pairing: ghost x f!reader
summary: you and ghost have it out, so to speak.
wc: 5k
content: mentions of torture, facesitting, a little fdom, rampant sluttitude. MDNI
He’s pissed at Laswell, for providing apparently faulty intel that led to the operation being a bullet-holed dead-end. At Johnny, for being too slow to dodge the bullet and scaring the absolute shite out of him before tying a tourniquet tight with his teeth and picking his rifle back up.
He’s pissed at Price, for valuing the suggestion of a literal first-day FNG over the word of his own team. And he’s pissed at the FNG, for walking in and being fucking right.
He’s so goddamned pissed at her, for showing up here out of nowhere looking even better than she had the last time he’d seen her - a time which, incidentally, he’d been physically unable to keep his hands off her less than three hours into their acquaintance.
Deep down, a better part of him knows there’s some irrationality to his rage - the adrenaline of the firefight combined with his residual fear over Soap’s flesh wound, the indignity of the world’s most elite black ops team stumbling over faulty intel, the sting of a newcomer identifying the issue as a Google fucking calendar.
He knows it’s irrational. But right now, watching Halo disappear down the hallway with Laswell, he doesn’t have the strength to fight against it.
Halo. An enragingly perfect code name - just another thing to be pissed at Laswell for. She walks like she’s wearing one, a sweetly innocent attitude she’s putting on to keep Price under her spell.
Johnny, too, if the appreciative hum the sergeant gives is any indication.
They don’t fucking know.
Price and Johnny don’t know her. They don’t know the low sound of her laugh, given like a private gift. They don’t know the smell of her perfume licked straight from her skin, the husk of her voice when she’s aroused, the slick-sweet taste of her cunt and the silky skin on the insides of her thighs.
They don’t know any of that, and Ghost is going to do his absolute best to keep it that way.
The bullet wound is the only reason he doesn’t throw an elbow into Johnny’s side for being such a lecherous prick. He grits his teeth with the resolve it takes, but it does nothing to dampen his own raging need to also be a lecherous prick, alone in his room with his bloodied fatigues unzipped and shoved down his thighs.
He might be the sanctioned killer, but he’s pretty sure she’s the most dangerous person in the whole complex right now.
Price walks past them, breaking Ghost from his fixed stare where Halo had disappeared around the corner.
“Captain,” he says, unable to keep the heat out of his voice. “A word?”
“My office, Lieutenant,” says Price, still walking.
What is he even going to say? Don’t hire her, she makes me too fucking horny to function?
He knows there’s more to it than that. A lot more.
Ghost barely manages to lock the door, and his words are even more incomprehensible than the absolute horseshit he’d imagined coming out of his mouth.
“Send her home.”
Price looks up from his desk, eyebrows raised. “What’s that, Lieutenant?” His tone begs for Ghost to dig himself deeper than he already has.
He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. He clears his throat. “Don’t hire her, sir. Halo.”
Price crosses his arms across his chest and leans back. “She’s been read in. Laswell is taking her for fingerprinting as we speak.”
“Throw out the prints. Sir.” He knows he’s crossing a line, can’t quite seem to make himself stop.
“The intel she knows now would put her in witness protection for years-”
“Then put her in fucking witness protection!” Ghost feels his desperation growing, starting to spike. He runs his hand across his head, trying to dispel the urge to hit something.
Price stands up, leans forward across his desk. “Lieutenant, I know it wasn’t fucking fun hearing a first-day analyst hand you your arse like that, but you are the last person I would expect to try to get an operative sacked for doing her job-”
“That’s not the fucking reason-”
“She humiliated us both back there and she had every right to do it. If you think I’m sending her back out with what she knows now because you can’t handle someone showing you up-”
“That is not the fucking reason. Sir.” Ghost can’t meet Price’s eyes, and his jaw is clenched so hard his ears are ringing.
There’s a pause, and he can hear Price fuming. Then he speaks.
“You’re goddamned lucky I trust you, Simon. Tell me why, or shut the fuck up about it.”
This is going to be about as pleasant as the failed op he just finished. “We have -” he bites his words off, hating what he’s about to do. “There’s - history.” He can’t say another word, but he knows Price gets the message.
The silence burns between them. Ghost’s hands are fisted at his sides. He still can’t look the captain in the eye.
“Bloody fucking hell, Lieutenant. Really?”
“Really. Sir.”
“Of all the pretty fucking girls in the world, you had to go and get involved with the single beloved protégée of one of my best mates-”
“I didn’t know, I swear-”
“What does she know?”
“Nothing from me.”
“And you?”
“Me, sir?”
Price narrows a look at him. “What do you know about her?” He sounds dangerous.
Very little, or- “Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing? Not her name?”
“She told me about her university studies. That’s all.”
Price stands up straight, turns to face the wall with his arms crossed. It seems he also doesn’t want to risk looking Ghost in the eye during this conversation.
“Let me get this exactly clear, Simon,” he says, and Ghost feels a sense of impending doom, like watching a flashbang fly into a dead-end corridor. “You chatted this girl up, got her to feel comfortable around you, fucked her, and left before asking her fucking name?”
Ghost pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Yeah, he’d walked right the fuck into that one.
It’s not like that, but he can’t explain to the captain how the skin at the back of Halo’s neck had made him feel like he was losing his mind, how he’d felt like he’d tumble into bits if she didn’t put her hands on him. How she appears in his dreams sometimes, makes him feel like a randy teenager changing his sheets every two fucking days-
“Affirmative. Sir.” The words are bitten out between tense lips.
“And now,” Price says as he turns around, “you want that same girl sacked because she had the misfortune of sleeping with you?”
Ghost turns his face to the side, takes a deep breath in, and lets it out. His hand comes up to rub across his mouth. Anything he says will betray him, either for having too much attachment or too little. Which is it?
“Not sacked. Redirected. Sir.”
Price doesn’t even react to his words, just stares at a framed photo on his desk. Then he speaks.
“Lieutenant, you know I know all too well the complexities of this job. However, Halo will be with us until she decides otherwise. Decision is done.”
Fuck.
“Yes, sir.”
Guess he has to change someone else’s mind.
Something is really, seriously wrong with you. There’s a handsome man with a gunshot wound and a mohawk chatting you up, and you can’t even focus long enough to enjoy it.
He’s even Scottish.
It’s been a few days since you came in for the informal “interview,” and the jet lag is finally wearing off enough for you to appreciate the serious shit you’re in. You’re an intel specialist for an elite black-operations team, one of whom you’ve fucked in an airport bathroom a year prior - and it’s a literal threat to national security to tell your friends about it.
You’re in such deep shit.
The Scot, who introduced himself as Soap, is leaning against the wall of the hallway on his good side, his bullet graze bandaged on the other.
“Go on then, what’s yer first impression of good auld England?” There’s a laugh in his voice, an inside joke with an implication you’re not sure you understand.
“It’s lovely, I think,” you say. “I’ve spent most of my time here or at my hotel sleeping, and it’s rained the whole time.”
“Och, well, ye’ve got te make it up to Scotland, then,” he says, smiling. “Sunny five days a week in Glasgow, it is.”
“Don’t lie to her, Sergeant,” a dark voice comes from behind you. You turn to see the very man you’ve been avoiding for days now, approaching with thunderclouds in his eyes.
Soap looks unfazed by Ghost’s rebuttal, but crosses his arms against the lieutenant’s mood. “Am no’ lying, LT. Some weeks are just better’n others, is all. What bug’s up yer arse, sir?”
You think you might have an idea.
Ghost’s jaw tenses for a moment. “No bug, Sergeant. Halo, you mind coming with me?”
You get the sense that it’s an enormous effort just for him to ask. Soap raises an eyebrow.
You’re not giving in so easily. “Soap and I were really in the middle of a conversation, you know.”
“It’s urgent.”
Soap’s face is now humorous with some understanding you’re not party to. “Dunno, lass, seems like he’s really got some pressing matters t’discuss-
“I’ll speak with him when I’m ready-”
“You’ll speak with me now.”
Soap has a smirk on his face when Ghost takes your shoulder in a hand and steers you to a locked door, which he opens with a tapped code and retinal scan.
Inside is an armory, with more shiny black metal than you’ve ever seen in your life, a few utilitarian tables, and a long wide bench running the length of the room. You’re careful not to touch anything.
“Okay, fine,” you say, unable to keep the attitude out of your voice. “We’ll talk now.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the thunderous expression in his eyes intensifying the longer he looks at you.
Then he speaks. “You can’t be here.”
You’d expected this, but what you hadn’t foreseen was the way his voice still seeps heat into your bloodstream in the way you’d been dreaming about. You press your thighs together.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. Believe me, if I’d known-”
“If you’d known, then what?” He’s staring at your mouth and you want him to kiss you so bad. You lick your lips. “If you’d known where to find me this whole time, what would you have done?” He takes a step towards you. Then another. You back up a step.
“I’d have left you here to be a fucking dickhead to someone else! Jesus, Ghost, what is your problem?”
“What’s my problem? I don’t want you involved with my work as a professional killer, that’s a problem to you?”
“You don’t know me,” you cry, angry that he seems so content to make your decisions for you. “You don’t even know my real name! It’s-”
His hand comes up to cover your mouth. “No,” he hisses between clenched teeth. “Fuck, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know-”
You wrench your head away from his big, warm hand. “Why not?” you spit the words at him. “Don’t want to find out the little slut you banged in public is actually a person? That you might actually have to treat me like a human-”
“Bloody fucking hell, no!” He wrenches himself away from you to press a hand across his face. “Christ- if I know, Halo, fucking anybody could know if they got a hold of me-”
Your stomach drops out. He won’t look you in the eye.
“What are you talking about?”
He’s silent, that hand now digging into the fabric of his mask. Regret permeates the air around him.
You don’t want to believe what you think he’s saying. “Got a hold of you? What the fuck are you talking about?”
He’s facing the wall, but he shoots you a bitter look. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” you say. “Nobody has told me a single thing. What on earth are you talking about?”
Ghost turns back to you. “I’m good under pressure, I know I am.” You can hear a sneer curling his upper lip. “Believe me, I know. But if I cracked, and they got your real name out of it - Jesus -” He twists away, his hand back over his mouth, as if to shove the break in his voice back in.
Under pressure. He means under torture.
You’re still so unfamiliar with the nature of his work that you’re not sure if he’s catastrophizing or if there’s a real chance someone could want to torture your identity out of him. You’re just an intelligence analyst, and a rookie at that. Could you really be a target?
“Ghost-”
He collapses down on one of the benches, his face buried in his hands. He might be angry, or reining in his emotion, or trying to keep more words he regrets from coming out of his mouth. You still feel lost, like you’ve stepped into the ocean and been swept away by a riptide. You grasp at the only information you have that counteracts what Ghost is saying.
“Price knows.”
He glares up at you from under his brows. Those brown eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them, a far cry from the way he’d gazed up at you from his knees in that bathroom with need written across his face.
He doesn’t respond. You try again. “Captain Price, I mean-”
He twists his head to the side. “I fucking know who Price is-”
“And he knows!” You’re angry now. “He knows my name, if not by heart then it’s in his files somewhere. Yours is too, and you call Soap by his own name, so why are you so fucking worried-”
Ghost rises to his full height suddenly, so shockingly large that you almost rock a step backwards. “I am legally dead!”
His voice echoes around the small room, and you look down at his massive hand that’s come up to hover in front of you as if he wants to shake you. You look at the silver chain around his neck, the tags you’ve never read. Is that true?
The hand drops. He speaks again, more quietly, but still cold as death.
“My tags were found in a lethal house fire years ago. Only Price knew the body wasn’t mine.”
Your gaze flicks down to his neck. He pulls out the chain, the two circular tags that hang from it.
They’re blank.
Jesus. The implications of it, of dying in battle without any way to be identified. Was this the necessary price to pay for a job like this? What could possibly make it worth it to give up your entire being-
“And Price?” You’re shocked your voice isn’t shaking.
“He and Johnny know the risks. We’re trained not to crack, but-”
“But what?”
Ghost’s eyes meet yours. He approaches you slowly, as if not to spook an animal, but you back away from his advance. A shiver runs down your neck when your back meets the door, his bulk blocking out the light from the room and one massive arm bracing next to your head.
His head dips, and you hear him inhale right below your ear, see his massive lungs expand with the breath. Your heart is racing, your inner thighs quivering, and you press your hands to the door behind you to keep them from coming up to trace his abdomen. Your brain remembers you’re discussing torture, but your body is on a different page entirely.
“I trust Price and Johnny with my life,” he husks in your ear. “But if either of them cracked and compromised me, I know I could handle whoever came after me.”
“But…” it comes out as a whisper. What does this have to do with you? “I can’t be important enough for anybody to want my name.”
Ghost lets out a slow, hesitant breath against your neck. When he moves back to look you in the eye, his expression is worse than cold.
“Do you know what I’d tell them if they had you at gunpoint in front of me? What kind of intel I’d give up?”
It’s an ugly image. Ghost, tied to a chair, unbreakable under his own physical pain, but subjected to yours too?
Would that crack him? No way. You’re just an intel analyst, a fling. Nothing more. He wouldn’t crack for Soap or Price, so why would you be different?
You push away the thought. “You wouldn’t.”
He blinks once, slow. “Even if you begged me to?”
Your body is fighting with itself, the cold, terrified sweat on your back competing with the smoldering heat in your belly. You’d beg him for so much. Are you still talking about torture?
You know he can see the conflict in your expression. His head tilts to the side.
“See,” he says. “I’m not so sure either.”
You can’t breathe.
He pushes off the door, leaving you to unlock your lungs and try to get blood back into your brain. You watch him settle back onto a bench, his elbows on his knees. Your body feels cold without the proximity of his.
You’re still mad, especially now that he’s backed you into a corner of caring. You’re determined to assert your own unimportance. “They’d never think to ask about me.”
He turns his head to look up at you, then it drops back down to hang over his hands. You hear what might be a wry laugh come from his chest.
“Halo,” he says, “you might be the first operator they can’t crack, you fucking stubborn little-”
“Ghost! I’m serious!”
“And I’m not?” He’s looking at you again. “When they’ve got you for weeks, starving and bleeding, can’t sleep for the pain? You’re telling me I wouldn’t see things, say things I didn’t mean to say?”
“Not about me!” You hate the way your anger is turning to sorrow, grief rising in the base of your stomach. “Of all fucking people, Ghost! Why would you hallucinate about me, say things about me-”
“Don’t ask me,” he says viciously, his hands spasming into fists. “Don’t ask me why.” His whole body is fraught with tension.
You can’t remember how this whole thing started, who was arguing for what. The lines have blurred, the hypothetical implications and hidden meanings gotten more and more intense until-
What if it isn’t hypothetical?
What if he has hallucinated you? Called out to you in fitful dreams between interrogations?
No way. There’s no way-
You turn to the door, yank it open.
“Halo-”
You’re gone before he finishes saying your code name.
You’re seething.
Your mind is flip-flopping between the implied and the impossible, the idea that your anonymous encounter in that airport bathroom could have gotten so far under Ghost’s skin that he hallucinated you under torture.
Or could have done. Or whatever. You know you’ve had your fair share of dreams about him.
I know I could handle whoever came after me. And you couldn’t. You know that. Logically, you know it, but your pride stings anyway. He’s so convinced that you can’t work here, that it’s too dangerous for you - well, fuck him for that.
Fuck him for acting like he owns you. For hijacking your daydreams with images of skeleton-patterned gloves on your body, deep, desperate whimpers in your ears, for making you wake up occasionally on the very verge of climax, only for it to slip away from your grasp.
And fuck him for giving you the mental image of him cracking, not under his own torture, but under yours.
You’d left the armory maybe ten minutes ago, and you storm out of the office you’d taken refuge in, determined to get back before he leaves. Fury burns a low fire in your chest, just over the simmering heat he’d left in your belly.
The door pushes open easily, indicating he hasn’t left and locked it behind him yet.
He’s still there, a rifle disassembled on the table in front of him. He looks up at the sound of the door.
You engage the automatic lock behind you.
He comes out from behind the table. “Halo-”
“Sit down.” There’s a venom you’ve never heard before in your own voice.
He settles his big body down on the end of the wide bench, leaving the length of it behind him. Perfect. You came here without a plan, but plenty of ideas are popping up in your mind. Will he play along?
You approach. The bench extends a foot or so on either side of his hips. Your hand comes out to press against his sternum, and he only gives the slightest resistance before slowly leaning back until his back hits the wood.
Good boy.
You want to say it out loud.
“You say you’re good under pressure, huh?”
His gaze flicks from your face down your body and back up, towering over him. “Yes, ma’am.”
Fuck. He’s playing.
You glance down his body and see the ridge of him, pressing against the canvas of his fatigues. Hard already. You’ve missed that cock.
You look back at his face. His eyes are glued to yours in desperate concentration. “You told me once you ‘fancied suffocating on my cunt,’” you say casually, that hand inching up from his sternum closer to his throat. “You a man of your word?”
His hands spasm at his sides, a low whine coloring his next breath. From the corner of your eye, you see his hips arch off the bench and come back down, thrusting into nothing.
Your hand tightens at the very base of his throat, just to reiterate your control. “What’s that, soldier?”
“Yes,” he hisses. “Fuck, yes-”
You can feel the slick gathering between your thighs, the ache in your belly that’s only getting more intense. You can’t hold this up much longer.
You let one hand drift to the clasp of your pants, toying with it. “You said you couldn’t do it if you were dead,” you say conversationally. “But I don’t think things were quite that dire, do you?”
His head whips to the side, then back up to you. “I wanted- I needed-”
“Hmm?” Your hand slips the clasp and slowly starts to drag the zipper down.
“To see,” he husks. “I needed to see that sweet pink cunt, darling-”
Your brains turn to liquid, leaving just enough cognitive power behind to swat his hands away when they come up to help push your pants down your hips.
“Hands on the bench, Lieutenant.”
They fall back down with a frustrated groan.
You bend down to slip out of your clothes and shoes, angled just so he has to raise his head to get a glimpse of you from behind.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, Halo, please-”
You push two fingers against his forehead and his skull thunks back against the wood.
You’re naked from the waist down.
You brace a knee on the bench and swing the other over his torso, coming to settle against his chest.
Behind you, his hips continue to thrust sporadically into the air. He’s breathing heavily, and you raise yourself to hover over his face. He raises his head and you jerk at the contact of the fabric of his mask against your bare, slick cunt.
Then his hands come up to grip your ass from behind, and you’ve lost control. His eyes meet yours over the length of your torso. He pulls back for just a moment.
“We both want this,” he growls into the skin of your thigh. “Don’t pretend you’re not fucking soaking for me, Halo. So pull up the mask.”
You bite your lower lip and reach down. The thin fabric bunches easily, coming to rest on the bridge of his nose. He raises his head again, but you push him back down to the bench again. He glares up at you.
“I said,” you say, your voice hot with anticipation, “hands on the bench.”
His grip spasms on your ass and then falls away.
“Good boy.”
His tongue meets your cunt with a groan out of his throat.
Ghost eats at you like some filthy type of worship, a prayer coming from his lips in the form of unflinching pleasure. You start out hovered over his face, the muscles in his neck straining to keep his tongue in contact with your skin. The first jerk he elicits from your hips helps your thighs relax, his head coming back down to rest against the bench and your cunt sinking down to follow him.
A low groan in his chest, movement at his shoulders - he’s resisting the urge to use his hands.
Your fingers wrap in the top of the mask at the crown of his head. It’s not the first time you’ve had a man’s head between your legs since that meeting in the airport bathroom, but for the life of you, you can’t remember a single one of them. There’s only him, the power in his body that he’s willingly set aside for you, the fervency with which he applies himself to your pleasure.
His tongue slicks over your clit.
“Oh-”
His eyes meet yours. He does it again.
You can feel yourself starting to fall apart, that spark below your navel starting to brighten and intensify. You rock your hips over his mouth, twitching at the vibrations of his groans, the intrusion of his tongue in your body.
You need more. You reach back and pull at one of his hands, which follows without hesitation. A tug of one hand against the other, then-
Hot bare fingers sinking into you.
“Fuck, Ghost-” You brace a hand on the wood above his head, ride his face and his fingers the best you can. His hand curls against you and your head drops to your chest. Just under your arm you can see his other hand gripped over the ridge of his cock, the knuckles white.
It sends a jolt through you to see him so clearly clinging to the edges of his control. Under you, his head turns to the side and his teeth sink into the flesh of your inner thigh, the sting of it mingling with the slide of his thumb over your clit.
“Y’gonna come for me?”
A sob escapes you at his words, murmured into the pink bite mark in your thigh. “Oh, god-”
His tongue circles your clit. “Wanna feel it, love-”
You can feel how slippery his face is under your thighs, the slick of his jaw over your skin. It’s too much, but he returns to his task with determination, the heat of his mouth leaching into your abdomen with every lick. You’re right there, just on the edge-
He seals his lips over your clit and drags his tongue across it. You come with a gasp, your hips spasming into his face as he rides you through the orgasm with flicks of his tongue and curls of his fingers.
You think you see stars behind your eyelids.
“Fuck-”
You raise up off him when it becomes too much, too flushed with pleasure to be embarrassed that you’ve just ridden his face in your workplace. He’s pink too, and you can see the haze of lust still heavy over his eyes. You’re panting at each other, and you move to stand up off him.
His hands come up to tug you back down. “No,” he groans, rubbing his face into your thigh. “Not yet - give me one more, love-”
God, you’d love to - but you can’t let this go any further. It takes all of your willpower to push his head back to the bench one last time, slide both feet to the floor and pull your pants and shoes back on.
“Another time, Lieutenant,” you say with a forced casualness, watching the way his hand pulses at the ridge of his cock. “You did well.”
You’re out the door before you can think twice about it.
Bloody absolute fucking Christ. He was so fucked.
How had things gotten away from him so thoroughly?
He’d started the day angry, determined that this would be the day he’d scare Halo into quitting, convince her to leave and save his sanity.
How had she gotten the upper hand so easily?
His cock is still pulsing and painful under his hand, and he’s actively convincing himself not to pull it out and jack himself off in the armory. Pathetic.
He lifts his other hand to pull the mask back and lets out a groan at the scent of her, covering his fingers and sticky on his face. Another squeeze on his cock to relieve the pressure.
Cruel woman. He almost smiles at the memory of the desire on her face when he’d begged her to stay and come on his tongue again, but his amusement melts away at the memory of their argument. He’d been crude, harsh in trying to scare her into quitting, but she’d met his every threat with defiance and confidence. If he wasn’t so fucking worried, he might respect her for it.
He can’t deny she’s won this one - his liquid brains and aching cock are proof of that. But that doesn’t mean he’s giving up.
It's common for their 'excursions' to be quick and dirty. Hiding in the utility closet, jacking each other off as they hurry to come before being found, or in the showers when it's late after a mission. Their job, their lifestyle, it doesn't really allow for anything in the vein of 'romance.'
Well, Soap doesn't like that.
"Just a weekend, Lt, you 'n' me," Soap seals the deal with one of his award winning smiles. The one that's so readable from across the room it should be an HR violation. The one that promises so many things that Ghost thanks whatever gods exist that he's always wearing some face covering so no one can see his blush.
Not that he's blushing at the thought of spending an entire, uninterrupted weekend with Johnny. That'd be juvenile.
Price grants the weekend leave without a second glance. He knows damn well why they requested it and he sure as hell isn't getting involved in that.
Soap can't help but tease Ghost the rest of the week. His fingers find a way under Ghost's shirt, he says a few too many naughty jokes when they spar...Ghost rolls his eyes at every unsubtle attempt.
Simon's apartment is closer than Soap's house, so early Saturday they start the trip over. It takes an hour at most, but it feels like half the day is gone by the time Simon has unlocked his front door. Johnny has been here before so the Scot wastes no time in dropping his bag and shoving Simon against the door.
"A've been waitin' for this aw week," he hums as he nearly shoves his tongue down Simon's throat, grabbing the simple balaclava Simon wears off base and tossing it somewhere.
"Really? Had no idea," Simon bites back, out of breath. Johnny chuckles -- his hands reach under Simon's shirt finding his chest, one knee moving between Simon's leg, kisses moving downward as he marks Simon's neck.
"Fuckin' hell, Johnny." Simon bites his lip as he moans. He's also been waiting all week. Every one of Johnny's stupid flirts had his mind. Even now, he can't help when he moans again when one of Johnny's hands move down the back of his jeans as his leg pushes up into Simon's crotch --
"Fuck --" Simon grabs at Johnny's shoulders, nails digging through clothes to redden skin, head whipping back to hit the door behind him (still unlocked), his hips bucking as his imagination and Johnny's touches become too much.
The two don't move for a solid three seconds.
"Did ye just --"
"Shut up." Simon's face up to his ears is red. If he could, his hair would be blushing. How the fuck did he just come in his pants like some fucking teenager? He opens his mouth to apologize or curse Johnny out or something, but Johnny beats him to it.
these are all my own headcanons. LOL. oh and i'm making a fic based off this post stay tuned.
────────────────────────────────────────────
Captain Price. Service Top.
He knows how to please and he loves to do it. He'll never come first and you'll never come only once. He's experienced and confident. Once he knows exactly what buttons to press to get you hot and bothered, you're fucked. He has no issue with PDA and needs everyone to know that you're his. It's his job to make you feel good, and he'll do it at the drop of his stupid hat.
'Gaz'. Power Bottom.
He tries so hard to be in control but loses it the moment you are on him - your eyes, your lips, your hands. All that bravado and flirting has taken a turn as he becomes putty underneath you. He's still trying to take charge as he talks a big game only to crumble once you get him going. That confidence comes back full stride once he's no longer a sobbing mess, but now you know it's just an act.
'Soap'. Vers.
A rare vers in its natural habitat. Nothing makes him happier than being able to please whomever he's with the way they need want to be pleased. He can (and will) take or lose control in a second if you ask him to. He may be overconfident at times, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Lovey in public and lovey in private, he's a 'best of both worlds' kind of guy.
'Ghost'. Bottom cosplaying as a top.
Do I need to explain? It's ok, I will. Having control is one of the ways he grounds himself, losing that is difficult. It's something someone has to earn from him. At the start, he'll fuck you and fuck you good. But the cracks start to show the closer you get until he's praising and begging with every breath. Possessive in an endearing way, his affection shows when you're alone.
Alejandro. Bottom.
It's a surprise but certainly a welcome one. All it takes is you. Once the door closes, or you whisper in his ear, show just a bit of skin, he becomes a puddle of obsession and reverence. He'll do anything to please you even if that means he gets nothing. Damn if he cares as long as you look at him. He is the true personification of this audio and you cannot change my mind.
Rodolfo. Soft top.
Another welcome surprise. He has this quiet confidence that comes through when with you. He loves being able to control both of your pleasures, watching how you unravel just for him, rambling praise even as he fucks you senseless. He's affectionate no matter the time, place, or company - which is a double edged sword as each whisper of love gets you riled up more than it probably should.
────────────────────────────────────────────
part 2 will have graves, konig and whoever y'all request.
price x gn!reader. 18+. smut. just a sexual blowjob between friends.
────────────────────────────────────────────
"That's it, love, just like that." The praise goes straight to your head, making the blush on your face deepen. In between his legs, underneath his desk, your eyes close as your captain rolls his hips - softly fucking your throat in his office. The only sounds are the creak of his chair and the lewd noises coming from your own mouth. You can't help it when your hand moves between your own legs to try and relieve the pressure building there.
"Enjoying yourself?" Price teases but you hear his voice catch in his throat, feel his hands tighten in your hair as his hips buck just a bit deeper. As calm and collected he is trying to appear, he's falling closer to that edge because of you. The thought is enough to make you moan around him. There's a muffled curse under his breath as his hips buck again.
[why is price drinking such a common thing in my fics good lord im a slut 💀💀]
MINORS DNI!!
there's a flutter in your chest as alejandro drilled his fingers into your sopping hole, laying his palm flat against your clit. you're situated in alejandros lap with your back to his chest. while price is stood across from you, leaning against his desk with a whiskey glass in hand.
alejandro's free hand smoothed up your stomach to your chest, taking your breast into his palm. your hands are holding onto his forearms, your nails leaving crescent imprints on his skin as you squirm and shake in his lap. alejandro groped and squeezed your flesh, laying kisses on the back of your neck.
"you look so pretty, mi vida."
your knees are hooked over his, his legs holding your legs open, keeping your sloppy cunt on full display for price to admire. you can barely focus on anything other than the unbridled pleasure that alejandro inflicts on you. your heart is thumping in your ears as he whispers sweet praises in your ear.
"hmm, messy little thing, aren't you?"
price moves to stand in front of you, tilting your head down to make you watch how alejandros fingers disappear inside you and how much of a wet mess there is in his lap. he moves your head back up, a hand tangling in your hair to keep your head back.
"open."
it's a quick demand as he gives your hair a gentle tug. your mouth easily falls open, watching with glassy eyes as price takes a sip of his drink. he pours the drink into your awaiting mouth, a smirk tugging at his lips when you don't swallow, just hold the liquid as alejandros fingers start to work faster.
"atta girl, love. swallow for me."
there are practically hearts in your eyes as you blindly follow prices words, the whiskey leaving a pleasant burn as it goes down. price holds your neck, fingers squeezing around your throat ever so lightly. your eyes almost roll back into your head as alejandros fingers brush against your g-spot. you can't keep your eyes open as alejandro works you closer to your release, drool pooling at the corner of your lips.
"eyes on your captain, cariño."
the rumble of alejandros voice in your ear is near euphoric as your thighs shake and try to close around his hand. your nails are digging into his arms harder, teetering so gently over the edge. price hums quietly, cupping your cheeks with one hand and squishing them together. your mouth falls open quickly, letting price pour more of his drink into your mouth.
Synopsis: Your feeling for John were wrong – horribly wrong – but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what’s to hold you back anymore? (18+)
Word Count: 20.8k
Warnings: Cheating, toxic relationship, angst, fluff, depictions of violence and gore in flashbacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, Protective!Price, vulgar language, porn with an incredible amount of plot
A/N: Literally just supposed to be smut practice and I turned it into a novel lmfao. I should be getting back to requests after this.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
these are all my own headcanons. LOL. oh and i'm making a fic based off this post stay tuned.
────────────────────────────────────────────
Captain Price. Service Top.
He knows how to please and he loves to do it. He'll never come first and you'll never come only once. He's experienced and confident. Once he knows exactly what buttons to press to get you hot and bothered, you're fucked. He has no issue with PDA and needs everyone to know that you're his. It's his job to make you feel good, and he'll do it at the drop of his stupid hat.
'Gaz'. Power Bottom.
He tries so hard to be in control but loses it the moment you are on him - your eyes, your lips, your hands. All that bravado and flirting has taken a turn as he becomes putty underneath you. He's still trying to take charge as he talks a big game only to crumble once you get him going. That confidence comes back full stride once he's no longer a sobbing mess, but now you know it's just an act.
'Soap'. Vers.
A rare vers in its natural habitat. Nothing makes him happier than being able to please whomever he's with the way they need want to be pleased. He can (and will) take or lose control in a second if you ask him to. He may be overconfident at times, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Lovey in public and lovey in private, he's a 'best of both worlds' kind of guy.
'Ghost'. Bottom cosplaying as a top.
Do I need to explain? It's ok, I will. Having control is one of the ways he grounds himself, losing that is difficult. It's something someone has to earn from him. At the start, he'll fuck you and fuck you good. But the cracks start to show the closer you get until he's praising and begging with every breath. Possessive in an endearing way, his affection shows when you're alone.
Alejandro. Bottom.
It's a surprise but certainly a welcome one. All it takes is you. Once the door closes, or you whisper in his ear, show just a bit of skin, he becomes a puddle of obsession and reverence. He'll do anything to please you even if that means he gets nothing. Damn if he cares as long as you look at him. He is the true personification of this audio and you cannot change my mind.
Rodolfo. Soft top.
Another welcome surprise. He has this quiet confidence that comes through when with you. He loves being able to control both of your pleasures, watching how you unravel just for him, rambling praise even as he fucks you senseless. He's affectionate no matter the time, place, or company - which is a double edged sword as each whisper of love gets you riled up more than it probably should.
────────────────────────────────────────────
part 2 will have graves, konig and whoever y'all request.
I was thinking about for Price- maybe the reader has a small vibrator hidden in their room in the barracks. Sex toys are considered contraband and when Ghost finds it, he’s a little upset because you’ve been using a toy instead of him but he sees this as an opportunity to get price involved. So he drags you by the arm to Price’s office and shows him the contraband insisting you need to be punished. Holding you in front of him with his hand dripping your jaw to force you to look at Price. You trust Ghost so you don’t struggle too much, but you can help but squirm under both men’s gaze.
As for König. Maybe the reader has social anxiety as well and that’s what they bond over and soon they get comfortable enough around each other to hang out between missions. Ghost sees this, he’s not jealous but he sees how König’s eyes shift to look over your body. You are both normally pretty quite people, not even Ghost hears König’s voice too often and you normally force yourself to be quite during sex in fear of being caught by anyone. He decides he wants to push both König and you to your breaking point enough to make you sing and he finds the perfect opportunity when Ghost catches you walking in the wrong bathroom while he and König are showing.
Obviously you can do whatever you want but those are the ideas that popped into my head! I hope you like them and I can’t wait to read what you come up with! ^^
Infraction
Simon Ghost Riley x afab/Fem!Reader x Captain John Price
Ghost drags you through the halls while you fight against his grip.
“Simon, please!” You plead. He ignores you. You know he’s mad, but this is not how to deal with it. All of this over a goddamn vibrator? Seriously?!
He found it in your bag. You hardly use it. You don’t need it when you have Simon. But, sometimes you get assigned to different missions and you get lonely. Simon found it and he was not pleased. It’s not a huge deal. It’s only a simple bullet vibrator and It’s a last resort.
It’s also technically contraband.
Ghost marches you straight to Price’s office.
“What is going on here?” The captain is halfway done smoking a cigar.
“Captain, We’re here to report an infraction. Aren’t we, love?”
You cross your arms and grimace. “Yes, lieutenant.”
That’s apparently not a satisfactory response. Ghost pushes you forward until your legs bump into Price’s desk. He holds your jaw steady and forces you to look at the captain.
You take a deep breath. “I’m here to report an infraction, Captain.”
“And what would that be?”
Ghost drops the vibrator on his desk and you want to combust, turn to dust, or anything if I gets you out of this room immediately.
The captain looks at the small toy on his desk and back to you. His eyebrows raise and you watch his mouth scrunch and twist a bit. It’s what he does when he’s thinking. It might be involuntary, or he does it to hide when he’s truly pondering something.
“This is quite the infraction, innit?” Price says. You swear his voice is getting lower. Maybe even deeper. Ghost still hasn’t let go of your jaw, but you can still swallow.
“Quite the infraction, I’d say,” says Ghost.
“That it is,” the captain mumbles.
The mood in the room shifts and your face starts to feel warm. Ghost knew about your little crush on the captain. It was way before you two were together, there was a big party at a nearby pub. It felt like it was ages before the 141, but you knew about Captain Price. Who didn’t? He was, and still is, the stalwart man you’ve heard many stories about. Your girlfriends dared you to make a move and after more (and a bit more) liquid courage you approached him.
He turned you down with grace and you moved on with your life.
Then you were brought on to work with his newest secret taskforce and he was nothing but professional. Things with Ghost eventually blossomed and you basically forgot about it. You only admitted to your crush after one of those same girlfriends saw you at a pub with your team and asked:
“Isn’t that the guy that turned you down?”
Ghost was an adult and understood that infatuations happen and pass. You’ve been together for months and that drunken incident felt like a lifetime ago.
Ghost knows this and here he is humiliating you. Those long forgotten feelings came crashing down and now you can't ignore it.
You’re looking down at the desk and Ghost forces your head back up so you are looking in the captain’s eyes. You’re squirming under their scrutiny and you can’t stop that warm feeling growing in your gut. When you look in Price’s eyes you see something wholly unprofessional.
“Captain,” you swallow your nerves and Ghost holds your jaw just a bit harder. You pray you aren’t misreading this. “I think I need to be punished.”
********
“Captain, this might not be an effective punishment,” wonders Ghost.
You’re bent over Price’s desk with red handprints scattered across your ass and thighs. You’re a mess as you beg for relief. You are most certainly not fucking enjoying this.
“Captain, please!”
Price has been teasing you for you have no idea how long. When this started Ghost made sure to lock the door to the office and was keeping guard. He started with a few hard spanks and you struggled to keep quiet.
Now you're standing here with your ass in the air while your captain is three fingers deep in your cunt. He’s patient and thorough as he works you over. You learned Ghost is a fucking traitor. He started giving Price pointers and revealed your tells. He always stops when get close to relief. Always, always, always.
“Please, captain,” You mumble into the desk.
Ghost traces your jaw. “Use your words, pet.”
“Captain, fuck me. Please.”
“Try harder, love.” Price answers.
“Please, captain. Fucking—fuck me. I need you.”
“What do you think, lieutenant?”
“Isn’t this a punishment? Do you think she learned her lesson?”
You made a mental note to murder Ghost after this. But first, you’d need to survive today.
"There are plenty of other ways to teach her a lesson, yeah?" Price pulls your upper body off the desk and Ghost sits down where you were. He’s something to lean on and cling to during the overwhelming storm that is Captain John Price.
Ghost holds your cheek in his hand to steady your breathing. He swipes his thumb over your lips and you eagerly suck on it.
“Greedy little thing, she is,” Price remarks.
“You’re doin’ a number on her, captain.”
They are talking around you and you don’t even care. You can only whine as Price rubs his cock against your sensitive cunt. You can barely babble out pleas with Ghost’s thumb in your mouth.
Your whining gets higher and sharp when you feel the pressure of your captain’s tip pushing forward. You stare into Ghost’s eyes as Price thrusts forward at an agonizingly slow pace.
When he finally bottoms out you hear his own shaking breathing. It’s the only sign that you've had an effect on him. It’s still a fraction of the number he’s doing on you.
“Tell me, love.” His voice gets more gravely when he leans forward to speak in your ear. “Is this what you imagined when you propositioned me?”
You let out a cry. The relief of his cock is started to fade back into that clawing need. He’s not fucking moving and that’s what you need.
Ghost stands next to you and brushes hair off your face. “Tell him, pet.”
‘It—” It’s a struggle to speak clearly. You take a shaky breath. “Captain, it’s so much better than I imagined.”
“You hear that, captain?” Ghost sounds so amused. “Don’t let ‘er down.”
“Roger.”
********
“If you don’t beg, you don’t cum,” Ghost orders.
“Please, sir!” His eyes mesmerize you. It’s the only thing you can focus on. “I can’t handle more! Fuck, please let me cum. I’ve been good! Please!”
You see Ghost shake his head ‘no’ and Price slows down. It tears you away from the edge.
“Fuck!” You cry out. “Fuck, spank me, pull my hair. I don’t care!”
“Captain, she’s bargaining.”
“A sweet bargain, that is.”
Both of their voices get lower and rough when they act more cruel. Those dark, gravely words add fuel to the fire. It’s not helping you keep your orgasm at bay.
“Please, captain! I can’t—please!”
“Give it to me, love,” you hear behind you. It sounds like a message from an angel. You let that overwhelming pressure begin to boil over. Once it starts you—
Smack!
The pain of being spanked catches you off guard. A sharp moan rips out of you, but you're quickly silenced by Ghost’s mouth. He lifted up the bottom of his mask to kiss you. The kiss muffles your moans and gives you something to focus on besides the black pit it feels like you’re falling into. You're holding onto his arms tight to keep yourself upright.
The kiss hardly gives you time to breathe and as the pleasure begins to ebb. Price slowed down his thrusts so as to not completely destroy you. Yet. You realize how lightheaded you are and pull yourself away from the kiss. You attempt to take deep breaths, but they are still shaky.
Suddenly you feel Ghost press his hand against your clit. You open your mouth to question him, but your words die on your lips when you feel vibrations.
Ghost looks devious behind his mask when you realize he’s using your own ‘infraction’ against you.
“Now the punishment can really begin, right captain?”
I can't stop thinking about how pretty Simon would look getting a blowjob. It's a serious issue.
I'm not even being funny, I close my eyes and all I can picture is him slouched against the backrest of the couch, hands loosely guiding your head via thick fingers that lace through the strands of your hair. He'd have his head thrown back against the couch cushion, eyelids closed, mouth parted as rough groans and the occasional grunted praise slips through loose lips.
"Yeah, just like that sweetheart, shit—"
"Look so good with your lips stretched around my cock, love, fuckin' hell."
He'd lose all composure as soon as he feels his balls tighten, his grip turning from soft and guiding, to firm and ironclad. He'd keep your head fixed in place as he kicks his hips up, fucking his cock into drool slicked lips, near growling every time the pushes past the limit of your gag reflex, drinking in every debauched noice that emanates from below him.
And the entire time, you wouldn't be able to take your eyes off him, transfixed on the godly sight that is watching Simon Riley lose himself in the pleasure your mouth gives him. It's enough to have you pushing past the mild discomfort, controlling your gags to let him fuck that little bit deeper into your throat, if only to watch the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull.
You've never felt more spiritual than when he grits out the words you hold as holy scripture, "Gonna let me cum in that pretty little mouth of yours, huh? Gonna be my good fuckin' girl and swallow it all?"
And you would. You'd swallow it all down, his cum, every single stuttered grunt and shallow breath, elongated curses mixed with sweet renditions of your name, the way his muscles twitch in the aftermath of climax, you drink it all down with unrivalled eagerness.
But even after that, there's no powers above that could separate you from his softening cock. You know that. Simon knows that. So he won't try to move you, he simply lets you stay on your knees and worship him; post-orgasm bliss surging through his system as blurry, honeyed eyes watch the way you lazily lave your tongue against his spent shaft, so unbelievably love-stricken by his sweet angel.
stormborns
izzy806
discoholicmusic
origamiaround
kaledo-art
titsay
gummygunk
