listen bro i am just trying to read this book and listen to my silly little songs and watch my comfort movies while eating chocolate ice cream. do not ask me where i see myself in five years i cant even see myself getting through this week yet here we are.
i’m not the original annon that requested 2 & 3 with simon, but now that you put that thought in my head… can we get it with the roles reversed? 👀
SMUT PROMPTS: Ghost Drabble; “Putting A Hand Over HIS Mouth To Be Quiet” + “Overstimulating HIM Until He’s Begging” (Fem!Reader) - NSFW UNDER THE CUT
“Ohh, fuck!- Sweetheart, p.. please—“ He gasps as you roll your hips, taking Ghost’s spent cock into your pussy once more. He weakly pushes at your hips, exclaiming, “I-I already came twice, love—fuck, please—“ You huff and you grab his jaw in such a way where your hand is covering his mouth, causing him to go wide eyed and look at you. You bite back a moan as you ride home and you say quietly with a threatening tone, “You’re being so damn loud, we’ll get caught. You can take it, big boy.”
You watch his eyes roll back into his head and feel his hips jump—either away or towards your hungry pussy, he doesn’t know, it hurts and feels so good at the same time. You laugh at his efforts, your voice breathy as you use him as a dildo, getting his dick as deep as you can manage so you can have him hit the right spots over and over. Although Ghost seemed apprehensive about this, you two had talked about it before—you can use each other to your hearts content if you need to. You can feel the way his two previous loads are dripping down his cock, all the while you fuck it back into yourself by dropping down on his dick.
You see Ghost’s eyes well up with tears as his hips begin to earnestly jump up against yours, like he’s chasing his own high again. He groans against your hand as he grabs your hips and fucks you back down onto his cock, and you giggle—which melts into a moan. “So desperate, so noisy…” Your eyebrows furrow a bit as you feel the rubber band in your stomach begin to tighten, and you have to cover his mouth and put a hand on his body to balance yourself, so you grab one of Ghost’s hands and guide it to your clit, which sets him off and he moans, eye shutting as he cums hard.
First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨
You’re awesome 🥰💞
Blood Was Its Avatar
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.
A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.
They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.
You pretended to be dead.
Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.
You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.
“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.
Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.
As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.
“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.
“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.
Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.
You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.
Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”
“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.
A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.
Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.
“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”
You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.
“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”
“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.
“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.
A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.
“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”
You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.
“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.
“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.
On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.
But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.
Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.
You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.
“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”
The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.
Missions were rarely a failure.
Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”
He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.
“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”
“None. Just us.”
“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”
“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.
“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”
“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”
“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.
Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.
You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.
In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.
Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.
Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.
Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.
—
You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.
Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.
Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.
“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”
Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.
The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.
Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.
It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.
Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.
Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.
Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.
“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”
“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.
His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.
You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.
But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.
You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.
“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.
You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.
Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.
Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.
“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.
Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.
“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.
Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.
Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.
But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.
Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.
His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.
This couldn’t continue.
Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.
“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”
Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.
You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.
Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.
Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”
“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”
Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.
A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.
Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”
He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.
The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.
When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.
He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.
Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.
Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.
—
When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.
Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.
If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.
On the second week, it got easier.
You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.
Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.
Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.
The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…
Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.
He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.
Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.
The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.
You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…
“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.
Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.
“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.
The room returns to strained silence. You huff.
“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.
The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.
All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...
Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.
“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”
His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.
You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.
“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.
Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.
The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.
You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.
“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.
“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.
You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.
Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.
“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.
“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”
Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.
“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.
Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.
After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.
You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.
“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.
Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.
The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.
He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.
You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.
“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.
“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”
“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”
A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”
Hard lips slam into yours.
Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.
Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.
He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.
Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.
His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”
Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.
As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.
There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”
Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.
“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.
Ghost had tattoos.
When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.
“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”
You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.
The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.
Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.
“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”
“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”
Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.
You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.
Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.
“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”
He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.
“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.
Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.
He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.
“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.
Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.
Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.
“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.
Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.
Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.
“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”
Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.
“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.
Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.
“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.
Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.
Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.
Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.
There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.
The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.
Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.
Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.
“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.
Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.
“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”
Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.
“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”
Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.
“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.
Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.
“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”
Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.
Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.
His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.
“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”
He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.
Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.
You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.
“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”
The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.
“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”
Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.
“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.
“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”
His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.
Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.
Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.
“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”
Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”
Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.
His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.
As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.
“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.
Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.
“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.
Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.
Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.
He watches blankly.
“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”
“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.
“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.
“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.
“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.
Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.
You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.
“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.
“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.
The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.
“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.
Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!
I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!
Brother's Coworker
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader
SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.
WORDCOUNT: 4.2k
WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.
A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.
Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.
“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.
“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.
Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.
“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”
“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.
Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.
Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”
You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.
“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”
“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.
Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.
“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.
“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”
“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.
“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”
“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”
Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.
“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.
“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”
“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.
Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.
This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.
He stands like a statue.
“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.
“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”
A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”
You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”
Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.
Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.
“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.
“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.
Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.
Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.
Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.
Christ, how long had you been staring at him?
“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”
Your brother slashes you with a grin.
“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.
“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”
“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.
“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.
“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.
“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”
“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.
“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.
“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.
Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.
Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.
Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.
Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.
You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”
“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”
“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”
“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.
Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.
He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.
Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.
“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.
“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.
“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.
Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.
“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.
Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.
“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”
A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”
You huff and smirk.
“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.
You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.
Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.
“That’s my job!”
Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.
“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”
The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.
“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.
You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.
“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”
“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.
Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.
Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.
“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”
“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.
“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”
Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.
“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.
He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.
You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”
By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.
Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.
Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.
“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”
Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.
The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.
“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”
Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.
Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.
“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”
“I just told you—”
“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”
Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.
What in the hell was going on?
Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.
“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.
For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.
In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.
He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.
When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.
“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”
“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.
“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”
The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.
“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.
“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.
Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.
“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”
“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.
Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.
You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”
“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”
“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”
The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.
You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”
Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.
“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”
Splaying your hands, you back out.
“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”
“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.
“Well, why not?” Simon glares.
“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.
“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”
You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.
With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.
“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.
Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.
A secluded home. Nothing around.
Then why had your words seeped into him?
“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.
—
In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.
As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.
Silent.
There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.
Tags: sick!simon, sub!simon, dry humping, p in v sex, penetration
Summary: Simon is sick and thinks he knows how to break a fever with the help of his girlfriend
Word count: 1.4k
Read here on ao3!
__________
He only had a small cold. Or at least, what was a small cold. And of course he acted like a helpless animal, asking you to feed him, bring him an assortment of medicines, and help him walk to the bathroom where he would then, ask you to bathe him. A cheeky smile that he hardly tried to hide displaying on his face.
You of course, didn’t mind caring for your afflicted boyfriend.
“You can’t take another Benadryl, Simon. You just had one.” Simon always prided himself on his flawless immune system. Now that his body has been compromised by harmful bacteria he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. But thank god he had you. For the past two days all he could do was mumble and groan from the couch. Exasperated “ehhgg’s” and whines of sickness filling the living room as the over 6 foot man struggled to lift his arms, begging for your help with the remote.
That’s why it surprised you to feel the searing warmth of his arms wrap around your waist as you stood in the kitchen. Your working hands coming to a stop on the meal you were preparing.
“Si- You’ve already contaminated our living room! I’ll be damned if I’m next…” You argued while attempting to shrug out of his grasp, finding your efforts ineffective. Over the past couple days you had made a valiant effort to sanitize the house and frequently wash your hands. You know Simon would take care of you if you fell sick, but you also knew that the idea of wallowing in the two of yous illness together was appealing to him as well.
“Mm, needa break this fever-” He murmured while burying his face into the crook of your neck. Laying hot kisses in his wake.
“Then let me make you a cup of tea. Or go take a warm shower don’t-!” His hands began to roam your body. Grasping at the skin of your stomach before moving to knead at your chest.
“Not what I had in mind” His words came out breathless. Whether that was because of his aroused state, his clogged sinuses, or both, you weren’t sure. But the needy grips his calloused hands laid on your body began to have an effect on you.
“You can go a few days can’t you?” Simon responded with an unconcerned hum, a low groan soon leaving the back of his throat as he grabbed your hips. Grinding his half hard erection against the flesh of your ass.
“You’ve been so good t’me. Can you help me some more?” His fingers dug deeper into your flesh, rutting the length of his bulge languidly against your backside. “Please.” He whined.
His hand came up to your neck, his index and thumb taking your chin and turning your face to meet his. It was too late to save yourself when his lips met yours, his tongue greedily working the wet room of your mouth as he hands massaged your breasts.
You sighed into the kiss, accepting the hunger that overtook you as well as the heat that gathered between your thighs. You soon gasped into Simon’s embrace as he was now turning you to face him, one hand resting on the back of your thigh as the other moved behind you. Haphazardly pushing the cutting board to the side so he could swiftly lift to place you on top of the counter. The cold stone of the counter caused you to arch you back as you pushed your chest into Simon, who now hurried to remove your top and bra. Exposing your hard nipples to the cold of the air that had previously worked to cool Simon’s fever, which only proved to be a futile attempt as the crimson on his cheeks only grew.
Simon pulled your waist so his erection could meet your clothed core. His eyes hung low with a fevered lust as you moved your hips to work against him. The both of you moaning as Simon hung his head forward between your chest, releasing sinful whimpers as he urgently rutted into you.
“Need ya’. Now” He demanded. Your brain began to fog with its own brand of Simon induced fog. He was so desperate that you only wanted to provide for him.
Your boyfriend hooked his fingers around the waistband of your shorts pulling them down alongside your damp underwear to your ankles. Kicking them to the floor as he lowered his boxers and sweatpants, Simon revealed his hard cock, the tip smeared with a bead of pre-cum that you reached to run your fingers against.
He shuddered at the sudden attention from your delicate touch. His body was practically on fire. Having to separate himself from you only caused him to become pent up, needy for any attention that you would provide his weeping cock. Your hand wrapped around his length as you stroked him with expertise. Heavy breaths flooded the room. He placed his hands on the edge of the counter to steady himself as you worked his shaft. Your left hand came to cradle the side of his face. ‘Poor thing’
You twisted your hand around him, your thumb swirling the sensitive skin of his head as you whispered in his ear. “Is this helping you hun?”
His head nodded fiercely against your neck. “Mmm Mhm, thank you-” His delicious whines filled your ears as he began to lightly shake. Your own sex was becoming neglected when your left hand lifted his face so his eyes could meet yours.
“Can I fuck you,” he near but begged. “I can take care of you too.” His lips connected with yours for a passionate kiss. Butterflies spread in the pit of your stomach at his adoration for you. It wasn’t often he got like this but when he did you happily let him succumb to his urges. He parted his mouth from yours, a string of saliva connecting to your now glossy lips, and Simon still pumping himself into your hand. “Make you feel good.” He enticed.
You nodded your head when he took the head of his cock to swipe between your folds. Circling the slickened tip around your swollen clit and dragging it back in between your folds. His hands came to rest softly against your lower waist, thumbs digging into the crest between your thighs and torso. He began to push his length into your hot walls, his eyes closing to keep him from cumming right then and there.
“F-fuck” He sputtered pushing himself deeper into your core.
“Simon, please” Your legs lifted to wrap your calfs around his back. Your heels now digging into his ass to encourage his strokes. Simon got the message and pushed the rest of his cock into your begging cunt. Engulfing him with a boiling heat as you began adjusting to his size. He began to move in and out of you. His eyes locked to yours as he provided your pussy with slow, hard thrusts.
Each slap of his skin against yours elicited a moan from your lips that he returned with animalistic grunts of his own. 2 days too many away from your perfect cunt, and he was never a man of patience.
Your pussy squelched as he dragged the full length of his cock out of you before bottoming out again. His hand moved to the back of your head, bringing you in for a messy kiss while the other moved to your clit. Simon was amazed he had even lasted this long and as his orgasm began to approach its horizon he worked to bring yours to as well. You gasped into the kiss. His hand quickening its assault as his thrusts entered you at a new angle. Simon pistoning his cock against the patch of nerves that lay within your walls, your hold on him beginning to tighten as he talked you through your imminent climax.
“Cum on my cock pretty girl. I know you need it. I need it.” His words came out in a gravel like tone. He couldn’t hold it in any longer when your cunt began to spasm around his shaft, milking his own release from him as the coil in your stomach snapped. You threw your head back, your mouth falling agape as Simon growled against your neck. His hot seed filled you with a satiating intensity.
“So,” your breathing now labored, “So good Si.” Your hand came to massage the back of scalp as he littered your neck with kisses.
It wouldn’t be until another 2 days when he denied his involvement in your oncoming fever. His own having been broken when he suggested a new at home remedy to cure you.
tag list: @junosbugs @lovelyladymayyy @specialagentmonkey @elle-writes-things @anotherrickinthewall
“Likin’ ya new place, L.t.?” Soap’s voice broke through the silence in Ghost’s office. Piles of papers stood high on his desk and his laptop was open to the notes from the most recent mission briefing. He was trying to focus on his work, knowing he’d have to go back out in a couple hours to continue training the new sergeants. But memories from last night followed him around like a lost puppy, begging for his attention.
“It was the first and last time I set foot in that store,” you said through fits of silent laughter, the words barely formulating on your tongue. Ghost couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way your face lit up with your laughter. He stared, memorizing the line of your plump lips, the gentle curvature of your nose, the way your lashes fell against your cheek when you closed your eyes.
The sound of amusement that left you was the sweetest damn song he’d ever heard, and he yearned to be the reason you made it.
“It’s fine,” Ghost said nonchalantly, not looking away from his laptop. It was more than fine, but he’d be damned if admitted that to the sergeant.
Soap remained standing at the door, his body leaning against the frame as he crossed his arms across his chest. Ghost could feel Soap’s eyes on him, and he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“What?” Ghost snapped after thirty-seconds of silence, finally moving his gaze for a brief second over to the man standing at his doorway.
“Nothin’,” Soap shrugged. “Been awfully quite the las’ couple a days, that’s it.”
“Got nothing to talk about,” Ghost retaliated.
“Not even the beautiful lass you’re livin’ with?” Ghost’s eyes zoned in on Soap, a silent question as to how he knew what you looked like. “Got curious. Sam showed me a picture.”
“It’s none of your business, Sergeant,” Ghost clipped, returning his focus to the computer screen. He tried comprehending the words in front of him but just ended up reading the same sentence over and over again.
Soap, nosy as he was, walked further into the room and plopped himself onto the chair in front of Ghost’s desk.
“She’s a stunner, L.t.,” Soap interrupted.
A vein on Ghost’s forehead ticked, though Soap wasn’t able to see it. He knew you were pretty, but why was Soap so interested?
“Why the sudden interest?” Ghost questioned, a sliver of possession running down his spine. It was wholly unnecessary and completely out of the blue, but there was no point questioning it. Ghost had been feeling unwarranted feelings ever since the first time he talked to you over the phone.
“No reason.” Another shrug from the sergeant. “I gave yoo the number, is all. Feels like my responsibility if something goes wrong.”
Ghost scoffed. “I’m a grown man, Johnny. I can take care of myself.”
“No doubt,” Soap smiled. “So…is she nice?”
“She’s none of your business,” Ghost deadpanned. He tried hiding his annoyance, though he didn’t know if he was successful.
Soap chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t gonna get anything out of him.
“Tight-lipped as ever,” the sergeant jested. “But that’s not what I came in ‘ere for.”
“Oh?” Ghost’s ears perked up.
“There’s trouble again. Insurgents in Al Mazrah.” Soap’s expression turned serious, all sentiments back to business. “Price wants a word.”
---
“But I thought we got all the weapon holds there,” Gaz asked, a quizzical look towards the Captain.
“I thought so, too,” Price said, hands on his hips as he paced back and forth. “But this one is underground. Practically impossible to sniff out.”
“Then how’d you find it?” Soap spoke up from where he was seated.
“We noticed multiple caravans, all taking different routes, end up at the same location deep within the desert.” All eyes in the room turned to the laptop from which Laswell spoke. Her stoic face betrayed no signs of urgency, but the tension in the room said otherwise. “Had our drones scout the area. Turns out there’s a bunker within the oasis.”
“Bloody hell,” Ghost murmured under his breath. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that the trouble with Hassan was over just because they killed him, but he was disappointed that they’d left such an important loose end undiscovered for so long.
“How the hell did we miss this?” Gaz stated, putting everyone’s unspoken thoughts to words.
“It’s easy to miss things like this. But that’s not what’s important right now.” Price grabbed the map sitting next to the laptop and spread it open on the table for the rest of the crew to see. “Dealing with the insurgents here…” he circled ‘Al Mazrah’. “And getting hold of the weapons bunker here,” he indicated to an obscure position somewhere in the desert next to the city. “These are our priorities.”
The next couple of hours were spent determining the plan of attack. Ghost and Soap were to head the team that would be responsible for dealing with the insurgents in the city, while Price and Gaz would attack the weapons hold.
And by morning, they were exiting the aircraft into humid, sand-filled air.
---
It’d been six days since Ghost had left for work, seven since the night of the dinner. You would replay bits and pieces of the night over again in your head, smiling at the memory of shared laughs and dry jokes.
He barely revealed anything about himself, letting out grunts or straight up not answering when you asked personal questions. You got the hint, realizing that the man valued his privacy more than anything, so you ended up regaling him with stories of your own life.
You had nothing to hide, but more than that, you didn’t feel the need to hide from Ghost.
It was nice to have someone who listened, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed whenever you were met with silence about his own past. Obviously, it’s not like you wanted him to tell you his deepest, darkest secrets. But maybe you were starting to think of him as a friend, and maybe it would be nice to know more about him besides the fact that he was in the military.
“Hi sweetheart,” Belinda said as you entered the shelter, shaking the snow off your boots. “How’ve you been?” The old lady stepped out from behind the counter and gave you a hug, rubbing a soothing hand on your back. You hugged her back, allowing yourself to take a little bit of comfort from her.
“I’m okay. I think,” you said, pulling away from the embrace and stuffing your hands in the pockets of your coat.
“You think?” Belinda shook her head as if that was unacceptable. “How come? That boy Ethan up to something again?”
You sighed, realizing you hadn’t visited the shelter since you and Ethan had broken up, so Belinda was none the wiser.
“Actually,” you began. “We’re not together anymore.” The words came with no feeling, as if you were telling the woman you had oatmeal for breakfast, and not that you’d ended things with your boyfriend of three years.
“What?” Belinda sat down on the wicker chair next to the door, patting the one next to her. You complied and sat down too. “What happened?”
You contemplated what to say. On the one hand, you could be honest and tell her Ethan had cheated. But on the other, that wasn’t a detail you were in the mood to hash out.
So you shrugged, averting your eyes from Belinda. “He was a jerk.”
“Oh hon.” The woman took your hand, running a gentle finger across the back of it. “It’s good you realized he wasn’t worth your time. Better single than raising a man-child.”
You chuckled, thinking to yourself that those words couldn’t be any truer.
“You wanna head back? We had a new litter of kittens dropped off here a week ago if you want to see them,” Belinda said.
“Of course I wanna see them.”
You were out of your chair and at the back of the shelter in a matter of minutes, petting the older cats you had already met and letting the new ones get accustomed to you. As you played with the little fur balls, a certain one caught your eye; sleek, black fur covering the top of its head while the rest was white as snow.
You gently took the cat into your arms, noticing how quiet and patient it was. Reminded you of a certain someone.
“That’s Maisie,” Belinda said as she walked past the curtains, a large bag of cat food in her arms.
You looked at Maisie, seeing her calmly watching you. “Hi Maisie. It’s nice to meet you,” you whispered. The cat raised a paw towards you, curiosity shining in her eyes. You brought your face closer as her paw grazed over your nose, then your cheek.
“She likes you.” Belinda was at the corner of the room, rationing out portions of cat food into bowls.
“Well, I think I like her too.”
“She’s all yours if you want her,” the older lady raised an eyebrow in question, a mischevious smirk on her face.
You looked back down at Maisie, trying to map out the pros and cons of adopting a cat right now.
“Oh, don’t think about it too much,” Belinda scolded. She left her spot and walked over to where you were seated on the floor next to the play pen. “She’ll be great company. Might even help you through your breakup.”
You didn’t tell her that you were very much over your cheating ex-boyfriend. But would it really hurt to have someone to come home to at the end of the day?
Summary: After a successful mission you went to the common area to share a drink with a few members of the team. There you run into one of the new soldiers, the two of you get to talking. As time passes, it’s clear that he’s trying to make a pass on you. As you try to leave he pulls you against him… and of course that’s when your boyfriend walks in.
As Ghost carried you to his room, you had no time to explain. Unable to explain the sight that greeted him when he entered the common area. He didn’t respond to anything you said, quietly carrying you to his room. Once he was inside and had shut the door behind you both, he put you down and then pressed you against it.
“Ghost wait- listen I can explain” you begin saying, placing your hands on his chest softly. Having, just moments ago, pressed them against another man’s.
You were in the common room with a few other soldiers, having a small drink as one of the new guys approached you. You got to talking and before you could even register it, his hand was resting on top of yours on the bar counter. You took it as a friendly gesture.
After a while, you noticed him leaning in closer, speaking in a deeper tone, his eyes drifting away from your own more often. You took that as your cue to leave. As you were about to leave, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you against his chest. In shock you place your hands on him, intending to push him away and scold him.
But before you could even say a single word, the soldier was tossed to the ground by the back of his shirt and you were thrown over the assailants shoulder. You recognized the arm wrapped around your waist immediately and you could feel the tension laced in its muscles.
Ghost has always been possessive of you, even before you two were together. He would get jealous, but never show it, he only stepped in when he truly thought you were uncomfortable. Well… that and just if he wanted to.
He stood over you, looking down at your hands on his chest, both of you staying silent. You waiting for him to speak, and him daring you to speak. “I didn’t m-“ you began to say but you stopped when in a single movement he grabbed your wrists with his hands and pinned them above your head.
He leaned forward and said “shh, I know lovie…”. You felt slight relief. You knew he wasn’t angry because his grip was still gentle. His tone wasn’t upset either. Nothing about his demeanor was angry. Merely… possessive. Protective. Of you.
He leaned in more, clearly wanting to kiss you, but you pulled away as much as you could and spoke again. “Y-you know I would nev-“ he once again didn’t let you finish your sentence. “Yes I know. You would never do that to me” he said immediately. He leaned back in, going to kiss you, but you still lean away to speak once more. “He was the one wh-“ he just kissed you. Shutting you up once and for all.
“I know. You don’t have to explain lovie. I know~” he mumbles against your lips. You then decided to shut up, simply closing your eyes and melting into his, seemingly, unending kiss. The passion and love clear in the way his lips molded with yours, helping to relieve the nervousness that had festered inside of you.
Both his hands let go of your wrists, one moving to your hip while the other went to tangle into your hair. Once he knew you were going to shut up, his lips moved down to your neck. His kisses were soft, you leaned your head back with a sigh at the feeling. “And trust me. He’ll pay for putting his hands on you soon enough…” he spoke against your skin. His accent thick, and promise was laced in his words.
He continued to kiss your neck, softly nipping and licking the areas he knew were most sensitive. Both his hands shifted down to your thighs as he did. You were too distracted by the feeling to wonder why. Once your arms wrapped around his neck he smirked against your skin. He then finally said “but first…”, pulling away from your neck with one final bite just below your jaw. Your eyes focused back on him, locking with his own.
He then began to lift you up by your thighs. You yelp softly in surprise but instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. “I have to mark you up a little. Visibly show him, and anyone else, that you’re taken”. He carries you to the bed, dropping you down softly against the mattress.
“You’re all mine lovie~ and it seems I’ve failed in making that clear to everyone. I won’t make that mistake again”
“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer.
“I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.”
“I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”
hi guys. this is my first time writing smut, therefore 18+ only. 5.4k words. hope you like it. have fun. bye guys.
(asks are open)
happy reading
warnings: smuttyyy smut
The military ball was in full swing in the grand ballroom of the elegant hotel, the area bedecked with glistening chandeliers and adorned with gold and maroon hues. Soldiers and their partners mingled in the room, their attire resplendent and their medals glistening brilliantly.
You felt like you were on cloud nine, soaring high in the sky. He remained relatively quiet, but he kept taking “sneaky” glances at you. God, he thought you couldn’t see, but you noticed. You noticed every time. You noticed during training, during meals at the mess hall, during debriefing meetings, during missions. His eyes bored into your being, your soul.
At one point, a champagne toast was made, the bubbly liquid dripping down your throat as you took little sips here and there. You had handed Simon his glass, clinking the edge of it to yours before everyone took a collective sip, a nod to the reason of the occasion. Simon had swirled the liquid in his flute, eyeing you as you took a small sip from your own glass. He observed the way your painted lips hugged the edge of the glass, wishing nothing more than for your soft lips to be on his own. And maybe on his cock.
As the night progressed, people had started taking to the dance floor, swinging their partners to the tempo of the music. The dance floor beckoned them in as the orchestra played a steady tune. Simon extended his hand to you, his eyes turning up into what you assumed to be a smile behind his mask. Your eyes lit up as you placed your hand in his, your pulse racing at the thought of dancing with him.
You stepped onto the floor, surrounded by fellow soldiers and their partners. The ambiance of the room fades away as he places a firm hand on your waist, the other taking your hand. His body aligned perfectly with yours, molding together as if they were meant to fit. You could tell he was nervous. His movements were stiff, calculated as he kept his eyes trained to the floor as if to prevent himself from taking a misstep.
"I know you’re nervous," you smile gently at him, nudging him slightly.
His eyes flicker to yours, a lighthearted scoff threatening to spill over. He didn’t want to make a fool of you.
“Just tryin’ to make it seem like I know what I’m doin’,” he admits.
You squeeze his hand in yours.
“Just follow me,” you say, pulling him towards you slightly. You led him through the dance, already impressed enough that he had the courage to ask you to dance with him. The melody acts as a guiding force, you pull Simon along with you, slowly, methodically. You can feel the tension leaving his body as you move him, his hand squeezing yours, a silent thank you.
As the ball came to a close, you took Simon’s arm, laughing and smiling like there was no tomorrow.
“Simon, there’s absolutely no way that I’m letting you go back to your room right now,” you smile, a giggle escaping your lips. You tug on his arm gently, leading him towards the elevators in the lobby.
“Wasn’t plannin’ on going back, love,” he quips. “Besides, how else am I going to find out what’s under that dress of yours?” A smug expression takes over his face.
Your face heats as you tug on your dress. Did it just get hotter here? You snuggle closer to his arm, your face rubbing up against the fabric of his tux, leaning your cheek on his muscled bicep.
The elevator arrives with a quiet ding, making you stand up a bit straighter as you realize what's about to happen. Simon has been wanting you, needing you, since the moment he laid eyes on you all that time ago. He leads you in the elevator, and you let go of his arm, much to his dismay. He looks at you for a moment, but you look up at him with a reassuring smile, bumping your arm against his own.
“Don’t get frowny on me,” you joke, brushing some stray hair behind your ear.
“‘M not,” he deadpans, flitting his gaze to you for a moment.
He quickly presses the button to the fourth floor, rocking side to side, as if the elevator was taking its sweet time going up.
“Impatient, I see” you giggle, watching him press the button to your floor repeatedly.
“I’ve been patient for a long, long time,” his voice was gruff and low, a mocking tone solely for you to hear. You nod once, letting this revelation sink in. Oh. Oh.
As soon as the elevator door opens, you grab his hand tightly, yanking him out into the hallway. He stumbles for a moment, and that's when you turn around, grabbing him by his tie, pulling him down to your eye level. A grunt escapes his lips as you pull him down, his hands come to settle on your waist. You lean over to his ear, hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear.
“And I’ve been waiting for you the whole time, big man,” you whisper, tightening your grip on his tie.
His cock twitches in his pants. You give him goosebumps, but you can’t see them. God he wishes you could. He wishes you could see how much you affect him. Simon’s mouth is agape under the mask, a small pant coming through the fabric. You step back, letting go of his tie, smoothing it out before turning around on your heel making your way to your room. He stands there, unabashedly staring at your ass before following behind you.
You pull open your door, but his hand reaches above your head to hold the door open for you to enter first. As soon as you step into the room, you toe off your heels, kicking them to the side. You turn to watch him shut the door, his eyes trained on you. You’re brought back to what happened in this very room a few hours ago, and you’re already pressing your thighs together, trying to savor this moment for a little longer.
“What are you waiting for?” you question, batting your eyes at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.
“I’m just lookin’ at you,” he says as if he’s in a trance. “Jus’, let me look at you.”
He lands a hand on your face, cupping your cheek. You press into it, a small whimper building in your throat. His skin feels rough and calloused, despite how gently he drags his thumb along your cheekbone, savoring the silky texture of your skin. You stare at each other, all silent communication. You turn your face into his hand, bringing up your hand to cup his own, and inhale, taking in his scent.
“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” he murmurs, watching your every movement.
“Mhm,” you acknowledge weakly, dragging your lips across his palm. You see him shiver as your lips brush over his skin. Simon handles you with care, dragging his thumb to the corner of your lip, stroking your lip.
You take his hand in yours, pulling it down as you grab his free hand, squeezing them both in your grasp. You push up onto your toes, pressing a feather light kiss against his mask on the corner of his lips. You pull away, admiring the lipstick mark you left on the skull, a stark contrast of the symbolism behind it.
He stares at you, shellshocked, pupils blown wide by your tenderness, and in an instant, he’s trying to pry his mask off his face, hands fumbling with the edges as his fine motor skills are knocked down a few pegs as if he was drunk from the kiss.
“Need this thing off,” he murmurs, and you push up on your toes and grasp the hem of the mask. He stills immediately, hands coming up to rest on your hips. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, and in one motion, you slip his mask off his face.
His eyes. Oh god, his eyes. His eyes. They’re staring straight into your soul. There's nothing for him to hide behind anymore, his final and strongest wall down. He’s laid bare in front of you. All he wants is you, you, you. You make him feel like he can’t breathe, like he can’t function, like he’ll evaporate from even the slightest acknowledgement from you. You can see a redness dusted over his cheeks and ears, his pupils blown wide, blond eyelashes dancing as he blinks, once, twice. His stubble-covered face and muscular jaw look appetizing, as if it was sculpted by the gods. His dirty blond hair is disheveled, but you don’t care. Frankly, you think it's endearing. You gingerly bring your hands up to his cheeks, running your hands over his skin as if you can’t believe he’s standing in front of you, face bare.
“Simon.”
He blinks, trying to register your words. He feels like he can’t breathe, your face is so close to his.
“Hm,” he hums, entranced by you. He can’t help himself. The way you’re looking at him, the way you’re dressed, the way you’re able to walk into a room and light the whole place. He can’t help that he wants you, needs you, wants to make you feel like you’re the most special woman in the world. The way his name rolls off your tongue so perfectly makes him want to collapse.
“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer.
“I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.”
“I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”
You leaned closer, your breath mingling with Simon's, your lips slightly parted. Your eyes flicker from his gaze to his lips, then back to his eyes. Simon takes the chance and places a delicate, chaste kiss on your lips. There is no urgency or intensity, only a gentle press, a delicate touch, and a defining moment that cannot be expressed through words. Your lips brush across his, feather-light, the contact lingering only a fleeting moment. Your heart overflows with affection, care, and tenderness as he gently draws away, his gaze fixed on yours.
The next thing you know, he’s crashing his lips on yours, hard, filled to the brim with passion. You’re grabbing his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush against you, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he presses into you. More, more, more. He swipes his tongue over your lips, asking for permission. He kisses you like a man starved, your lipstick smearing across his own lips as your teeth clacked and tongues pushed against one other. You didn't bother suppressing the lovely moan that escaped your lips, swallowed by the man in front of you. The two of you pulled away from each other hesitantly, your hand raking through his hair, pulling at it gently. You leaned in and bit his lower lip, placing a brief kiss on his cheek while rolling your hips against him. He walks you backwards until your back slams into the wall behind you, pressing you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth as he paws at your dress, pulling your sleeves off your shoulders, lips not breaking contact from yours. Finally, he pulls away, looking at you for a moment before flipping you around, pressing your face up against the wall.
“I’ve been waitin’ to do this all night, darlin’,” he says gruffly, his hot breath against your ear, making you shiver in anticipation. “I’m goin’ t’ take my time.”
You clench your thighs together at his words, a throaty, quiet moan escaping your lips. His hand brushes up against your back, his hot touch nearly making you moan. He toys with your zipper, then agonizingly slowly, starts pulling it down. His touch is hot, you swear your skin is melting off your body as he works his way down, his hand unabashedly caressing your skin until the zipper reaches the bottom, stopping with a singular click. Your breathing nearly stops as your dress falls off your body, leaving you in your bra and panties.
He chuckles slowly, watching your reaction with narrowed eyes. Simon starts to lean your head back, exposing your bare neck to him. He drags his tongue from your ear to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, lightly biting along the soft flesh of your neck. Simon grinds himself hard against you, pushing you back into being pinned against the wall. His hand begins to graze down your body, his hand slipping under your bra strap, fingertips gliding along your bare shoulder.
You moan lightly as he nips at your neck, you press your back up against him just to get closer, wanting to feel every part of him. He suddenly flips you around, grabbing onto your shoulders like it's his lifeline. Leaning down again, he lightly licks along your collarbone, inching down to lick across the top of your breasts, reaching around behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it drop to the floor. You shiver as your bare skin hits the cool air, clasping your hands on his shoulders as he moves back up to kiss you, hard, for a couple of seconds. Pulling away, he moves lower down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it as his tongue flicks against it.
You gasp, hands squeezing his shoulders hard, shuddering at the warmth of his tongue toying with your nipple.
“Where can I go?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you don't notice it at first.
"Any- anywhere," you exclaim as his mouth descends, one hand gently caressing between your tits, tongue locating your other nipple and sucking hard. You gasp, unconsciously arching your back higher, and you can feel him tighten even more as he pushes his hips deeper into the space between your legs.
“Oh– more, more please.”
You gasp, wanting him there forever, and suddenly, he's gone, kissing up your collarbone and to your neck. He latches onto the valley between your neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin hard, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. He hums as he pulls back, admiring the bruise forming against your skin.
“Here?”
He's taking his time with you, exactly as he promised, barely brushing up against you when you want him to fucking ram into you at this very moment. He's relishing you, every inch of you, leaving no stone left unturned, but you want him to devour you, take you as you are now. God, your frantic mind is screaming right now, chest heaving as anticipation threatens to bubble out.
“More everywhere,” you manage, your voice quivering. You can't bear how desperately you want him inside you. “Please—will you– please,” you whimper, nonsensical.
He shoves two of his fingers in your mouth, shutting you up. You think you see stars as he pushes his two digits against your tongue, beckoning you, teasing you to suck.
“Good girl,” he says simply. “Just be quiet and let me make you feel good, pretty girl.”
His breathing grows ragged as you suck, moving your tongue between his fingers and circling around the skin. He groans at the pressure, adjusting his dress pants. You whimper slightly as he pulls his fingers from your lips. Strings of your saliva drip as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. He pauses for a moment, looking straight at you before plunging his two wet fingers into his own mouth, sucking them clean. You stand there, mouth agape, your panties becoming significantly wetter as you watch his tongue dart out to lap at your saliva.
“Hot,” you pant out, eyes half lidded. You run your hands over his chest, the fabric of his tux blocking you out.
“You need this off,” you say, pawing at the fabric, gliding your hands up to start pushing his tux jacket off. He doesn’t move, letting you take it off for him. A shiver runs up his spine as your fingers deftly move to his collarbone, fiddling with his tie. You slowly, agonizingly slowly, start to loosen it, untying the loops you had created it into a few hours ago. Finally, you yank it off, twisting the fabric in your fingers for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. His cock jumps in his pants as he watches you bite your lip, eyeing him with a look of pure lust.
“Darlin’ you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, bringing his hands up suddenly to help you unbutton his white dress shirt.
“No, let me do it for you,” you stop him.
He’s letting all of his barriers down, letting you see every inch of himself. He’s wanted this, wanted to feel your fingers grace the bare skin of his chest, his face, his arms. You lean up to his neck, still unbuttoning his shirt as you move. You start to suckle on his neck, your searing hot tongue surging against his skin. He groans, your teeth nipping his skin ever so gently. You shake his shirt off his shoulders, his chest finally bare in front of you. You lightly run your hands over remnants of scars, reminders from his past. He shudders, the urge to pull away, to hide himself again, imminent. But, when you lean down to kiss a scar above his pec, he stills. Warmth. Warmth is all he feels, all he wants, all he craves. The warmth from you, your touch, everything about you.
“Simon Riley, you are so beautiful,” you mumble against his skin, gingerly tracing over old scars on his back. You press the front of your body against his, just embracing him in a hug. A fucking hug. He flounders for a moment, his heart feels like it's going to explode out his chest. He’s dizzy, chest heaving from the overwhelming urge to take you, to let you know that he fucking craves you, sees you for who you are, remind you that you are a beautiful person, inside and out. His primal desire bursts out, he can't hold back anymore.
“‘M gonna fuck you so hard n’ good, just like you deserve, love.”
Your knees go weak as Simon grabs your upper arms, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed. He takes your back in his arms, slowly laying you down on the bed. He takes a step back, just staring at your body, raking his eyes up and down your form. He brings his eyes right up to yours, gaze unwavering as he opens his mouth
“‘M gonna savor this.”
You whimper at his words, getting impossibly wetter, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your thighs press together, trying to alleviate the growing pressure low in your abdomen, your clit throbbing for release.
“Please,” you whimper, eyes flitting to his form.
“Needy, needy,” he tuts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He chuckles slowly, leaning forward, kneeling on the bed over you. His hands ghost over your thighs, coming up to your soaked panties. He reaches forward, palming over your clothed cunt, fingers pressing into your wetness. You moan at his touch, back arching to press him closer. This time, even more encouraged by your moan, Simon reaches for the waistband, and slowly pulls it off your frame, revealing your dripping cunt to him. Unbeknownst to you, he slips your panties into his back pocket.
A little treat for later he thinks to himself.
He slides off the side of the bed, now kneeling on the floor, eyes trained on you. Simon takes a sharp breath, sinking down to eye-level with your pussy, picking up your ankles and throwing them over his shoulder, yanking your hips down the bed. His hands come under you to rest on your ass, giving you a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp, hands gripping onto the duvet, nearly shaking from anticipation. You know he’s staring, his gaze locked in between your thighs, then you feel his searing tongue drag up your pussy, a single stripe.
“Si- Simon,” you mewl, hands searching for his hair.
The second you mewled his name, moaning for him, his mouth grows into a blaze against you, his tongue a blazing inferno. It's skilled, and he drags it everywhere you want without saying a single word. You just moan, loudly and haphazardly, as the tip of it grinds up against your clit, scorching. His nose presses against your clit as he dives down, licking and sucking your wetness. He's starving. His groans are muted and blazing with desire against your wet cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning in you. You can feel him drooling against you, worshiping you, and he gasps, heated, against you when your floundering hands manage to tangle in his hair.
“So fucking good for me,” he grunts against your throbbing clit, “such a pretty girl.”
“Y- you, really good– I’m gonna–” you moan breathlessly, chest heaving as the tight coil of an orgasm builds higher and higher in your abdomen, mere moments away from being released. You clench around nothing, cunt throbbing as he works his mouth on you.
“Cum for me, pretty girl,”
“Such a perfect girl, tasting so good for me,” he moans out, slightly lifting up so you can hear him clearly. You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder, pulling more grunts and sounds from his busy mouth.
He starts to run a finger through your slick folds, finger gliding along until it stops at your clit. You gasp at the slight pressure he applies, before fully massaging your clit. You nearly scream from the sensation, knees jerking and back arching, bucking your hips into his face as he plays with your clit.
“Such a beautiful girl you are, y’ taste so good,” he slurs. The vibration of a grunt rumbles against your sensitive skin, causing you to nearly faint, the pressure in your abdomen about to snap.
“‘M gonna cum—” It's half-gasped before tearing through you like a flash of electricity, strong and brilliantly tight, ripping every ounce of strength from your body and every ounce of sanity from your thoughts. You climax forcefully in his mouth and then simply lay there weakly and let him taste you, let him stroke your swollen pussy with his tongue. He groans, lapping up as much as he can before pulling away, eyes boring into yours. His nose, mouth, and chin are glistening, dripping in your slick.
“S’ perfect,” he groans whilst licking his lips, rubbing his chin slightly. You’re panting, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, blissed out from your first orgasm.
“Fuck, Simon, you eat pussy like a champ,” you chuckle breathlessly.
“Look at me, love,” he says, removing your legs from over his shoulders. He starts to crawl over you, and you can see how incredibly hard he is, his cock straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge with interest. First, he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, licking the inside of your mouth fervently. As he pulls away, strings of saliva leak from his mouth, making you clench your thighs together once more.
His hands begin to travel over your body, following the contours of your curves. He rubs the flesh of your ass, eliciting a tiny moan from you. He groans softly in your ear, brutally smacking your ass, your brief moan encouraging him.
“I want it so badly,” you grunt. You were the first to snap, feeling his palms graze the flesh of your thigh, his grasp so tight that he would probably leave some bruises.
“Go on, then. Take it.”
Your gentle fingers ease his belt free from the hoops of his dress pants, nipping at his neck as you remove it from his waist. You bring your hands to the edge of his pants, quickly pulling them down and off his legs, letting him kick them off the bed from his ankles. He's bent over you, his lips on the shell of your ear.
"You're such a tease" he grumbles, his hips shifting to grind against your core.
"So are you," you taunt back, grabbing his massive bulge through his underwear, palming your hand over his length. You finally pull down his boxers, letting his cock spring free from its confines. It's massive. You nearly moan just from the sight itself, the tip leaking precum. You immediately grasp it in your hold, wrapping your hand around it, stroking his length into your hand. You caressed his big cock, prompting him to press his hips into your hand while he groaned, high-pitched and needy.
“N– need you right now,” he groans, crawling on top of you, pressing his cock up against your stomach, grinding it over your soft skin.
“Mhm,” you murmur, hand coming up to stroke his cock.
Although he hasn't made any attempt to put anything inside you yet, his hips thrust into yours, like he’s trying to create a mental image for himself for the task at hand, burying his lips back under your ear, and you can hear how hard he's breathing, and before you can say anything, his lips are back on yours, his hand moving your legs open to give him more room.
“If—I'm too rough,” he growls, his voice resonating in your ear drums, “you need to tell me.”
Your pupils dilate. “You can do whatever you want to me,” you assert, “fucking ruin me— be as rough as you want, if that's what you want—”
“D- don't say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours. You bring your hand between his legs, wrapping it around his cock, pumping him once. He moans so loudly, it sounds like music to your ears, and then he pushes the tip of it against you. “I won't be able to control myself.” The blood rushes into your ears, your heart wants to sprint out of your chest.
“Fuck me, Simon,” you breath, barely audible.
That’s all he needed to hear.
“‘M gonna fuck you senseless.”
In a rush, he’s pushing your back into the bed, lining the tip of his cock up with your sopping entrance before he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to his size. The stretch was a bit painful, but you didn’t let the pain stop you from releasing a deep seated moan. Your back arches as the sensation, a gargled moan erupting from the depths of your body. This only encourages him, as he starts to slide the full length of his cock into.
“Fu– fuck,” he moans, his voice husky and high-pitched, “y- you feel so fucking good, so fucking perfect—.”
He bottoms out, his hips meeting yours as he pants, his thumb coming up to rest on your clit once more. He stays completely still, feeling your tight pussy squeezing his hard cock just right. He growls and thrusts himself into you as far as he can. It's nearly too much, God, it's nothing like you've ever felt before. You can barely even breathe while he's pounding into you, you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His body rocks in a steady pace against yours.
“Too perfect—beautiful," he grunts. "You're so soft, so soft, and so wet—that's my good girl.”
Your face flushes at his praises, you want to shy away, too flattered by his words to even look at him.
"Keep your eyes on me, love" he demands, pulling at your chin with his hand quickly, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.
You feel giddy, pure bliss at the thought of him holding you in such high regard. He hits something deep inside you, and you moan as you're abruptly pulled into the sensation of him circling your clit as he fucks you into the mattress. A coil of heat builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching.
His hand comes back down to grip your waist, his hold tightening on you as he continues to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You grasp his neck, weak with the motion because every muscle in your body is fatigued from his unbelievable pace. He slides your hands down to his shoulders, grounding you as he keeps himself upright, continuing to slam his hips onto you. He massages your clit, knowing the way your cunt flutters around his cock, you’re close to another orgasm. You moan loudly, savoring the way the sound bursts out of you.
“Fuck– fucking me so— so amazing,” you blubber, trying to convey how fucking amazing he’s making you feel right now. And then he's pulling back out, tearing into you again, and you can't even find the proper words in your head, you just listen to Simon absolutely fucking you into oblivion.
“You're squeezing around me— so perfectly, love,” he strangles out, and you feel his hips buck up against yours, and you try to find his collarbone, and you bury your face into it, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin. You can hear Simon mewling against your ear, guttural and deep, and all you can do is close your eyes and attempt to stay in this moment forever.
“I’m gonna fucking cum—” you blurt out.
“Good girl, cum for me, sweetheart,” he gasps, death grip on your hips.
The coil inside your core snaps as he hits the perfect spot inside you. You clench your eyes tight only to realize it's because you're in the middle of an orgasm, the rest of the world fading away, until it's just you and him.
“‘M gonna cum,” he blurts out, you feel his cock twitch inside you. You can feel him pulsating and throbbing as he grunts his way through his orgasm, breathing heavily and unloading his cum deep inside you. It was enough for you to see stars as his orgasm ripped through him, a loud moan pressed up against your neck escaping his lips as his cum filled you to the brim. He falls on top of you, sweat glistening on his forehead as he comes to take deep gulps of air.
Neither of you say a word as you both catch your breath, brains fucked out. He rolls off of you, laying by your side as you both stare up at the ceiling.
“Holy fuck,” you say first. You're done for. Panting and worn out, you find yourself in the exact position he left you in. You try to move but can't seem to do so. You merely lie on your back and wait for the feeling to return to your body.
Simon turns back towards you, pushing himself to sit up, leaning over to stare at you. You reach a hand up, pressing it into his jaw
“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. Everything I ever dreamed about and more.”
You hum under him as he comes to lay his upper body on top of you, his fingers tangling into your hair as he stretches his muscles out. You turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he kisses you.
“Says you,” you murmur as he pulls away from the kiss.
Sleep threatens to take over both of you, waves of exhaustion and bliss intermingling. Simon stills on top of you, before flipping over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He takes your hand in his own, eclipsing it, squeezing it once, twice.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers.
“Hm?” you hum, nearly asleep.
“Let’s do this again tomorrow.”
You press your face into his chest, he feels your smile against his skin.
warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, mentions of motorcyclist!ghost, protective!ghost
synopsis: the downtime after missions was rarely a time that ghost looked forward to. everyone's aware to leave him alone during this period. that is, until he gets a call from you asking for his help to rescue you from an awkward situation!
a.n. wOW! hi lovelies, it's been a while! I was inspired to write this because something similar happened to me at an anime convention! and yes it was with a mw 2019 jawbone ghost cosplayer hehe (¬‿¬) oh, here's my kofi! and pls enjoy! <3
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obsessed with the idea that ghost would drop everything and come running to you if you called him.
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the conclusion of an operation was, albeit, a bit bittersweet for ghost. sure, he benefited from the downtime of not being in an environment that constantly triggered his fight or flight response and a small break was necessary for his well-being to avoid pushing past his physical limitations. yet, those were the only beneficial factors he could conjure up. most operators took advantage of the intermission to catch up with friends at pubs or visit family for a couple days– a luxury he never allowed himself to have. thus, he spent the days of rest endlessly secluded. trapped within the barren walls of his flat. choosing to occupy his time thumbing through a nonfiction novel or finishing some exterior maintenance. he referred to his living space as a place to rest his chaos. to ease his hardships into a lasting slumber– that is, until he’d receive intel about a new operation. and his home was an enigma of great strength accompanied with struggle, providing a solitude that ghost was well acquainted with. he preferred it that way. no one reaches out to him during this time of isolation. which is why he doesn’t expect your name to flash on his phone’s screen and it’s even more astounding that he chooses to pick up the call.
ghost who leans low enough that his leg almost touches the smooth asphalt when he cruises down the road. the sleek, pitch-black motorcycle adapts easily when he wrenches the steel handlebars. after adjusting in his seat, his gloved hands rev to intensify the speed while his mind recalls the conversation he had with you. approximately two minutes ago. the way you quietly pleaded, “could you please come and get me?” and immediately, the lack of context backed with the sticky hoarseness in your voice awakened unease within him. “you hurt?” his instinctive question is followed with a gruff, “who do I need to talk to.” and the sheer seriousness of his threat forces a minor giggle to leave your lips. the sound encourages him to mull over possibilities. where were you? where could you be right now? think, damn it, think. he drags a heavy hand across his face while vaguely remembering the lighthearted conversation you had earlier in the week. a pair of squad members had politely asked about your weekend plans to which you shared that you planned to get some grocery shopping out of the way. a mundane answer that pulled a couple laughs. but now, the rather ordinary task seemed to evolve into a nightmare as he hears you suck in a wobbly breath. “you still in town, sweetheart?” ghost forces his voice steady despite the crazed way he’s tugging on his shoes and shoving away stray papers to retrieve his keys. you instantly respond that you are and he tries not to dwell on the chance that his presence might’ve helped calm your nervousness. compels himself to solve the blatant issue before figuring out why his decision-making is so sudden. why he’s swiftly weaving through traffic in hopes of finding you when he should be relaxing at his flat. but his voice rumbles out of your phone’s speaker when he instructs, “stay put. I’ll come get you.”
ghost who visibly tenses up when he spots you from the crowd of shoppers. most are occupied in their own business; choosing from a variety of commodities or paying for their groceries at the checkout line. but that’s not what he’s here for. treading through aisles, his appearance manages to raise curiosity from a couple onlookers before they tactfully glance away from the massive man. having one’s identity partially hidden away by layers of clothing while clutching onto a motorcycle helmet tends to facilitate that reaction from the average citizen. it works in his favor. his heavy-lidded eyes scan the room and before long he recognizes a tuft of your hair. he figured his first encounter with you would be under different circumstances, albeit more jovial and perhaps you’d grace him with one of those blinding smiles that you reserve solely for him. however, all he sees is vermillion flooding his vision. you’re backed into a secluded corner of the store by a sleazy man who’s testing his luck. unfortunately for the stranger, ghost was never a believer of good fortune. you venture to put more distance between you and the man but to no avail. he inches closer. “like I said earlier,” you strive to keep your tone of voice stable, “he’s on his way already. I don’t need a ride.” a courageous act but the guy is already responding. a shoddy decision, in ghost’s opinion, because upon hearing the stranger’s crude innuendo, ghost’s nails form crescents within his palms from how fiercely he’s balling his fists. sees you shrink from the words. and he’s a reaper with the sole mission to deliver punishment.
ghost who eases beside you and subtly reaches to touch your shoulder while murmuring, “I’ve got you.” his voice leaves his lips in a soothing drawl that has you inwardly crooning. safety is synonymous with him. always is. initially checks in with you before engaging in conversation with the stranger. you’re top priority. “simon?” his name is a relieved gasp from your plush lips. clearly you weren’t expecting him to step into the situation with hopes of diffusing it. he slowly tilts his head, “told ya I’d come.” mentions it like it’s a common occurrence that he spends his downtime shutting down harassment directed towards you. yet the first observation you make is that he’s dressed rather casually. clad in an ash-colored hoodie and denim jeans that always cause you to wonder whether he has them tailored because of how well they fit his physique. the homey outfit is a sight to behold considering you typically saw him in uniform; you ravished the domestic image. burnt it into your memory for safe keeping. apparently, so does ghost. “you look proper cozy today.” waving a gloved hand, he indicates your casual outfit and the sudden change of topic prompts a small grin to form on your face. which, ultimately, is his entire plan. dragging your eyes to a sudden motion, you watch as he rolls his sleeves up to reveal a swirl of veins and intricately tatted skin. he’s mystifying; everything about him is– which seemingly adds to his appeal and no matter how vigorously you fight against it, you can’t help but feel the inevitable pull. “don’t get any ideas, sweetheart.” of course the comment is meant to scold but the breathy rasp in his voice morphs it into pure sin. he shoots you an inquisitive glance when he regards your heated gaze and wordlessly chastises your behavior with a raise of his dark brows.
ghost who absolutely resents whenever someone interrupts you. the act itself is rude beyond doubt but it’s especially ignorant when it concerns you. and the tacky stranger had the audacity to do it in front of ghost. from beneath his mask, he clenches his jaw when the other man decides to open his mouth to continue conversing with you. again. ghost shifts, positioning himself between the two of you, and spits out the words, “you’re doing me ‘ead in. do one, will ya?” his tone is level, devoid of any expletives in his question yet his manchester accent is gravelly enough for his words to border a threat. the manifestation of trouble. he pushes up his sleeves for good measure. truth be told, ghost would’ve simply told the other man to ‘piss off.’ perhaps give him the finger. but you were around and he favored appearing posh.
ghost who basks in the gratifying burn of watching the stranger scurry away from just his words. runs like a scruffy dog getting caught going through a trash bin and he bites back a snicker. but who wouldn’t run from ghost? dressed as the embodiment of shadows and danger. probably his physique too, if he was being honest. towering at six feet and some more. he states, “don’t think the bloke was fond of me.” can’t refrain from the mockery that lines his words. perhaps the possessiveness was corrupting him more than he imagined. he glances at you, paying special regard to the way the corners of your lips curl at his remark, “suppose you’re right. I appreciate you coming, by the way.” isn’t quite sure why you’re thanking him. he’d rush to you whenever you needed him. but he dismisses it with a throaty, “not a problem.” and it dawns on him that the two of you are alone. away from the prying eyes of the task force members. surrounded by the normalcy of civilian life. and the motorcycle gear that he’s adorned with seems obvious that there’s more to him than he lets on. like the fact that he rushed here without a second doubt. there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he’s aware that your mind is racing with possibilities. “I wonder,” there’s a playfulness in your tone as you shift closer to him, “what was lieutenant riley up to before coming to my rescue?”
ghost who exhibits the duality of man when he’s with you. his voice gets caught in his throat and he promptly answers, “nothin'.” because you’re placing a gentle hand on his forearm. vanquishes him to a robot that can only utter a single word from a single touch. this wasn’t what he was like before; the esteemed protector with a jealous streak. no, he’s reduced to a pining jumble of tenderness for you. even through the layers of clothing he recognizes your warmth and yearns for it. you gaze up at him through your lashes, a telltale sign that his lack of plans served as an invitation to propose more. he knows that look. “you’re quite a secretive man, simon,” you teasingly narrow your eyes, “has anyone ever told you that?” your fingertips trace the swirls of ink on his arm and he desperately tries to fight against the way his eyes drop into a half-lidded stare. your touch always reduces him to a puddle of adoration. “no,” he breathes out and hopes to convey his ardor in irony, “never.” knows you’re grinning at his automatic responses and heat bubbles within him.
ghost who allows your caress to dip down to his wrist which, conveniently, was the hand that held onto his motorcycle helmet. watches as you draw delicate patterns on the helmet’s shell. recognizes that you’re working up courage. for what, he's not sure. maybe you’ll ask him how long he’s been a motorcyclist. that’s typically the first question that’s settled. but nothing could prepare him for your honeyed voice that asks, “can I ride?” and how you use him as leverage to push up on your tiptoes and pleadingly whisper, “please?” he's pretty certain that you mean getting a ride on his motorcycle. yet, with the way your lips are practically pressing against his neck and how the heat of your breath forces him to stifle a groan of satisfaction, all logic flies out the window. pure, unadulterated hunger for you seizes ghost in an unexplainable grasp. he needs you. wishes he could whisk you away to someplace else. perhaps to his place. gosh, he appreciated the downtime after a mission. “bloody vixen,” he murmurs lowly while slipping the helmet into your hands, “it’s all yours, sweetheart.” on his motorcycle it typically takes 10 minutes flat to get to his place or 7 minutes if he turns a blind eye to the speed limit– which is an act he’s willingly committed before.
You weren't exactly sure how you ended up here but you weren't about to complain, rough calloused hands palming at every inch of you.
It was supposed to be an innocent game of poker with your boyfriend Alex and his friends, until however Johnny cheekily suggested strip poker.
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"Strip poker? Seriously?"
Simon didn't seem all too thrilled by the idea but him and John were the best at the game so they didn't have to worry much.
You glanced over towards Alex who seemed just as excited about it as Johnny, Kyle seemed pretty happy and nervous about the idea and König... Well, König was fidgeting but you weren't sure if it was nerves or excitement... You hadn't known him as long as the others so you couldn't read him well yet.
"Sounds fun!"
You were down as long as they were, being shy about your body wasn't your style and that became very clear very fast.
As the game dragged on you ended up being the one stripping the most off- aside from Alex who also seemed to suck ass at poker. The guys eyes were glued to you as you casually tugged off your shirt and discarded it along with your shoes, socks and pants. You were just in a bra and underwear now.
You didn't miss the adoring but also lustful look in Alex's eyes as they took in your features, he's seen you like this many times but never fails to be amazed- however the others hadn't gotten this chance before and it was clear.
You had them absolutely drooling.
"How about a new game... Strip pokers getting boring."
Alex spoke up and little did you know the offer he was going to propose.
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Your chest was pressed flush against John's and you could feel his thick chest hair bristling against your bare breasts, he had one hand on your waist and the other was holding his cigar- the man didn't pause his bad habit even for fucking you.
"That's it, love. Just like that."
He breathed out the smoke but aimed away from your face as he did so, you currently were being held up by Alex behind you with John's dick pressed deep inside you. Alex trailed kisses down the back of your neck.
"You're so pretty, baby."
He murmured against your heated flesh, pressing up closer as well aching to have his turn inside you but also enjoying watching you get fucked by John.
The other guys also were enthralled by the filthy display, your head back mouth agape like you couldn't get enough oxygen with the way he was bucking into you, John's tip felt like it was kissing your cervix and threatening to rearrange your guts entirely.
Vision blurred from pleasure you were getting close, before you could release though John pulled out and stroked himself a few times cumming on your thighs instead. You let out such a pathetic little whimper that it made the man chuckle.
"Don't worry, love. I'm sure the boys will take good care of you."
Swiftly you were manhandled over to the table, you weren't entirely sure who's hands were who's. Your hands wound up firmly planted on the hard wooden surface for support while bent over, Alex stood in front of you but you were unsure who was behind you.
"Open."
Without hesitation you opened your mouth for your boyfriend, he slipped his dick into your mouth and grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail, you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head while sucking, earning so many sweet little moans from him- your eyes watering as you nearly gagged a few times.
"Fuck... Bonnie."
You recognized that Scottish accent and term of endearment, while having your throat fucked you felt a pair of rough calloused fingers toying with your clit, you whined and groaned around Alex's cock your drool dripping down onto the table. You heard a chuckle from the Scot behind you, unable to see him but you could just feel the smirk on his face as he spoke.
"Ye like that?"
His deft fingers made quick work out of you, circling your clit and then plunging into your heated core, curling and stroking along your pulsing walls. He adored making you come undone while you were choking on your boyfriend's dick at the same time.
Though he needed his own release as well, positioning himself at your entrance he easily slid in and began thrusting, your legs wobbled and shook. Even with the table as support you were struggling, almost collapsing forwards onto the hard surface.
Johnny gripped your waist tight and assisted in keeping you from caving in, pacing his thrusts to match your bobbing on Alex.
It wasn't long before Alex spilled his seed down your throat, his cock pulsing and twitching in your mouth while he groaned, he smiled down at you in such a sweet away as he pulled away.
Who would think this is the same guy letting you get ruined by his friends?
"So pretty."
He remarked softly before moving out of the way for Kyle, unlike the others Kyle actually seemed a bit nervous. His pupils blown out with lust he reached out gently gripping your chin, all his nerves went away when he saw your fuck-drunk face.
"Shit... You like getting used like this don't you? Slutty little thing."
You didn't exactly peg Kyle for the type to be degrading but you weren't complaining, your cunt squeezing Johnny tighter as he was still fucking your tight hold chasing his own high while also driving you to yours.
"Fuckin' hell.... I think she likes that."
You didn't miss the slightly darker look on Kyle's face along with his smirk, opening your mouth wide for him to stuff his length in, taking it down your throat like a good fuck toy.
"Alex trained you well, didn't he? Such a good little whore. Taking several men... Bet ya always fantasized about this, huh?"
Of course you couldn't answer him as you were rammed from behind while getting your throat used like a fleshlight at the same time, you were an absolute mess as you orgasmed on Johnny, your moans and cries choked out by the cock in your mouth.
He came undone immediately after you did, groaning out as you felt a thick heat flood your tight walls. Kyle still using your mouth till he finished as well, forcing his dick all the way down when he came so you were gagging on it, his semen sliding directly down your throat.
He pulled away and finally you could breathe, desperately panting when Johnny finally let go of your waist, you just helplessly collapsed onto the table your chest smacking against the hard wood.
You didn't get a break for long though, a pair of gloved hands that you instantly knew was Simon lifting you up by your mid section and rolling you over onto your back on the table.
"Are you alright to continue?"
He asked genuinely while gazing deep into your eyes, after you gave a little nod to confirm he slid his hands down to your thighs, his gloved hand stroked along your skin while he made intense eye contact with you for a moment- still making sure you were definitely okay.
Then he swiftly spread your legs as wide as he could, burning gaze directed at your abused and messy cunt that was spilling slick and cum.
"Yet you still aren't satisfied, are you?"
He remarked but you didn't have chance to answer, he roughly manhandled you into a mating press with your legs draped over his shoulders.
"We can fix that."
His gruff voice filled your ears as you felt him slide in, you two were quite the sight. Him still fully clothed with just his jeans unzipped and cock out, meanwhile you fully exposed beneath him staring up into the deep pools of hazel that were his eyes.
He was actually a bit of a tight fit and you felt like you were going to be speared straight into your other organs, eyes rolling back he quickly grasped your chin, his grip tight but not enough to hurt just enough to get your attention.
"Eyes on me."
He stated the command in a straight forward way and you obliged, struggling as you maintained eye contact. He didn't hesitate to fuck you hard and rough, quickly realizing you seemed to like it that way and who was he to deny you that pleasure, the feeling of getting used by a big rough and tough masked man.
You ended up coming again and spasming wildly beneath him, his breathing heavy as well he didn't last much longer either, filling you to the brim he kept moving riding out his orgasm inside you. You were filled and covered with cum by this point- so fucked out you nearly forgot that there was one more guy left.
The whole time König had stood just observing, his deep dark and clouded eyes locked onto your shaky form.
Next thing you knew you were hoisted up off the table by an unfamiliar pair of incredibly strong arms, quickly pinned between him and the wall- though König felt almost like a brick wall himself.
His eyes were down right feral behind that hood, you felt your throat clench but also couldn't deny there was something about it that did something to you, he was the only one of the guys you didn't know really well before hand...
You didn't know what he was capable of.
He wasn't exactly gentle by any means, he was cautious of his size so as to not genuinely injure you- but he wasn't gentle. Holding your waist with one hand having you wrap your legs around him, the other hand slipping down to your folds.
He teased your clit with his large gloves hand before quickly stuffing his fingers into your hole, you felt the gloves seams scraping at your tender and over stimulated insides, your whines only seemed to fuel his desire to ravage you even more.
"You can handle it, right?"
You eagerly nodded and though you couldn't see it- he was grinning behind his hood. He was going to ruin you.
"Good girl, Liebling."
The large Austrian man took you right there against the wall, his dick splitting you open. If you thought you weren't going to be able to walk before- well you sure as hell knew you weren't going to be able to now.
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{This was a struggle idk why- I guess I'm not good at writing a fic with multiple guys LOL}
izzy806
dededos
jbbartram-illu
pixelskylines
