Just another body - Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley
Reader's callsign is 'Leto'
18+ NSFW
Reader admits her feelings for Ghost on a mission, sex happens. PinV, oral, fingering, dirty talk.
“You bring ‘em in like stray dogs. Leave it this time.” Ghost’s order is borderline amused when you eye the contraband sitting atop the server racks. He’d rolled up his sleeved coat after an hour of sweating in the server room, revealing thick muscled forearms that sent your eyes darting for more than just weapons to loot. The man was distracting, with either the voice, the body or the way he commanded a room. He was turning into a liability, but you weren’t sure how to dismiss yourself from the team any sooner. You’d already asked Price for an out, which he guaranteed would happen as soon as they could manage without you.
Getting shot because you were busy staring at the lieutenant was not an ideal way to expedite the process.
“We’re going to have to find something to do here. I couldn’t even play Snake if I wanted to.” You mutter, toeing one of the eighteen massive steel beams just in the tech room alone. With the amount of tech they supplied, you’d been amazed at the lack of personnel guarding the damn things. Further stunned at the little time it’d taken to find the massive fans and cooling systems and shut them down.
It’d taken only minutes for the basement to become uncomfortably warm. Half an hour in, and you’d stripped free of your coat and shoved it into your already full backpack. Simon had offered to carry it in his back on your behalf, but you declined. Going through his things, being at his back but not watching it was too intimate for some reason. Sure, he was your teammate, and sure, you’d swiped more than a few mags of ammo from the exact backpack, but the soft way he’d said it, how he’d eyed you a moment after taking it off felt like toeing a border that you were more than aware of.
“We’ve got two hours before our bird arrives, you’ll be fine.” He dismisses your complaint, shrugging his shoulders and shifting the pack around. You step towards him, forgetting your own rules and boundaries around him for a moment, and raise your arms to unbuckle the chest strap of the pack. His hands catch yours and his brows narrow behind the mask. You suddenly are distinctly aware of how easily he could break your hand in a hundred different ways, but the warmth and gentleness of his gloved touch is the most distracting part of it.
“You should take a break, let me carry it for a while.” You fuss, hoping that it comes off as helpful and not nagging. You’d already insisted he buy a balm for his shoulder and knees at the shop closest to the safehouse. Was your concern for him too obvious? “So I don’t have to hear you complain about how sore you are later?” You press, noting how his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, then to where your hands meet.
Your stomach rolls, and you fear for nausea with the intensity of it. With the way his dark eyes somehow see through you and into what your words really intend. “Let me take care of you. Let me touch you.”
And it’s a miracle he doesn’t see the way you watch his every movement, that or incredible stupidity. But you know he isn’t stupid. You know he reads others like the damned menu he’d stolen from your hands once you’d arrived here. The Intel Target had reserved a time with a particularly well known black market dealer and their joint decision to dine out had resulted in one of the best meals of your life.
He knew you couldn’t read the language, and had taken it upon himself to just know you. To know exactly what you wanted and how you’d wanted it cooked. He’d ordered your meal as fluently as he held a gun, and you’d nearly forgotten about your mission in the bliss of the taste of it all.
He nods once, a slow movement before he’s slinging his rifle strap over his head and removing the pack with lethal efficiency.
“What’s that look about? What’re you thinkin’?” He asks, eyeing you as you push the memory away.
“How good that damned dinner was.” You answer truthfully, wondering if losing him isn’t worth the safety it would ensure. The pack weighs heavy on your shoulders, along with the guilt.
He rolls his neck and sigs as you adjust the straps to your body, clicking the chest buckle into place and tugging it tight. “Maybe I’ll convince Price to keep you ‘round.” He said, and you can hear the mocking in his tone.
Your words come automatically. “I’m needed with second squad.” You lie. It’s what you’d been telling Soap for the last three weeks, no more detail, no more emotion than that. But Simon… he knows something is wrong with the quipped words and selective tone. But it’s the only thing you’re able to tell him, really. His brows twitch together for a moment at your short explanation, and he turns to you fully, taking his eyes off the exits. Your heart thunders, blood pounding in your ears as loud as the servers begin to whine around you.
“Second squad-” He practically spits the name. “doesn't deal in your expertise, Leto.” His voice rumbles and your mouth falls open as he steps closer, towering over you. For a moment you can only marvel at the brutality of his build. A tank of a killing machine he is, tall and built and ready for you to climb. A True, full blooded warrior, to the very core.
And behind that mask, and those eyes that pierce through to your very being - He knows. Oh God, he knows you’re lying. Your eyes go wide, and like a fool you forgo all your interrogation training. “What isn’t Price telling me?” He growls, his hands going to the radio at his hip.
You stammer, trying your damnedest to put on a show of innocence. “Nothing, he wouldn’t-” God now he’s thinking Price is going to betray him, you’ll tear the team to pieces if he thinks-
“Guess I can ask for myself-” He pulls the radio free, his eyes still boring into yours.
He raises it slowly, giving you time to lie more, to come up with a shitty excuse for why you’d been avoiding missions with him for the last few months. Why you’d had to beg Second Squadron to open a spot for you and your expertise as he’d called it.
“Stop-” You gasp, hands catching his before he can make the comms live. His finger brings the small screen to life, the green glow reflecting in his eyes. “Fuck Simon, christ. Okay, Okay stop.” You breathe, and surprisingly he allows you to take the radio from him.
“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. With you-” The words feel like poison as you release them, it aches deep in your chest to know how real they are. His eyes flash wide, then his features harden, his mask adjusting to what you’d imagine to be a flexed jaw and thin lipped grimace.
“I asked to be switched. You’re… distracting. I- get distracted around you, I mean.” You sigh, and your sweaty hands leave your weapon, a dull reminder of the real reason you’re in the sweltering basement beneath miles of concrete.
He stills, body going taut and flexed in that way he does when he’s listening for enemy footsteps.”Go on.” He insists. In this moment it wouldn’t be so bad if enemies found you. It’d save you from having to explain further.
“Goddammit Ghost-” You push a hand through your hair, tugging slightly. “I’ve had it a rule for myself for my entire career to never get involved. And here you are, ruining it.” You spit it out, like your feelings are somehow his fault. At least he knows now. At least you don't have to go on lying to him when he can tell your words are false.
There’s a long pause, the only sound the whirring struggle of the tech around you. His eyes don't leave yours, and you duck your head in shame.
“‘M’not Ghost to you, though, am I?” He steps closer, closing in around you, making it so you’re forced to stare up at him and arch backwards against one of the boxes behind you.
“What-” You shake your head, confused at his question.
He leans down close, and you tense, ready to fight him if needed. But his words had no intent of violence in them, not even a hint of it. Still, your muscles bunched, ready to attack if he so much as raised his voice. Ready to fight. Ready.. For what? He’d been the guarding your back for the last four years, since you’d been assigned to 141. He’d never hurt you, physically anyway. Was your body preparing for his rejection? Was it truly ready to try to fend off the man twice your size that had bested you in every sparring competition you’d ever had with him?
His mouth is on the cusp of your ear when he speaks. “I’ve heard you whinin’, moaning my name.” He says slowly, and your heart stops for a moment. Heat surges from your neck to your ears. Your eyes prick with embarrassed tears. “Oh Simon, ooh fuck.” He mimics, rolling his hips forward, his thigh brushing the inside of your own.
“Ghost-” Your words are choked, and you’re relieved when he interrupts you.
“We’ve not shared a room in some time, but I still hear you.” He pulls back,only enough to look you in the eyes and he smiles, his eyes crinkling when he stares you down. “I still..listen for you.” He nods slightly, his eyes flicking from yours to your lips.
Your breath hitches in your throat, and you're on him before he can say anything else. His mask is warm and wet with sweat, but he lifts it up enough to expose his mouth and the stubbled chin and jaw. His lips are magnetic, pulling you in and keeping you there as he palms your ass. He flicks the front strap of the backpack off and in a moment you’re shedding layers and layers of gear and armor plates that suddenly seem ridiculous to be carrying in the first place.
If he’s the one getting you killed, dying may not seem so harsh.
He’s tender and giving until you nip at his lower lip and scratch down his back once he’s removed his vest, then he’s teeth and demanding hands that you knew could do exactly this. What you’ve dreamed about, apparently.
He picks you up with ease, bringing you back to a windowless room where you’d downloaded the server information. He sets you stop a cold desk and swipes an arm across the surface, sending office supplies and monitors crashing to the ground before he’s on you once again. His tongue traces yours slowly, rhythmically as his hands search and pull and bite into your skin. Calloused, strong fingers brush over your breasts and grip every part of you’d been imagining since you’d joined 141.
He’s feral and somehow controlled at the same time, a balance of will and want. Only you’ve been waiting for this for years. You’ve been dreaming about him, and the want for him outweighs your will and control. “I need you.” You gasp when he lifts your shirt over your head. You pull his up as well, marveling at how solid he is, how built and perfect every feature is.
You want to taste it all.
But he’s controlling the pace, and you have no problem with it. His tongue traces masterfully over your skin, along the column of your neck, sending a new surge of fire to your core. Maybe you would retract your request to move to Second Squad, if it meant you’d get to be with Simon.
He rips your pants down, dragging your panties with them, exposing your swollen cunt to the air. “Fuck me-” He breathes, working his own pants to the floor around his boots. He kneels before you and spreads you apart, his eyes dragging over the most sensitive parts of you.
“Intend to.” You gasp as his bare hand circles your clit. He pulls his other glove off with his teeth and lets it fall to the floor, never looking away from either your pussy or your face as he learns you in a whole new way.
“Filthy fucking girl.” He growls approvingly, before burying himself in your pussy. The first stroke of his tongue from your center to your clit has you gasping, rolling your hips forward for more, and his eyes flash to yours, his pupils are enormous, his brows lowered in a look you’d previously describe as deadly. Now, you understood in those moments he was looking at you with desire. Your thighs clamp together, but he only groans and pushes harder on to you, his tongue lapping and flicking over your clit wildly.
He pulls away only to lap at his middle finger, making sure you watch as he coats it in his own saliva. Your hips rock upwards, keening for his touch again. His other hand is pulling slowly at his cock, now freed from the black pants that are only held on by his thigh holster. “Ghost-” You whine, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him better.
“Patience.” He warns, then finally lowers his finger to your entrance, his eyes devouring the way your body reacts to his warm digit. Your head lolls back, the burning ache for him relieved slightly while he works you open. He swears and adjusts his positioning. Then His tongue begins a slow pattern on your clit again, and he swears he’s never been so close to coming just from the feel of someone.
“Fuckin’ perfect for me-” He hisses when he slides deeper inside of you, reveling in the warm wetness there, his cock surges and he swears under his breath. He curls his finger and thrusts it forth, prodding your insides and searching for the things that’d make you tick.
“Ghost- Simon-” Your breathy moans have him coming undone too quickly, so he removes himself from you, damning every god he’s ever heard of for the horrid timing of your confession. Shit, if he’d just asked before the mission - when he’d first heard price talking about you moving teams… No, not now. His frustration is put into a box to be used later.
He grips the base of your neck and hauls you upward, smashing his lips into yours in a bruising kiss that he hopes leaves a mark on himself. At least then he’d have the proof for himself to know that this was real, and not another of his fantasies. He pulls back, and smiles at your confused, pouting expression. Then, before you can talk back like he knows you want to, he laps at the finger covered in your wetness, wishing he could have the taste permanently ingrained to his mind.
He hadn’t been keeping an eye on your hands, and your touch to the base of his cock has him stiffening in surprise. He stumbles forward when you pull him, hissing when you rub the head of his cock against your needy cunt. He can’t help but lean into it, his breathing only coming out in short puffs while he regains his self control. “Slow.” You say, relaxing as much as you can while he slides forward. You lay back and embrace the sweet stretch his thick cock brings. His thumb finds your clit and he circles it slowly while he fills you.
His eyes flick to yours for assurance with every inch, but all he can see is the red marks along your throat and collarbone from where he’d bitten at you. More, he wanted more. The thirst for your skin on his tongue is insatiable. He gazed upon you, reveling in the feel and sight of you around him. The swollen, red lips that he wish were on his own throat, but he cant bring himself to request that of you when your body was laid out before him like this. With every inch he pushed into you, he finds something new to marvel over. The scars, the freckles and stretch marks, the callouses and tan lines - every part of you that seemed like a secret before now. He silently vows to himself to memorize them all, to take stock of every one of those scars so he could be sure he wouldn’t miss any new ones.
He bows over you, planting wet, sloppy kisses across every feature he could reach once he’s fully buried inside of you. Your walls squeezed around him, and his cock twitches again. He bites into his lip, the pain distracting him from the pleasure for a moment. He pulls back slightly, and slides back in. Your moans are synchronized. You chant his name like a goddamn prayer, and he could swear he bit a hole in the side of his cheek.
“How d’ya want me?” He asks, leaning down, hoisting your leg up over his muscled and forcing you to take him even deeper. You cry out, but with the movement his cock brushes over the spot inside of you, hiking your need to a new level. Close. So close with such few movements. This man was a god. Or a demon. Most would likely say a demon of some sort.
“Tell me sweetheart, how’ve you dreamed this?” He asks, sliding out fully and spearing himself back in. Your eyes roll back and an animalist sound claws its way from your throat. Your insides clench around his length, pulling him in, in in, and somehow you still need more. You need all of him. The demanding heat inside you requires it. You fumble for his chest, where his tac vest usually would allow you to haul him forward, but his hand catches yours, and pins it back beside your head.
You arch and preen for him, rolling forward though he’d bottomed out. He’s swearing and practically purring with satisfaction of watching you. God you’ve never felt so desperate for something, never felt like you needed another person this badly before. A demon, definitely a demon.
“Such a pretty fucking show for me.” He rolls his hips back, then thoroughly back into place. A sound you don’t recognize leaves your throat in response. “In my head, I’ve taken you on top ‘a every inch of that safehouse.” He pulls out, and snaps his hips forward again, leaving you quivering with need. “I’ve had you comin’ on my face, my hands, my cock, on whatever toy you want…” He hisses, pulling back slightly to watch his glistening member re enter your wetness. “Is this all you want - my cock buried in your pretty pussy?” His hand squeezes your thigh, then goes to your clit, and for a moment you can’t believe you’ve held on this long. Your body trembles beneath him and your knees pull together, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Yes Simon, yes god, yes-” You pant, then pull your joined hands to your face, he’s still playing over your clit when you suck his pointer finger into your mouth and his eyes fly to yours. You can’t imagine the sight of yourself, but something changes for him in that moment. He moves, leaning over you fully, one hand cupping the back of your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes, the other on your hip, holding you firmly in place. His forearms barricading you while his hips snap forward at a brutal pace, forcing the tip of his cock into that sweet spot that makes you come nearly instantly.
Your eyes go wide, mouth open while obscene sounds spill from you. His breathing, the way he bites his lip, all of it is too much.
You’re coming, and coming and screaming but everything has gone quiet in your head. Only his darkened eyes matter, the way the paint black has started melting away, the way his brows pull together and how his eyes graze over every one of your features admiringly as you gasp his name over and over again, his cock forcing your orgasm like he’d fucked you a million times and knew exactly what to do.
Only the waves of ecstasy exist to you, that and the smell, the weight of his body over yours, the heat of him. Your legs shake, hooking around his backside and pulling him deep into you. Within a few more strokes he’s gasping, his body shuddering and your stomach is suddenly covered. He brushes hair back from your face, and a wry smile forms on his lips. He pulls the mask back down, over his reddened lips and pecks your cheek before shakily pushing himself up. He grabs the backpack, pulls a sweater from it and begins wiping you clean.