out a long and anguished noise.

He isn’t moving, he’s so still besides his panting above you, cock twitching in you. His hands flex around the hold he has on your legs, his weight pinning you down completely. He’s deep, deeper than anyone has been, filling you up more than you ever thought possible. You nod at him frantically as you moan, thinking that’ll get him to start moving, but he merely laughs down at you.

“Bratty little thing. You just needed a cock filling you up, huh? Poor girl. Oh.” He chuckles sardonically, “I can feel how much you like me talking to you. Keep clenching around me like that baby and I’m going to start thinking you’re a dirty little slut.”

“Fuck. Oh, fuck you.” You hiss out through your bared teeth, nails pressing into his forearms. Even with him still pissing you off, your pussy is clinging to him, keeping him deep and twitching around him as you feel him throb. Ghost doesn’t move his hips. One of his big hands press down the back of your thigh, leaving a fired path in its wake, stopping when his thumb comes around and press hard against your clit. He keeps the pad of his thumb dormant but presses like he’s hitting a button. Your hips twitch, not able to move or grind against him in the way he has you pinned. The pressure he’s keep makes you whine, a little in pain and beyond frustrated. All he’s done is teased you. Taking a deep breath, you gather yourself before casting your gaze on him.

“Y’know what I think? I think you don’t know how to fuck me right. I think you’re a coward, Ghost, waiting until I was asleep to come in here and have your way with me. I think you got a big thick dick and don’t know how to use it.” You sneer at him, keeping yourself dreadfully still under his cock. You don’t want to move in fear of his reaction.

He freezes, staring down at you. You can’t read him at all. He doesn’t need the mask to hide his emotions or feelings. He’s a master at this, you can tell. That spike of fear from earlier comes back. The one where he scared you in the kitchen with his presence alone. He leans slowly into you, hovering his face right above yours. His eyes are burning. He’s still, he’s so still, until his thumb starts to rub tight pressing circles around your clit. You catch a cry in your mouth, just barely, the noise turning into a higher pitched whine.

“Nice try, sweetheart. Just for that, you’ll come around my big thick dick,” he mocks your tone and words, “without me even moving. You can beg, but it’s not going to happen.”

The words he delivers darkly to you and the circles he’s pressing has you tossing your head back, hips rocking, trying to get away from the feeling. The leg that isn’t caught up in his hand kicks out, trying to catch anything solid. He’s laughing again, the noise is going to haunt you in your sleep for the rest of your life. You’re right there, you’re right there, pussy clutching around his cock painfully. A noise comes from your throat, your head tilting back up as your entire body seizes upwards, right there, you’re right there.

Ghost rips his hand away from you.

“I don’t think you deserve to come on my cock.”

You let out a pained cry, body slumping back into the bed, heart rate erratic. You were so close, cunt about to milk the shit out of the length inside you. You brave a look up at the man and immediately regret it. He’s scary like this, with you at his mercy. You watch his thumb go back to your clit. Your breath catches and he continues like he never stopped. Your body picks up right back the edge, and you mewl out, ready for him to make you let go. Let go. Let go. Right there.

He stops.

Crying out in frustration again, you slap a hand onto his chest in anger. This time he doesn’t find it funny. He lets go of your leg, gripping both hands in a single one of his. The notion of that strikes something in you. His hands are big enough to hold the two of yours. Why did you ever think you could get a one up on this man? Your hips are still tilted up, his cock keeping your lower half pinned to your mattress. You can squirm a bit better, and squirm you do. You freeze, though, when his free hand is moving back to clit, his thumb yet again torturing you. He keeps at it. Bringing you right to the edge only to back away. Right there. He stops. Right there. He stops.

Time ends up blurring together. You can barely keep your eyes open. You have no idea if it’s been five minutes or fifty. Your pussy is leaking, it’s aching painfully, your clit is so sensitive, Ghosts merely has to brush his thumb against it to bring you to the edge. He has to stop touching you for longer periods of time in between so you don’t cum immediately. He’s since let your hands ago, liking the way you clutch at him, the way you try to touch yourself so that he can knock your hands away, the way you shakily brush your fingers over his chest. He’s lost the rest of his clothes besides his soft balaclava, you’re not sure when. You no longer have the energy or brain to be mean. You tried pinching him, slapping him, biting him, anything to get him to let you cum. He has to be in pain with you, feeling how your pussy weeps and clenches around him. Your pleasure isn’t the only thing he’s denying. He’s denying his, just to see you unravel into something else under him.

Unravel you do.

By the millionth -it’s got to be the millionth- time he brushes your clit and denies you, you feel hot tears spill down your cheeks. Anger had long left you, but it’s here again. You’ll do it. You’ll beg.

“Stop! Simon, please! Please fuck, I swear to God, please. Fuck me and fuck me right, please –”

That’s as far as you get before he’s surging his hips into yours, patience worn thin. It’s all he needed to hear. Needed to hear how desperate and whiny you’d get for him, beg him to give it to you the way you need. He doesn’t care if it was delivered with anger, doesn’t care that he had to torture you to get it out. You begged him. Begged him to fuck you. You’re giving him high pitched and breathy uh uh uh’s with his erratic thrusts, music to his fucking ears.

You choke on a broken mewl, pussy flaring hot as you cum hard. You cum like you’ve never before. You feel like you leave your body as you seize up, cunt milking around Simon’s cock. He lets out a curse as he feels you, fucking you through it. Your back arches, and you’re still cumming, you’re still clutching him against you, your body worried that at any moment he’s going to stop. The orgasm rips through you like it’s destroying and rewriting every molecule in your body. A rasp leaves you by the end of it, overstimulated as Ghost keeps going. No. Oh no, he's not going to stop.

Your hands scramble to his hips, like that’ll stop him from fucking and bucking into you with oblivion. “Si—” You manage to choke out, tears spilling from your eyes again.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you? Thought you begged for it?” He laughs, a bit winded, hands digging into your skin. God, he’s so mean, he knows it. Loves looking at how destroyed he makes you feel. He presses down into you, chest against yours as he fucks you. He bites your ear before whispering into it. “I want to ruin you. I want you to feel how ruined you’ve made me after all this time, how every time you snapped back at me, how – fuck- how every time you did shit to piss me off, every time you tried to make a joke out of me. How it’s made me feel. Feel what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

He turns your head to pull you into a kiss, a sloppy and wet kiss that leaves you breathless. With his words and spit of hate, the kiss feels gentle. It feels devastating in way you know nothing will ever compare to this kiss. Nothing will ever compare to the way he’s ruining you from the inside out, his arms wrapping around you to keep him close, the groans and moans he’s giving you as your nails dig into his skin, as your teeth mark him. You’re feeling what you’ve done to him. A broken sound leaves you as you feel yourself close again, his cock hitting just the right spot in you. It’s heavy a dragging through you, making you sob against his mouth. You’re going to feel him for days. Maybe even next week.

All you can think of is him. His cock sinking in deep, barely coming out to press harder into you. The way he tastes as you kiss him, feeling his hands grip anywhere he can touch you while he fucks you open. He’s curling into you, fucking so so deep that you swear you can see stars. He’s consuming you, ruining you just like he said. It’s brutal, but it’s sweet, his kiss subduing you into something placid, somewhere intimate. It’s messy and wet, it’s him. It’s always been him. The thought picks you up and carries you to the throes of your orgasm, hot plasma coursing your veins as your hip pick up and stutter down onto him.

“I’m gonna, ohhhh, I’m gonna—” you hiccup out, arms around his neck to keep him close. You’re licking his lips as you moan, legs coming around his waist to lock around there too.

“Fuck. Fuck. Give it to me. Give it to me, pretty girl.” He’s growling so lowly you hardly hear him as your eyes cross.

You shake your head, frantically trying to hold sane before you leave your body in another debilitating orgasm, “Come in me, Simon, please. Please. I need to feel it. Let me feel what I’ve done to you. I need it I need it.” You’re babbling, a bit nonsensical, clutching onto him so he doesn’t leave you. He’s not going to leave you. He’d never leave you.

Simon drops his head with a moan akin to a whimper before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The pain sends you the edge, his cock surging into you with urgency. It’s so hot, filling you up, as he continues to fuck his cum deep into you. It drags it out for both of you, your bodies not willing to just give up the feeling. He’s pressed so deep into you; you feel like you’re never getting him out. His hips coming to a stuttering stop, his cock still throbbing as the last waves of it roll through you.

You’re both covered in sweat, cum, spit, and who knows else what, but it feels good. It feels good having him collapse on top of you, having his weight on you like a comforting blanket. Your hands trail lazily across his shoulder blades, feeling the irritated and raised ridges of the marks your nails sliced through him. He practically purrs, nuzzling his face into your neck, inhaling you in.

“I still hate you.” You whisper to him, but your hands can’t get enough of him, feeling him up. Your mouth can’t get enough of him as you plant kisses anywhere you can reach. You feel him smile into your neck.

“I hate you too, baby.”

[ghostskiss]

i finally had *the* fanfic writer experience. ykno those crazy notes at the end of ao3 where the author was gone and they have an elaborate horrible story?

i got hit by car 💀💀✋✋

[ghostskiss]

Handle It

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader WC: 5.1k Summary: Reader is taking a shower and someone decides to crash the party. Warnings: 18+ Exhibitionism (risk of getting caught), shower sex (kinda), SUB SIMON, teasing, begging, sub to dom to…sub, finger sucking, oral, fingering, penetration, overstimulation, spit, creampie

Hot water beads down your back. Well, maybe that’s a bit too generous. It’s hardly trickling out of the showerhead above you, and the water’s lukewarm at best. But it feels great, your eyes are closing, your muscles are relaxing, and you almost forget that it’s a communal shower. That anyone could walk in and join you at another showerhead, there’s several in here, meant to get a group of people clean to save time. Time’s important in the military, you know this. So does everyone else, but there’s an unspoken rule. If someone’s in the showers, you don’t join unless absolutely necessary.

Which is why you’re allowing yourself this moment. You’d announced to the group that you were hitting the showers after the operation. And true to your word, as soon as you’d stepped out of the vehicle, you beelined it to the building. Soap joked about joining you, earning a punch from someone in result. You hadn’t cared to look behind you to confirm who it was, instead you’d waved a hand over your shoulder, acknowledging that you’d heard him, but wasn’t threatened by his constant yet harmless flirts. It was how you two communicated. It was a nice break in the violence and mayhem Task Force 141 found yourselves in. Even if Ghost and Price rolled their eyes at the banter, you could tell it eased their nerves at times. It’s hard to hold onto humanity when you see the worst of it day end and day out.

Getting the bar of soap into your hands, you rub it against your skin, ridding yourself of the dirt and grime from today’s work. It’s normal to get dirty doing what you do, and yet no matter how you wash yourself, it feels as though you’re never clean. You’d scrubbed your skin raw once, after a mission, coming out of the showers with irritated skin. Still. You were never clean. Today didn’t feel like that. The operation went well. There was no killing, no torture, and for once, it was an easy day. You want to savor this feeling, knowing that today went right, how relaxing the water is, feeling somewhat clean despite the past.

A knock rings through the showers, bouncing off the walls. The soap slips through your fingers as you jump with sound, the relaxing feeling you had now long gone. The knock has authority to it. It has impatience. Gritting your teeth, you rinse off quickly before turning the knob to shut the water off. You leave the poor soap on the ground, moving to the cement wall separating the showers from the door of the building.

“What?” You call out, a little irritated. Sure, you’d been in here for a bit longer than normal. But it was the one time you’d actually felt…nice.

A deep voice from behind the closed door comes to you. You resist an urge to roll your eyes. Ghost.

“Been in there a bit. Other people would like to clean themselves before heading in for the night.”

This, you do roll your eyes at. He’s right. You’re hogging the shower, but there’s an unspoken…thing you have against Ghost. He’s stoic and a bit miserable to be around if you’re being honest. He’s too serious, all the time, he never likes to have fun, and if you and Soap are going back and forth, he’s got to voice his displeasure. You secretly think he’s jealous. You think that he either is jealous of the relationship you have with Soap, or he’s jealous of Soap. Probably the former since you two can hardly stand each other.

Sighing out, you cross your arms over your naked chest. Right, you’d almost forgotten where you were.

“Well,” you start out, a bit snarky, “there’s always room, Lt.”

You’re joking, obviously, already moving to wrap a towel around your body. Without waiting for whatever response your lieutenant is trying to muster up, you cross the space from the cement wall to the door, hand gripping the handle to wrench it open.

There he is, in all his glory, towering over you. He’s ditched the mask he wears in operations or important meetings, donning his comfortable skulled balaclava. In fact, he’s changed out of most of his gear. Bare hands, black Henley shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, his lower half is clothed in his usual black pants, and he still has his boots on. Yet he looks more naked and vulnerable than you do in your little white towel. He looks at a loss of words.

A playful look crosses your features, a smirk teasing your lips as you prop a hand on your hip. Before you can get a word out, Ghost shifts forward quickly with a grumble tumbling out of his chest, pushing you back into the building with his presence alone. You frown a bit as you move backwards to accommodate his size as the door behind him closes you both in, confused as he glares down at you.

“Christ, could you not waltz around in nothing but bloody a towel?”

Another attempt to not roll your eyes comes over you. “What’re you, shy? It’s not like I’m completely naked.” You gesture at yourself; it’d be as if you were wearing a strapless dress. Granted, the towel is tiny, you’re wet from the shower, and you’re definitely not wearing any panties. Still, you had no idea Ghost was such a prude.

“Really?” Ghost’s gaze trails hotly down the front of your body. Suddenly your face feels hot. He’s never once looked at you like this. Like he’d…

A shaky breath escapes you before you laugh it off, “If you can’t handle me in a towel after shower, I doubt you’d be able to handle being around me in the actual showers.” You jerk a thumb over your shoulder as you watch his gaze follow it behind you. He can see the room of showers over the wall. You think you see his jaw clench under his mask.

This is bad. You’re jokingly teasing him the way you and Soap talk. This is uncharted territory, and you’re not sure you can keep the act up. With Soap, it’s harmless fun. You both know you’re not interested in each other. It’s easy to try to get a reaction out of each other, to see who says the most ridiculous shit first. It’s a stupid game. With Ghost, it’s dangerous. It’s nerve wrecking. It’s serious because he’s serious.

Suddenly he’s looking back down at you. You try not to fidget as you stare back at him. You can’t read him. You’re about to talk to break whatever this tension is, about to tell him the showers are his.

“No, I probably can’t.”

Did his voice drop an octave? Why was it making your skin heat? What was going on right now? You feel like your brain is malfunctioning. Your gaze drops down to the broad slope of his shoulders, and down his frame, distracted a bit. Of course, he’s attractive. You’d be insane to not think so. Even if you’ve never seen his face. It’s the way he holds himself, it’s the way he’s built, it’s his damned voice, and his eyes and everything else. But he’s your lieutenant for Christ’s sake. He’s mean sometimes. He’s ruthless, a brute, a –

“Let me see. I want to try. To… handle it.”

You freeze, eyes shooting back up to his. “You -?”

His chin dips to your towel, “Take it off.”

For a moment, you’re both watching each other. Ghost’s got his eyes on yours, unwavering. He’s really serious about this, you realize. Your thighs are clenching together now, trying to relieve the ache. You were joking, you think, about him not handling it in the showers. Now you’re thinking maybe you’re the one who can’t.

Shakenly, your hands raise to the knot tied at your breast. Your actions stop for a moment, silently waiting for him to tell you to stop. The command never comes. You can’t believe you’re doing this, bearing yourself for your broody and moody higher up. For him. All because you don’t want to back out on what you started. Suddenly, you want to prove him wrong. That he can’t handle it. That you’re not affected at all by his words or actions, or more importantly his inactions. The towel drops.

It’s loud with how silent it is in the room. Who knew a damp towel could be so loud? Your gaze doesn’t leave his, holding it, even as you stand bare in front of him. A smirk quirks your lips. He’s avoiding looking at you. That’s how he thinks he can move around the situation at hand.

Testing him, your hand brushes against your own collarbone, trailing slowly -- tantalizingly slow. Still, his eyes never wander from your own. So, this is how you could play games with Ghost. It’ll be fun to see him break.

“You’re not looking,” you start, stating the obvious.

“Never said I had to. Only said that I could handle being around you.” He shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he won the game.

You laugh a little at that, and watch his eyes ever so slightly dip to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Your own hands are wandering your body now, groping a bit at your chest. His hands clench at his sides.

“Are you going to take a shower, Lt?” A breathless noise leaves you as you ask, your fingers pinching one of your nipples. Fuck him. You’re so turned on right now it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t have to look. Just the thought of being here in front of him while he’s fully clothed doing this, while the two of you are alone and anyone could walk in –

“No. And quit that.” He growls out, knocking your hand away from your breast. He still hasn’t looked, but you’re guessing he’s getting a view from his peripherals.

“Quit what?” You feign innocence, your hand that’d been knocked away now dips in between your thighs eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “You said you’d try. If you’re not going to take a shower, you can watch.”

Ghost has no words for you now, his pupils dilating before your very eyes. Spreading your legs a bit wider to get a better reach on yourself, you continue. Slow pressing circles on your clit, your arousal slicking loudly in the air. Your free hand goes back up to your tits, to continue groping, pinching, pulling.

Finally, he breaks. He breaks when your pussy squelches around your own fingers, his burning gaze trailing down your body to the hand that’s pulling such noises out of you. A groan sets loose from him, and you shudder from the mere sound.

“Kneel.”

Ghost’s eyes shoot back up to yours in question.

“Kneel, I said. You can get a better look.” Your tone is set in stone. Despite the burning ache you’ve got, the need for him to touch you, you feel in control.

He hesitates for a moment before lowering himself down to the ground, knees pressing against the cement. His eyes have yet to leave yours.

“You can look but don’t touch.” Your breath hitches, arousal seeping into your very being seeing him like this. Listening to your commands. You watch his hands clench on his thighs, his attention going back to your pussy. Your breath hitches at his stare, feeling the heat of it. He doesn’t have to touch for you to feel his attention. It’s making you sloppy, messy, and wet. You keen, a brief thought of asking him to touch you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Staring down at him as your fingers continue to tease yourself, you watch him just as intently as he’s watching you. He seems fixated. You wonder if he’s drooling in his own mask. The front of his pants looks tight. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his thighs, his shoulders shuddering when you make a noise in the back of your throat. You watch him tense as you ease a finger in yourself. Your clit is throbbing, aching, begging for attention, you’re teasing yourself just as much as you’re teasing him. Slowly pumping the one finger in yourself, you press another one in, mewling out as your hips buck a little upward.

“Let me taste you.” He rushes out suddenly. Ghost’s voice is gravel, scrapping across your body. Your head nearly tips back at the sound of it, another pitiful noise leaving your mouth.

 Stay strong. Stay strong. You shake your head, unable to give him an actual answer as your fingers create a devastatingly slow pace, slick coating your fingers and thighs.

“Fuck. What’ll take? Let me taste you.” He’s demanding now, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the material over his thighs.

You pant, trying not to stammer. “Beg.” It comes out stronger than you feel right now. Core burning with the need to come.

“Please.” He grits out through his teeth, angry eyes coming up to your glassy ones.

“You don’t sound sincere.” You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head again. Your fingers pause, coming out to press softly against your clit. If you press any harder, you have no doubt you’ll come. You don’t want to give it to him yet. Ghost watches the action, a growl coming from him.

“Please,” he tries again, looking back up at you to see if it was good enough. It’s not and you tsk at him. “Please, let me taste your pussy. Let me put my mouth on you. Please.”

The last plead is strained, almost a whine. Your fingers dip back in, curling as you pump them again. Your head falls forward a bit with a whine of your own and you try to gather your bearings. “How are you going to taste me with your mask on?”

Quickly, he tugs it upward, only exposing his mouth. Christ. His mouth. He’s got a scar running down his lips. His jaw is clenched, and you curse whoever created him. He’s handsome, even if you’re only seeing the bottom half of his face. You watch his tongue tease his full bottom lip, his mouth opening into a soft pant. He’s eager. You catch another whine in your throat, fingers leaving your pussy to press against his mouth, covered in your own wetness. He opens his mouth, latching onto them, sucking and licking, taking anything you have to offer.

You watch with a newfound feeling. Here you have your lieutenant on the ground, kneeling and begging, sucking your fingers like it’s his God given right. Like he has something to prove. That he’s desperate enough to be debased to nothing. He’s moaning at the taste of you, following your fingers as they leave his mouth, like he’s not ready to stop cleaning yourself from them. He’s tilting closer as he watches them disappear back to your throbbing sex.

“No,” you tell him, stopping him from following your fingers all the way, “that’s all you get.” You moan out, your fingers wet with his spit now circling your clit. You need to come like this, having him at his knees in front of you.

“W-wait. Please. I’ll do anything. Fuck, please. Let me give you what you want, I can make you cum. With my mouth please –”

His begging sends you over the edge, not stopping as you cry out loudly, pussy clenching on nothing as your fingers circle and circle. It’s long and crippling, and you almost feel your knees buckle, your free hand gripping the cement wall behind you. Fuck, he’s not shutting up. It drags it out, hearing him whine and beg, a man who you thought could never be like this. You rip your hand away from yourself, panting, thankful for the wall behind you holding you up. Your thighs are quivering and wet from the orgasm, breath trying to catch up to your pounding heart.

Ghost is quiet now, looking up at you, waiting for your next move. His mouth parts, like he’s going to start up again and you hush him.

“Clean me up.”

You barely have the sentence out before he’s shooting forwards, hands gripping your thighs to make room for himself. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue latching onto your already overstimulated clit. You cry out, hands shooting up to his masked head, trying to pull him away as he laps at your cream.

“A-ah, wait, Simon –” You start, squirming, trying to get away from his mouth and tongue. You feel him smile, the bastard.

“Think you can tease me like that? Huh?” He growls as he laps at you, tongue not missing an inch of your pussy. His words vibrate through you, not bothering to really pull away to talk. He’s violent in the way his mouth attacks you. “Think you can just do what you want to me?”

You stutter, about to apologize until he starts to add his fingers to the mix. Two thick fingers of his slam into you, pumping up as his tongue flicks your clit. You cry out, tears in your eyes as you take it. He’s going to make you come again, this fast. Too fast. You feel dizzy, vision fuzzy.

“Making me sit in front of this pretty pussy and not letting me touch or taste it.” He groans, and then chuckles as you bare down on his fingers, clenching hard. “Oh, you gonna come again pretty baby? Come on then.”

He’s mean. Meaner than you were to him. You’re panting, quivering, and aching, your pussy making obscene noises as he assaults all of your senses. You know you’re coming before you feel it. Like a delayed reaction. Gasping and bucking, he’s saying something again that you can’t register because your hearing leaves you, your sight leaves you, every sensation and thought is gone as you cry out, coming and coming again. Somehow in the midst of it, his fingers and mouth leave as you come back down to your body, and he’s holding you up, thank God. You doubt the wall behind you would’ve helped at all. Your fingers are clenched on the material of his mask, and as you blink down at him, chest heaving, you see his wet mouth smirk.

A flash of fear goes through you. This was the Ghost you know. The ruthless, cold, domineering, Simon Ghost Riley. Not the man that’d been on his knees begging. Not the man who’d let you command and tease him. He sets down the leg that’d been over his shoulder. You’re not sure if you’re still completely all together. He stands to his full height, and you shiver, trying to sink yourself back into the wall behind you as much as you can. His hand comes up to your jaw, gripping it gently as he tilts your head back.

“Open.”

You obey, lips parting, mouth opening. Nothing could prepare you for what he does next. He leans into you, pressing up hard against you, lips barely hovering your own. He spits. Fluid enters your mouth, and you moan, swallowing it up. It’s your own arousal, sweet and warm and oh. Your wet lashes flutter shut as Ghost licks the seam of your closed mouth, lapping at you before he nips and bites and kisses you. The kiss he’s giving you isn’t gentle. It’s consuming and you cry into it as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck to haul him closer to you. He answers your cry with a groan of his own, his hands cupping your ass to lift you up. Your legs come around him, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him close. Your sensitive pussy is pressed and rubbing against pants, the feeling abrasive and raw but you can’t stop from grinding against him.

 “Tell me what you want. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” Simon mutters against your lips, licking and biting still. You’re breathless and whimpering against him, his words going straight to your core as you move against him. He’s helping you, moving with your hips, matching you move for move. You’re distracted, unable to give him an answer as you kiss him back, your trembling fingers sliding a bit under his mask to grasp the back of his neck. He hisses out in pain when your nails dig in. “I’ll give you anything baby, please. Just say the words.”

“I – I want…” you gasp, your clit pressing against the seam of his pants. You can feel his length hard and heavy against you.

“Fuck, please. Please tell me.” He’s begging again, rutting his hips up against you, hands keeping you still as he continues.

“I want you.” Is all you can muster; all you can think about saying. You swear your brain isn’t working correctly. Even before this started. You must’ve hit your head during the mission.

"Want me? Want me to what?” He stops moving.

You groan out in frustration, head tipping back a bit before you look up at him. “Please, Simon. You’re teasing me now.” You’re not sure you like how quickly the tables have turned.

Ghost laughs a bit, breathless himself. You think he’s going to drag it out further until he sees the pout furrowing your brow. “Alright. I am. I’ll give it to you.” He still keeps you wrapped up against him, one hand holding you, the other going in between the two of you. His knuckles brush against your bare sex and you moan lowly, watching him unbuckle his pants, pulling his hard cock out. Precum is dripping down the length of it and your throat dries at the sight of him.

Concern must be showing on your face with how big he is. Another chuckle from him, “You can take it pretty baby.” Your concern dies out as he slides the length against your wet pussy and you bite down on lip, trying to contain your noises. You want him in you, size be damned. He runs the tip up and down once more before pressing against your entrance, pushing in slowly. This time, you can’t contain the low moan you have. He gives it to you slowly, pumping his hips up into you, letting you adjust to his size. It’s stretching you open, and you feel like he’s splitting you in half. It’s heavy and deep and throbbing –

“Oh.” You let out, almost surprised it feels so good. Addicting. You feel drunk.

A sadistic laugh comes from the man in you, his cock slowly pumping into you. He’s being nice, giving it to you this softly. His hands are pulling you back onto his cock, pinning you against the wall and his hard body. Your legs tighten around him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“That’s it. It’s all yours, isn’t it?” Ghost dips down to nip your lips as you whimper. “Been wanting this pussy wrapped around me for so long, baby. Fuck.” He moans lowly as you keen at his words, clenching around his girth. “Teasing me when you have no idea what I’d do to you. For you.”

He’s going slow, dragging this out as long as possible. He’s pressing in deep, rolling his hips before pulling slowly back, letting you feel every inch of him before starting all over again. It’s driving you insane. It feels like it’s going on forever, his slow thrusting. He rocks into your soaking cunt, easing his throbbing cock in you smoothly and repeatedly. Ecstasy has taken hold of every fiber of your being. You hardly feel conscious, as his words lull you into lust, his cock pacifying you into drunken state. He won’t shut up again as you cry against his lips.

“Pussy feels so good. So good. Fuck. You can have this dick whenever you want baby, just say the word and it’s yours.” He moans lowly, the sloppy sounds of your pussy and his hips thumping into you with languid strokes are overpowering your thoughts. His words make your pussy clamp down on him and he moans again, not afraid to let you hear how good you’re making him feel.

“Si—” you gasp, mouth falling open against his, trying to pull him up closer to you.

“Tell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Fuck.” He rasps against you, his hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your broken moans.

“F-fuck me. Please fuck me. Simon, please.” You beg, not afraid to be pulled down to your knees like he had been. To be debased to nothing just as you had done to him.

He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. Eager again to please you. You know he could’ve done what you had to him, teased you, made you beg more, made you want and want and need. But he gives it to you, just like he promised he would. Your pussy flares as his thrusts get heavier, deeper, faster, rougher. It’s destroying you as much as it’s freeing you and your eyes roll back a bit. God, you’re going to cum again.

A knock sounds. Not unlike the one Ghost pounded on the door earlier. You gasp, trying to stop running to the hurdle you’re launching towards. Your body doesn’t get the memo, or doesn’t care, and it certainly seems Ghost couldn’t care less that someone is right outside the door. The man makes a frustrated noise, at you or the knock, you’re not sure. He clamps his hand down over your mouth as you try to contain the noises you’re currently making. You want to tell him to stop, someone’s right there, but he keeps fucking you. God, he’s so mean and cruel and –

“Lt?”

Your heart shudders in fear. Soap. No, God, no one can see this. Ghost fucking you against the wall, completely clothed, unrushed. Despite the fear of being caught, you feel a whine catch in your throat as you thrash again Simon’s relentless fucking. He hushes you quietly, slamming roughly into you now. You stop a squeal, but just barely, a loud yet pathetic squeak leaving you as euphoria bursts through you, pussy convulsing around his cock.

“Just a sec, Johnny.” Ghost throws over his shoulder, a smile playing on his handsome face. He hardly sounds phased even when just moments ago he was the one loudly moaning into your mouth. He hardly sounds winded even with the rough thrusts he’s delivering into you, fucking you through your orgasm. You claw weakly at his chest, angry at him, still coming down from the heaven he just gave to you.

You think Soap leaves, you’re not sure, but Ghost moves his hand from your mouth, back to your ass to bring down onto his cock. He’s using you now, making you meet him thrust for thrust, drilling your G-spot with such precision that your vision fades for a second.

“No, look at me. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so pretty baby. Such a good girl. You gonna let me fill you up now? Haven’t I been good enough for you? Huh?” He’s mocking a bit, but serious. His own form of a joke that you have no power or brain to call him out on. All you’re feeling, all you’re thinking about is his cock ravaging you from the inside, still, overstimulated. Your body hardly cares. It’s right there, right at the edge, ready to jump and to give him your all. You’re too dumb, blinded with pleasure, staring up at him as he growls down at you, throbbing cock ready to give it to you when you say the words. Maybe he really is under your command after all.

A whine comes from you, frantically nodding to him, hands scrambling on him to try to find solid ground while you’re in a different time and space with the fucking he’s giving you.

“No, you have to tell me baby. Fuck, tell me I’m good baby. Tell me I was good, and I can fill you up.” Simon’s begging, whining lowly in the back of his throat, his hips getting sloppier and shorter, pounding into you.

“You’re good. You’re good. Simon, you’re good. It’s so good. Please, pleasepleaseplease come in me.” You’re begging, sobbing, actually, tears streaming down your face as you try to catch up with your body. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, you make a long and agonized noise against his mouth, he’s kissing you again, sucking your tongue, running his against your teeth, pulling sucking overstimulating –

Simon makes his own devastated noise, a low and shattering groan of pleasure and you feel it just as you’re coming, milking him into you. His cock is surging into you, pumping hot cum with each deep thrust. He’s grinding into you, fucking you both through your orgasms, making you see stars as you cry into his mouth, fingers tearing into his back through his shirt. His hips finally still after what seems to be eternity, your pussy still clenched around him. He keeps himself deep in you as you both try to gather your bearings as well as your breath. You’re staring at each other, panting, chests heaving. He brings a shaky hand up to your cheek, cupping it as he runs his thumb over your tears. The tenderness makes your heart clench. All he’s done tonight surprised you. He leans down to place a kiss against your lips as tenderly as the thumb that stroked you. You kiss him back gently, a little worried where this was going to leave the two of you.

He pulls back, eyes bouncing in between your own. He seems to sense your worry and he sighs, pulling out slowly. You almost want to cry at the loss of him. Ghost sets you down steadily, keeping his hands on you as you wobble, legs weak. You hold onto him and look back up, ready to question what the hell this meant. He shakes his head a bit and nods towards the showers.

“I think I can handle taking a shower with you. But it’s gotta be quick baby.”

Shocked, you stare at him incredulously before you burst out into a terrible laughing fit. You’d almost forgotten how you got here in the first place. You watch his mouth quirk up into his own smile before he starts to laugh a little too. You grab his hand, tugging him with you towards the showers.

“C’mon then big boy. Show me how you handle it.”

[ghostskiss]

heyyyy guys gals ghouls,

sorry for the MIA. i've got a treat for you probably end of this week <3

[shadow0-1]

two goldfish are in a tank

[shadow0-1]

Bravo 0-7