#i want to be a ghost. i want to be skeletal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghouljams · 4 months

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Sin Summer (Ghost) Rating: E (MDNI) Words: 3.8k Tags: Ghost x f!reader, tinder au, oral (f!receiving), piv sex, fingering, dirty talk, meet and fuck, pwp, reader sleeps around and no one blames them Summary: You finally meet up with your faceless tinder guy and he quickly takes the number 1 spot on your hookup list. a/n: When I say nothing is abandoned I mean NOTHING. Part 1, Part 3

You're a little nervous when Saturday rolls around, but not any more nervous than you usually are. You're meeting in a public place, and if things break bad you can always scream. Hell if things break good Ghost promised to have you screaming. So one way or the other you get to be loud.

You don't even know who you're looking for, standing outside the bar and waiting for someone to... grab you? Usually you have a photo and can look around but Ghost was insistent that wasn't going to happen. You stare at your phone, at the open tinder dm and the promise from Ghost that he'd find you. He better not be a catfish or you're going to have to do some serious soul searching on your ability to be fooled on this app.

A large firm hand touches your shoulder and you quiet your startle response to something more reasonable for someone camped outside a bar.

"Easy love," his voice is so deep and rough, you pray this is Ghost, because you have to hear this voice dirty talk you. You have to look up to meet his eye. Which is just about the only thing you can meet since he's wearing a mask. You recognize the bottom of it, sort of, from one of his pictures. If nothing else the skeletal jaw print sort of lends itself to a name like Ghost.

"Ghost?" You ask hesitantly, if it's not him you'll sound like an idiot but the way his brows raise at your question give the same answer his voice does.

"The one and only."

"Faceless in person too, huh?" You really don't know what to say, never know what to say at the initial meeting. You both know what you're here for, but it's not like you can really say it.

"Try to be. Still got a mouth under here though, don't you worry." You feel the heat bloom over your cheeks at the same time you notice his eyes crease at the corners. You think he might be teasing you.

"You pull it up to drink I guess," you fish for something to say. Ghost shakes his head.

"Only comes off for one thing tonight sweetheart, and it's not drinking." His voice, God his voice, you think he could read the ingredients on a shampoo bottle and you'd get off on it. Your stomach clenches, eyes darting to his army fatigues. You really hope those are just for fashion.

"What the fuck are we at a bar for then?" You ask a little breathless. Ghost stares up at the bar sign.

"Gotta at least pretend I'm a gentleman," he tells you, "you said we were near your hotel, yeah?"

You grab his hand and very nearly drag him back to your hotel. Fuck it. If he is army you're not getting fucked in a barrack when you've got a perfectly good mattress at the hotel. You're sure he'd appreciate a shower with just the two of you in it as well. If he even wants to spend the night... do you want him to spend the night? If it means morning sex then absolutely.

It turns out Ghost's mask goes up for more than one thing, though you're given very strict instructions to keep your eyes closed for at least half of them.

Eyes closed when he kisses you. His hands are so big, rough with scars and callouses when they cup your face and tip your head back. You think you feel scars on his lips too, the softness of them cut with a raised lines of something, but you can't bother paying too much attention to them. His kissing leads you to believe some very promising things about his head. Lips sliding against yours firm and hungry before you try to get a breath in and he doesn't let you, deepening the kiss with an insistent tongue that makes your head spin from more than just lack of oxygen.

You love a confidant man. A man who kisses you like you're all that he wants, that he needs. You both know you're more than willing, but he still kisses you like you need convincing. His tongue slides against yours, licks into your mouth; he groans when you suck on the wet muscle. Ghost makes a quiet noise into the kiss, soft and a little desperate. You don't know if you'd considered how much he might want you when you'd started this.

"Ghost," you sigh when his lips leave yours and attach themselves to your neck. He hesitates, like it's the first time he's heard his name said like that, before diving in to bite you, hard. You tip your head back further with a gasp, the ache of his teeth against your skin makes you squirm, makes heat pool between your legs. You shiver as his tongue rolls over the bruise, his hands tugging at the bottom of your tee. You're careful to keep your eyes closed when he lifts it over your head. "Pants too," you hum.

"Don't gotta remind me," he tells you, fingers already skimming your belt. He barely gets it undone before he pushes his hand into your pants. His tongue clicks admonishingly, fingers skimming your wet panties. You do your best not to follow the firm strokes. "You're really desperate for me, aren't you?" His low tone hits you right where his fingers do. You're glad you're looking at the ceiling and not him, the way he makes your skin heat.

"You're my type," you tell him honestly, hips following the rub of his fingers. Screw it, if he's going to tease you, you're going to enjoy it.

"You should get better taste." You wish you could argue with that, but considering who you brought home he's probably right. You settle on humming, not willing to make a solid noise of agreement or disagreement when he's got his hand down your pants.

You close your eyes when he moves, when he hauls you up to position on the bed. His hand covers your eyes, warm and calloused, and big. It's firm, steadfast, you're almost enjoying the makeshift blindfold situation. Ghost's lips latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and rolling his tongue over the hardening bud. The heat of his mouth makes you squirm, the bite of his teeth just at the edge of too hard. He sucks and laves his tongue over you like he can't get enough of the feeling. You let a whine slip free and he moves his attention to the other one.

His fingers rub you through your underwear, working you up to soaking with practiced precision. Three firm fingers dragging up and down your slit, stopping to circle your clit with each stroke. It's warm pressure that makes your hips cant, chasing the movement. He's teasing you, keeping you just at the edge of eager while he enjoys himself with your breasts. You squirm a little and his touch slides further up to occupy itself with the waistband of your panties. You pull your legs up to help him get them off.

Ghost seems to switch gears as soon as they're gone. His hand leaving your eyes to grip under your knees, settling your legs on either side of him and pushing them up towards your chest. He trails his mouth down your stomach, nipping and licking at the soft skin, leaving his mark against your hip before he slips between your legs.

Keeping your eyes closed makes it hard not to flinch when his tongue drags over your slit. Broad strokes as he tastes you, his fingers spread you open so he can wiggle it between your folds and you press your hips into his touch. The hot drag of his tongue as it circles your hole makes you squirm, which makes him chuckle, deep and dark.

"You want me to hold you down?" He offers, the sound of his voice making heat rush over your skin. You shake your head and feel his broad shoulders shrug, you slide your legs over them and squeeze your thighs around his head. You feel him turn and bury his teeth in the soft flesh of your thigh.

It distracts him, you think, when he releases his teeth he runs his tongue along your skin, kissing and sucking at your thigh. His lips are appreciative, even when you squeeze him again. He's teasing you, he's so close to where you want him, working you up without ever touching your pussy. Your stomach jumps, warmth from his breath ghosting against your wet cunt. "I know baby," He groans, "gorgeous-" He cuts himself off, his lips pressing against your leg again before they leave you.

You almost open your eyes again when he fastens his mouth over your clit. You're so on edge waiting for him to touch you that you curl into his mouth, your fingers gripping his short cropped hair. His tongue rolls over your clit sending shocks up your spine. Your stomach jumps and you gasp as he sucks at your cunt, tugging at your clit and kissing your slit. He stirs heat in the pit of your stomach with each stroke of his tongue. Ghost's mouth is like a furnace, one that seems desperate to avoid parting from you. You hardly get a break from his insistent tongue, the sucking kisses, and the groans of deep satisfaction.

Ghost doesn't stop for a second, and the constant attention winds itself tight in the pit of your stomach. You whine, tug at his hair to pull his mouth closer, to keep that delicious suction that makes you want to writhe. He hums around your clit as you feel pressure build quick, before you can even warn him. Your whining grows more insistent as everything goes tight then spasms against his tongue as you come. Ghost doesn't give you a break, tongue stroking your clit as you clench and shake under him.

You jerk your hips when you feel his thick finger circling your hole, and his mouth leaves you. Only long enough to click his tongue and settle a hand on your stomach. He pushes your hips down against the bed, and eases his finger into your still fluttering cunt. "Gotta open you up love, relax." He tells you.

His finger is thick, thicker than some of the guys you've slept with, and you let out a soft noise at the gentle stretch. Ghost hums his encouragement, pumping his finger in and out of your cunt. He kisses your thigh again; you tip your head ever so slightly down and he clicks his tongue again. "Eyes up," He reminds you. You tip your head back, though you ache to get a look at the mouth that so expertly took you apart. The mouth that seems to still be trying to take you apart, because as soon as your head is back he's licking your clit again.

Your too sensitive, you have to force yourself to stay still, though his hand holding you down helps. You can hear the wetness between your legs, from his mouth, from his fingers, from your drooling cunt. Ghost hardly gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling, crooking his finger to stroke against your walls while he sucks. You clench around his finger and feel his tongue lap a broad stroke over your cunt in return. He waits for you to relax again before easing a second finger into you.

The burn of the stretch, just a bit too soon, is perfect. His fingers tug at your hole, sliding slickly in and out of you. It's just enough to make you feel full without filling you. Fuck it's good. Ghost strokes your walls, his fingers easing the stretch with gentle movements. He presses up against your soft spot and you let out a breath. You can hear the smile in his voice when he mumbles,

"There she is."

It's the only warning you get before his fingers are thrusting into you with a purpose. Short, quick, and precise, hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. Your stomach jumps and you clench around his fingers. He sits back, his hand leaving your stomach to hold your legs up, keep you from gaining any leverage as your back arches and you moan. He seems to have a direct line to your pleasure center. Each stroke of his fingers tightens in the pit of your stomach and makes your hips squirm to try and get away from the unrelenting jab of his hand. He's quick and experienced, and your legs shake over his shoulders.

You suppose it should be a relief when he removes his fingers just before you come a second time, and settles your feet on the bed. "Wanna watch you squirm," Ghost's voice is rough, deeper than you've heard it before. His fingers are the same, only this time when you try to get away from them he follows you. You were already on edge but this pushes you over. You buck and squirm, forcing him to fuck his fingers into you harder and faster until you shake apart with a shout and a flood of wetness. It coats your thighs, you know it coats his hand. It makes him groan. It doesn't make him stop. "Again," He tells you, his fingers still working you up quick. You don't have time to recover, your legs only pull up against your chest, desperate to curl in on yourself as the pleasure turns to pain and then pleasure again.

You come with your head thrown back and your fingers gripping the sheets. You shudder as it rips through you without warning, and once again coats Ghost's hand. He draws his fingers from you, and you hear him suck them clean. Somehow the sound makes you shiver.

Catching your breath takes priority over trying to sneak another peak at your partner for the night. You're sticky with sweat, three orgasms in, and you haven't even been fucked yet. You're buzzing just at the edge of enough. A good dick would make your night. To your side you hear the rustle of fabric being discarded. Ghost getting undressed you assume.

"Can look if you want," Ghost's voice is ever so slightly muffled, and when you do tip your head to find him he has his mask on again. You must look confused, because he shakes his head with a chuckle, and glances down to unclasp his belt. "Wanna look you in the eye," He explains, "Hard to do that with your eyes closed."

It's hard to look him in the eye anyway when he looks like that. Your eyes scour over the swell of well maintained muscle and the soft layer of fat that covers it. There are scars too, a whole host of them. They cover every inch of him, slashed over his chest, stabbed in his side, bullet holes in his shoulder and thick biceps. If you had any doubt this man saw combat it was gone now. He must be military, maybe special forces, it explains the mask.

Ghost pushes his pants down and you... well you need to rethink some things.

In your experience men who are criminally good at giving head are making up for something. Men who know how to "open you up" even more so. You swallow looking at the cock hanging between his legs, so long and heavy that it didn't spring up when he shucked his boxers. His fingers wrap around it, giving it a few good strokes with your slick as lube, and you watch the motion hungrily. He's not compensating for anything, he's just a great lay.

"How do you want me," You ask, eyes focused on the movement of his cock as he bends to grab a box from his discarded pants. He hums, tugging a length of condoms out and ripping one off.

"I'll move ya," He responds, rolling the rubber over his dick. A little shiver rushes down your spine, you like a man who knows what he's doing.

Ghost does, in fact, move you. He grabs your hips and drags you to the edge of the bed, the movement so quick and self assured it makes you giggle. His eyes crease at the edges, he's smiling you think, and he keeps smiling as he settles a knee on the bed next to you. You're quick to wrap your legs around his hips, and he's just as quick to pull them off and settle them over his arms. His big hands knead at your thighs, the extra leverage lining you up perfectly with his cock. Despite the angle, you're not using any muscles to hold yourself up, that's kind of him. Less kind when he positions himself at your entrance and tells you,

"Need you to be a good girl and take it," You gasp as he pushes into you, splitting you open more than his fingers could ever hope to, "Think you can do that?" You nod quickly, warmth dripping like honey to pool in the pit of your stomach. He didn't stretch you enough, but you think that might be the point. The ache of his cock stretching you open lets you feel every fat inch of it, every vein that drags against your walls, eased by the slick of your orgasms. Your eyes roll a little when he stops and pulls out a little. You whine, clenching to try and keep him inside, to keep that delicious stretch. Ghost groans, swears under his breath and shakes his head.

You should have anticipated him thrusting the last few inches inside. The hard thrust slapping his hips against yours forces a moan out of you. You arch in his hold, shivery, and glance between your legs as he gives you just a moment to adjust. The thick curls around his cock brush against your overworked clit and you do your best not to squirm. Not that you have much opportunity to squirm when Ghost fucks his weight down onto you. Each deep thrust hitting something achingly good inside you that makes you moan and claw at the arms holding you.

Your brows draw together looking at Ghost, he holds your gaze, his eyes piercing, dark and hungry. He's almost daring you to look away as he pounds into you. You're pinned under him, your legs forced back as he leans over you and treats you to a fountain of praise: "squeezin' me so good," "takin' it so well," "pretty little whore," "made for my cock." Your eyes roll back, the hot punch of his cock against your cervix almost too much for you. He told you to take it, you can be good for him, let him use you after he got you off so many times. That doesn't stop your legs from shaking or your voice from screaming.

There's something covetous in his eyes, something animalistic in the way he fucks you. This round is just for him, and you can take it. You tip your head back, trying to arch your back. Ghost releases his hold on your thighs and grabs you by the back of the neck, folding you back onto his cock. "No, no, sweetheart," He rumbles, leaning to press his forehead against yours, "told you, you gotta take it. Show me how a proper slag gets fucked."

Somehow this angle makes his thrusts more precise, and you truly cannot move to try and escape. You can hardly breathe, his cock fucking all the air out of your lungs. His pace just keeps getting faster, and you can see the way sweat sticks to his brow. You dig your fingers into his biceps, his thighs, anywhere you can try to get a grip as everything starts to hurt too good. You let out a squeak as the heat compounding in your stomach drips out of you. A slow trickle of orgasm that breaks into a flood on the next stroke of his cock.

It's worth it the way he growls when you clench and flutter around his cock. Ghost's thrusts becoming sharp and uncoordinated as he groans out his own orgasm. He rocks his cock into you more gently, letting your greedy pussy milk him before he lets you go to pull out. You feel like a rag doll, the way you drop and splay on the bed to shiver.

You turn over onto your stomach in an attempt not to slide off the bed as you get your bearings. Ghost is quick to scoop you up and deposit you against the pillows, the condom tied off and tossed towards the trash. You're once again moved, positioned how he likes so Ghost can pull you against his chest. You sling a leg over him and cuddle close. He smells like sweat, musky in a way that makes you want to drag your tongue along his collar.

"Twenty minutes," He tells you roughly, "I'll talk about anything but work." You hum, occupied with dragging your fingers over his squishy pecs. He flexes a little and you tip your head to look up at him.

"What?"

"We still got a dozen condoms, no sense takin' 'em home." He raises a brow. You think you're getting better at reading him, you think he's smiling. The offer is light, but sincere.

"Long as I can walk in the morning," You smile. He tips his head, like he's thinking about it.

"We'll see."

When you wake up in the morning it's to a pounding at the door. You grumble and sit up to check the time. You're alone in bed, but the shower is running. Good, he hasn't left yet. Around round six you decided you were getting Ghost's number in the morning, maybe asking him out to breakfast, perhaps even dinner. The clock says six but your brain says it's ass o'clock and whoever is banging on the door needs to gtfo.

You drag yourself out of bed and swipe Ghost's tee from the floor. A souvenir, and a nasty habit you've picked up. You root around for a pair of panties and manage to tug them on as the shower shuts off. You're making your way for the door when Ghost pops out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. You don't have time to admire the way drops of water trace over his back, or the way his hair sticks up at odd angles. He opens the door and leans against the jam.

"Dinnae dae that," Another low voice fills the room, there's something familiar about the accent, "Ya ask for a wakeup call, ya dinnae get ta glare at me."

"You're early," Ghost grumbles.

"Aye, was just so eager to see yer face LT." You pad behind Ghost and peak around his shoulder at the man in fatigues and an army green tee. You could recognize those eyes even if you didn't still feel his smile like an arrow through the heart. Icy blue in a way that makes you think he's from a different planet. Though you know it from your time in Glasgow.

"John?"

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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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.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

This is one of my nastier thoughts-

Hide and seek gangbang. Reader (bottom) hides somewhere on base and the first one to find her gets to fuck her while everyone else watches (or joins in 👀)

This was so much fun, I may have to do a matching one for Price and Gaz!

“Ohh songbird…”

You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.

It’s been the better part of an hour since you were chased in here, sneaking through the dusty aisles of upended crates and empty shelves. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.

“I know you’re in here.”

He’s close. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize only to set you free once more.

“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to.

Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit.

“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and christ- how did he close the distance so fast?!

You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-

Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards. You yell from behind the palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness.

“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind him, back flush with the rigid surface of his tac vest. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence.

It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to squirm free with no success.

“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze.

“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved. “Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”

You fuckers.

“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips.

“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” He observes, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men.

“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with you, hen.”

You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Johnny, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds.

“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt you down and have their fun too, aye?”

Ghost presses down on your clit and you mewl, nod frantically in an effort to get them to really touch you, giving into temptation and erasing this farce of pursuit that’s led you here. Ghost notices and huffs a laugh, low and dark in your ear.

“So needy, pet.” He murmurs, and you shift so you can grind yourself down onto his hand, eyes fluttering as it stokes the pleasure burning inside you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” Johnny promises, and gently pulls Simon’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. “Just need to ask us for it.”

You consider escape once more, but between Johnny’s decadent touch and Ghost’s unyielding grasp, you find yourself with few other places you want to be.

You surrender, gasp out your reply in a wanting sigh that spills across his tongue.

“Please.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soapghost x reader #john soap mctavish x you #thursday night thots

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mediumsizedpidegon · 10 months

Text

Another avenue I want to explore in an Amity Park is Weird scenario is all the niche sub-cultures going on.

There is absolutely NO WAY there isn't a thriving goth community in Amity Park. They're holding picnics every full moon. They're holding crafting sessions in their friends' basements. They're adopting ghost animals left and right: eight-legged dogs and blob-cats, skeletal fish and neon bearded dragons.

There's a young man called Raphael who performs live music every week at a dance club with his band: he's got a myriad of shiny piercings, and a phone camera roll full of his rabbits, Morningstar and Salem. Perhaps those ghosts are bad business like the Fentons say, but the club's never felt more alive.

The scene and emo kids are multiplying at a rapid rate. The punks and grunge folks are doing shit with textiles that makes every quilting grandmother in a five mile radius swoop in to pass on their skills. Josie and Betty, old friends who periodically upload photos online of their handmade lace, suddenly gain an influx of young folks who want to learn how to make their own ghoulish patterns.

There's a new group peeling off from the goths that dress like the embodiment of Halloween– all bones, pumpkin orange and lengths of costume jewelry.

The historical costuming community is alive and well in these times, and they fall upon the few ghosts from times past willing to share knowledge like starving wolves. Their minds are full of patterning-math and fabric prices, and their excitement is, quite literally, infectious.

A revolution starts up in food service: a great many restaurants closed or moved to follow the many people who left Amity after the ghosts first came. A pair of brothers open a restaurant that has the best Polish food around: people politely don't comment on how the owners are dressed in clothes a century out of date or how their eyes gleam. Two cat cafes open, one space themed and another with loose definitions of what counts as a "cat." Assorted coffee and tea shops dot the landscape: some serve donuts, some have cupcakes, and others have breakfast wraps, sandwiches or savory hand pies.

People that can't afford to open a restaurant sell food out of their homes, advertised by cardboard signs with phrases like CAKES FOR $10, and BARBEQUE RIBS FOR SALE painted on them in gigantic bright letters. High school students bring in bags of cookies they made the night before and completely sell out of stock before the day is done. One woman's house has no signage and yet is known by word of mouth to be a herbalist, selling tins of homemade tea blends, flowers, assorted plant clippings, and cough drops.

Someone down the street of Casper High sells small batches of eco-friendly soap at a nearby corner store.

During summer time, lemonade stands are everywhere. Some of the lemonade is made with the strange fruits from one of the parks: no one dies, so it's fine.

The Farmer's Market has gotten... intense.

#amity park is weird #danny phantom #dp #amity park #i love wordbuilding :))#i didn't mention it but i think Josie the lacemaker dies only a year after the ghost shit starts happening and becomes a ghost herself.#The Drs. Fentons don't notice :)#however they would notice the Ghost Pets so there's a town-wide conspiracy to keep them in the dark about it/keep them away #sorry Drs. Fenton but Snuggles the Nightmare Ghost Cat is beloved by all. you're not going to catch her #my posts

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castielsangelsx · 2 years

Text

LONGING STARES (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Medic!Reader)

Summary: with a wounded ghost in your med bay and a thick tension between the two of you, what could go wrong?

(I was heavily inspired by a scene with Matt Murdock, the tension was unreal and it reminded me of Ghost.)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Medic!Reader

Warnings: lots of sexual(& friendly) tension and general ghost explicit language

"Simon," you acknowledge as he walks into the door. His usual mask is on, the dark eyes and brooding demeanour a common sight. His appearances in your med bay were the odd cut and mark on his body but that was rare. You were almost shocked to see him in there alone, he'd always come with Soap or Price by his side, joining in one conversation ever so often.

"Y/n." He says plainly. You set down the clipboard and walk over to him, he rolls up his sleeve to reveal his forearm a large gash, without saying anything.

Blood was smeared and dried around his entire arm. He'd clearly left this longer than it should have, you assumed he'd been forced to get it sorted by Soap or Price.

"Come sit," you patted the plastic covered examination bed. "Lets get that cut sorted." He hums in response and makes his way to the bed. Taking a seat, you grab the med tray from the drawer besides you and make your way towards him.

"Get yourself comfortable Simon, I'll just have to disinfect it and I might have to stitch it a bit." You grab the edge of his arm to take a further look. You notice the smoothness of his arm in comparison to the small cuts and hair that adorns it. You notice for a second before looking back and focusing on your job at hand.

He nods.

You look away as you drag a chair closer to the table to get yourself comfortable as he rests his arm in front of him.

Looking back towards him you've notice as he's pulling down the skeletal mask, you have to do a double take as another smaller mask is left underneath in replacement. Its a similar skeleton mask but it just covers his nose, cheeks and mouth. Made of entirely fabric instead of the hard, you hoped, plastic one.

His face is still hidden but the shape of his dark brown eyes and forehead are revealed. You were shocked and you weren't sure if you were meant to be seeing this. But you had no complaints, seeing the face behind it wasn't troubling you. You felt honoured but you wouldn't say anything about it.

"Oh-okay," wiping a disinfectant wipe across his cut and padding a cotton ball towards the deeper end. You see him wince ever so slightly but you pay no mind to it.

"How'd you do this huh?" you joke, an attempt to lighten the room. You notice his back slouch slightly at your attempt at conversation. He's silent for a moment before he speaks.

"Bloody Soap, caught me off guard. Won't see him doing it again." He almost seems embarrassed but you smile and look up at him. His eyes aren't looking at you consistently, he's looking ahead, behind you instead.

"Surprised, you're usually the one who is causing all the stitches." You admit, you almost notice a smile under the mask. You'd assumed it was. "The feared Ghost has a dagger wound caused by Soap. That's a first, might have to make a record of this for future." He lets out a breathy laugh as you snicker at your comment, you barely hear it though.

"I'm feared ay?" He says, the English accent coming through ever so strongly in his words.

You throw the dirty cotton pads and wipes into the bin next to you before searching through your tray once more.

"Well from what I hear." You admit, looking up at him his eyes are on you. You stare back for a moment before looking back down.

"What do you hear then?" He questions you further and you smile.

"You'd want to know?" Teasing him, you can tell he's smirking or smiling at you now, The tops of his cheeks ever so slightly puffed up. You can only see somewhat with the mask only just covering his cheeks. "They say you caused a grown man to cry just by looking at him," he shakes his head and looks down almost sheepishly.

"You know I can hear their heartbeats?" Simon says, a hint of humour in his voice. However, it was almost serious, you couldn't tell and you smiled up from your position. You could never tell with his words, he was a serious guy, you seemed to get the joking Simon more than the others you'd noticed.

Maybe it was the level of trust you'd had built with the team, Simon seemed easy to deal with around you. Maybe it was your position, his demeanour was more relaxed and you hoped that was a good thing.

His eyes were on you, the mask the only thing keeping you from seeing his real face.

"You can hear their heartbeats?" You snicker, "That's a little hard to believe." You hear his breath a little clearer in the room as his head comes a little closer to yours and his silence makes you look up from the med tray you're rummaging through.

"I can hear yours too..." You raise your eyebrow, a warmth in your cheeks growing. You didn't know why, the embarrassment of his words grew in a warm way, but it wasn't mocking because you knew he couldn't hear your heart beating out of your chest. "Your hearts beating pretty fast," he says so nonchalantly.

You open your mouth to respond but the warmth in your chest and belly deepen. You look down after a moment and smile sheepishly. This was so unprofessional, but it was just you and Simon Riley, his ghost mask and the tense but exciting feeling in your gut. His revelation giving you a shock.

You change the subject by rummaging through the tray finding the needle thread and some tissue forceps. Getting everything ready you look up at Simon one last time but he's looking elsewhere. You continued on your job, the previous conversation warming your cheeks still but you attempted to forget about it.

Getting started you cleaned up the thinner edge before getting to the deeper end of the cut and beginning to stitch the wound closed.

Looping the last stitch into Simon's forearm you take a minute to look back up at him. Only to find him staring at you, his expression is guarded, his dark eyes cast onto yours.

"Simon."

"Y/n."

#ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #cod x reader #COD #cod #task force 141 #modern warfare COD 2 #Simon ghost Riley x reader

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daisies-daydreams · 8 months

Note

could you possibly do a scenario with Ghost (or all of task force+König if you’d like c:) x reader where they find out we sleep in the nude?

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Category: Fluff (with a bit of spice)

Warnings: Nudity (obvs), Swearing, Suggestive Content

Word Count: 600+

A/N: Hello! It’s good to hear from you again! I had fun writing this one, hehe. I hope you enjoy! (Side note: the reader is a Sergeant in this scenario).

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Simon sighed as he shrugged his heavy tactical vest off of his sore shoulders. Every single fiber of his muscles ached from the long trek to the safe house, not to mention escaping yet another hostile situation by the skin of their teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought about how you just barely missed that stray bullet, a small smoke trail lingering in a fresh hole in the wall…

He shook his head before tugging off his rough skeletal gloves. His body felt unbearably heavy as he leaned against the wall, his chest rising and falling as exhaustion seeped into his bones. Simon released a long exhale as he pulled his mask off, the chilly air falling over his sweat-covered face.

“Simon?” a soft voice suddenly called. His eyes snapped open as he stiffened, his body frozen in place as you stirred in the twin bed across from him.

“Shit,” he thought. He could’ve sworn this room wasn’t taken yet.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied with a strained voice. You paused for a moment.

“What are you doing in my room?” you asked with furrowed brows. Simon’s breath hitched as he saw you sit up in the bed, the blanket falling down to reveal your bare chest. Your nipples hardened as the cold air swept over you, goosebumps instantly covering your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he thought as he looked down at his mud-caked boots. A quiet tension built between the two of you as you gasped and pulled the blanket up over your breasts. He cleared his throat, feeling blood rush to the tips of his ears and…elsewhere.

“Sorry. Just came in here by accident,” he muttered as he gripped his balaclava and turned on his heel. He heard the bed creak as he went to grab his vest.

“Wait,” you said. His shoulders tensed as he heard the bed creak again, his cock starting to strain beneath his pants as thoughts of it creaking a whole lot more bombarded his mind. His heart raced as he heard your swift footsteps grow closer. Simon swore the room was spinning when he felt you place a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, I know this isn’t something I should be asking you, but could you maybe…stay?” you asked with a hushed tone. Simon loosened his grip on his vest as his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. His chest clenched when he heard you sigh and slip your hand away.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ Simon suddenly turned around, his nose nearly brushing against yours as he came chest to chest with you. Both of you were quiet as he swallowed thickly, his mind racing at a thousand miles per hour as he felt your warm body pressed against his. You gazed into his dark, hungry eyes as he licked his dry lips.

“You sure you want me to stay?” he murmured. You nodded as you rubbed your tits against his covered chest.

“Please,” you whispered. Simon’s hands instantly fell to your hips as he dipped his head down and locked his lips with yours. You moaned into his mouth as he backed you against the wall, his hard cock brushing against your thigh. The two of you parted with a wet “pop” before he kissed along your jaw, relishing in the way you tilted your hips forward.

“Get back in the bed, Sergeant,” Simon husked into your ear.

Epilogue

“You seem to be in a better mood today, Lt.,” Soap piped up. Everyone was in the main room of the safe house preparing for evac. Price and Gaz casted him a sideways glance before going back to their preparations. Simon was thankful his skull balaclava shrouded his obviously annoyed expression…as well as a few hickeys covering his thick neck.

“Sure,” the lieutenant shrugged, his gaze slowly wandering over to you. You gave him a small grin before glancing down. Soap’s line of sight shifted between the two of you for a bit before his bright, blue eyes widened. Simon leaned over.

“Not one word, MacTavish,” he warned in a low voice.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999

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captainfern · 1 year

Note

Hello 👋 is it alright if I request an extra fluff/smut piece for Ghost? With the idea of mutual pining, playing peacocks around each other etc. My idea is something like : SO is good at either playing the guitar or singing, and we know Ghost can play the guitar so maybe SO shows off while in private with him or with the whole grp in the rec room or smth , maybe SO starts showing off and then Ghost joins in w his lil skill? idk it doesnt make a lot of logical sense but id like to think its cute...

Ps: I am absolutely going mad for your writings, they are so so good ! Thank you for sharing your art and talent with us ❤️🫰🏻

Sorry if you dont like the idea, keep safe and have a lovely day 💞

Nothing Else Matters

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

[“Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica]

[18+]

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• summary - ghost teaches you how to play a song on the guitar. he rewards you for listening so well lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.8k • warnings - fem!reader, fingering, soft!ghost, HEAVY praise, a lil sprinkle sprinkle of a size kink, fluff, the mask stays on 🙏

✿ ok but i lowkey struggled writing this idek why 😭 oh well thank you for the ask anon i love this idea fr!! i changed it up a lot, but i hope it's still ok :)

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

For the past few weeks, you had been watching your lieutenant strum at his acoustic guitar after long, strenuous missions. He'd keep his mask on, ripping one skeletal glove off to change notes as his gloved hand strummed and plucked at the strings.

You'd sit across from him in the rec-room, just watching, curled up on the couch next to Gaz, who would be elatedly telling Ghost about songs he should learn on the guitar.

You'd watch his ungloved fingers; how they'd wrap around the neck of the guitar, pressing and moving around the chords. You'd watch his gloved hand; how, despite the fabric, it moved fluidly to brush a tune from the taut strings.

Ghost would hum along, too. Eyes flickering to either watch his hand movements, or stare absent-mindedly into the distance, long blond eyelashes fluttering.

One day, the taskforce returned from yet another stressful mission. Battered and bruised, the five of you wandered into the barracks with separate objectives to relax yourselves. Price disappeared into his office, Soap and Gaz to their respective rooms. That left you and Ghost to idle in the rec-room.

Ghost immediately picked up his guitar, having left it on the couch, and sat down. He drummed his fingers on the hollow body for a moment, staring at the floor. You watched him from the doorway, and he looked up, sensing your eyes on him.

You shied away under his gaze, dropping your head nervously. "Sorry, I–"

"You can watch," he said simply. "It's okay."

You smiled at him, entering the rec-room and taking a seat on the couch opposite. With his mask still on, he bit at the tips of his fingers and pulled his glove off with his teeth, dropping it beside him. He rested his ungloved hand around the neck of his guitar, rubbing his fingers along the fingerboard.

You watched the movements. He looked up at you. You felt the heat of embarrassment prickle at the back of your neck.

"You play?" He asked genuinely, nodding to his guitar.

You shook your head. "No, no. I just... I just like watching you play. You seem to really enjoy it."

He hummed, something like an mhm, but his voice was deep and, in all honesty, it distracted you.

"Helps me reduce stress," he told you, tampering with one of the pegs for a second. "Calms me down."

He then began to play. It was somewhat of a familiar tune, with gentle strumming. His fingers moved fluidly across the fingerboard, and you cocked your head as you watched, reclining further into the couch. You were still in your gear, dirty and flushed with sweat, but you were relaxed– heart calming as you listened to Ghost's song.

You really didn't want to interrupt him, but the intrigue to know the song was almost overwhelming. He clearly could sense it as, without even looking at you, or pausing the movement of his gloved hand, he said: "Nothing Else Matters."

"Metallica?"

"Mhm." The same, deep hum.

You smiled, small. His picking hand was doing most of the work as the chords thrummed together, the song drifting softly around the rec-room. You felt sleepy– like he was sending you to sleep with some sort of lullaby. But you didn't allow yourself slumber, continuing to watch as your lieutenant played.

Halfway through a chord, he stopped. He looked over at you, eyes framed by that signature black paint, and nodded down at his guitar. "You like Metallica?"

You shrugged. "I like that song. Slower. Calmer."

He nodded slowly, eyes flitting back down to his hands for a second, before he looked back up at you. "You wanna play it?"

You shook your head, sitting up. "I don't know how, lieutenant."

"I'll teach you." He said, patting the space on the couch next to him.

You were hesitant to move, fidgeting with your fingers. He was waiting patiently, a hand resting on the fraying couch cushion, the other holding his guitar to his chest.

You sighed. "Look, I haven't even gotten changed, and I probably need a shower–"

"Sit down, sergeant," he said, almost jokingly. "I've been in the military a long time. Dirt and sweat is the least of my worries."

You bit your lip, but abided. You crossed the room, sitting down beside him. He shifted his body so that you could see his hands and the guitar. You watched closely as he guided you through the different chords, teaching you the basics of where to put your fingers.

You followed his ungloved hand with curious eyes, watching the way his fingers flexed, veins in his hands shifting with each press to a string. A sliver of tattoo poked out of his sleeve, along the edge of his wrist. The sight of the ink made your heart flutter.

"Easy enough, yeah?" He concluded, and you realised that you hadn't been paying attention for the past few minutes.

"Uh, yeah." You whispered, before he placed the guitar in your lap. You wiggled to get comfortable, but the way his eyes travelled up and down the length of your sitting frame was making you uncomfortably warm.

"Alright, now start like I showed you," Ghost said, voice low. "Two fingers like– yeah, perfect– and that's Em. Then you'll move into D with– good– then quickly into C– that's it, good."

You moved your trembling fingers, spurred on by his soft praise. You could feel his body heat beside you, radiating. You swallowed thickly, concentrating on moving your hands in tandem, picking up the slow rhythm.

"Now G– yeah– then B– three fingers, there you go, that's it– now back to Em– perfect, well done."

You paused. He had to be doing that on purpose.

"You picked that up pretty well, sergeant." He said.

"I barely managed that one verse," You groaned, flexing your already aching fingers. "Moving my fingers from Em into... uh..."

"D."

"D, right. I'm struggling getting my fingers into position in time." You said, and Ghost nodded next to you, moving closer.

He put a hand on your shoulder and turned you so that your back was to him, pressing against his chest. He wrapped one arm around your side, gripping the neck of the guitar.

"Just watch my hand." He said, masked mouth so close to your ear that you wanted to whimper.

His other hand moved around you, too. He began to strum, slowly, as you watched the movement of his ungloved hand. Effortlessly, he moved between chords, and you watched how he shifted the positioning of his fingers.

"You just have to take it nice and slow," he whispered. "There's no rush. You're learning. Here, you try."

He moved his hand, but kept his gloved one in place. "I'll strum. You focus on the chords."

Well, you couldn't focus on anything with how close he was to you. But, nevertheless, you tried. You did it exactly how he showed you: carefully moving your fingers across the fingerboard, two fingers to three, from one chord to another. You did it a few times as Ghost plucked at the strings.

Each time you failed to transition smoothly between chords, he'd murmur in your ear: "almost", "nearly there", "that's okay, try it again."

When you finally nailed the transition a few times, you hid your glee as he praised you: "that's it", "there you go", "good girl."

The last praise made your fingers stutter, and you prayed he didn't notice. But after half an hour of learning the basics, you decided it was time to get some rest. So, you thanked Ghost, bid him goodnight, and headed off towards the showers, skin warm and mind buzzing.

Ghost watched you go.

Of course he noticed the way you reacted to his voice, his praise.

He had always loved the way you watched him play. Sitting next to Gaz, watching on so intrigued, big eyes following each languid movement of his hands. He liked looking up and catching you staring, only for you to look elsewhere– at your hands, the floor. He liked seeing you nervous.

Ghost especially liked teaching you how to play. Who wouldn't?

Watching the way your brows lightly furrowed as you concentrated, how your hands, so much smaller than his, wrapped around the neck of the guitar and pressed down on the fingerboard. He'd observe the way you bit your lip when you had to focus particularly hard: changing chords, for one thing.

Then, when he pressed you to him, the warmth of your body– even through your military gear– was astounding. He could feel your breathing against his chest, hear the way you sighed through your nose when you got a chord wrong. He really loved when he spoke, close to your ear, and your body tensed for just a second. A second that made Ghost thankful for the thick material of his cargo pants.

He'd always had this juvenile crush on his sergeant. He whittled it down to being a man working with an attractive woman in an adrenaline-fuelled environment. Nothing more.

But having you so close to him, letting him teach you and speak softly in your ear, made him realise that–

"Fucking hell..." Ghost grumbled, placing the guitar to the side and running a hand down his face.

Thinking of you, he could already feel the blood in his body begin to head southward. He stood up, realising that it was time for bed.

And probably a cold shower.

•º•

The next couple of weeks, something in the air between you and your lieutenant had changed.

Maybe you were imagining things, maybe you weren't. But your interactions with your superior had shifted and you wondered if anyone else noticed it too.

Ghost had been continuing to teach you how to play. He was adamant for you to complete the entire song, and every couple of days, he would invite you back into the rec-room and pick up where you left off. You were getting the hang of it, actually.

But other mannerisms of his changed, also. He was gentler with you, spoke quieter, ensured you were okay more often. His orders to Soap and Gaz were abrupt, loud. His orders to you were quieter, less of a shout, usually paired with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder.

He'd pop his head into your room, asking how you were. You would tell him that you're fine. He would reply skeptically, "let me know if you need anything, okay?"

It all seemed confusing. This big, hulking figure of a man with a skull-face balaclava treating you like some kind of porcelain doll. But, you weren't complaining, and Ghost noticed that.

He'd have to be blind not to take notice.

Your pretty smile when you thanked him for something. Your sparkling gaze when you looked up at him. Your subconscious efforts to get closer to him– sitting beside him at briefings, pairing up with him on a mission, asking him for help when you needed it.

Ghost was basking in your presence and enjoying every second of it.

So when another guitar lesson came around, Ghost was eager to see how well you were doing. He was impressed by how fast you had picked it up, smiling when you managed a near perfect run-through of the song a couple of nights ago. Thank fuck for the mask, he thought.

"I think I've almost got it." You beamed, flopping down beside him on the couch.

He smiled under his mask, handing you his guitar. "You think?"

You nodded excitedly, positioning yourself so you were facing him. He watched as you began to play, the tune slower than he played it, but still good. Meanwhile, you were burning up on the inside– the way he was watching you play making you flush. You knew he wasn't even looking at the movement of your hands. He was looking at your face, your expressions. You screwed your eyes shut, losing focus and messing up the chord transition. You cursed under your breath.

"Still having trouble with the Em to D, huh?" Ghost asked, cocking his head to the side and resting his hands on his knees.

The transition was difficult, but you had been practising. The reason you had messed up was because your lieutenant was looking at you like that–

Soft eyes, long lashes, semi-lowered eyelids, smudges of black paint, gloved hands on his knees, large thighs pressed to the couch.

Oh my God, you thought.

Ghost chuckled lowly, as if he could hear your thoughts. That scared the shit out of you, but when he shifted his position, taking the guitar from you, you sighed, relieved.

"I'll run you through it one more time," he said, proceeding to show you the smooth, seamless transition of his fingers. You looked on, attempting to be subtle as you pressed your thighs together, warmth gathering. What the hell. "Think you can manage that?" He asked.

You hesitated to nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Ghost followed the movement for a split second, snapping his gaze back to your eyes as you opened your mouth to speak.

"Could you... could you help me?"

"'Course," he said quickly, shuffling back on the couch and spreading his thighs. You moved between them, sitting with your back to his chest. Comfortable, as he placed the guitar on your lap and urged you to take hold. He covered your hands with his. "Two fingers to three, sergeant. Easy does it."

He guided you through it.

You were successful in each movement of your fingers.

"There you go, good girl. You've got it, haven't you?" Ghost said in your ear as you strummed, continuing through the verses.

You played for him, still perched between the mass of his thighs, his broad chest moving against your back as he breathed. He had moved his hands away from yours. They rested on your waist, holding you lightly as you played. His thumbs soon rubbed circles in time with your plucking, right on the curve of your hips. Only now did you realise he had taken off both of his gloves.

Tentatively, his hands moved around your hips, then waist to your stomach. He pushed you, carefully, further against his chest as he tucked his head onto your shoulder. You sighed through your nose, trying not to whine as you progressed through Nothing Else Matters.

"Doing so good, sergeant. So good," he whispered, hands splayed warmly across the shape of your tummy. His breath was warm against your neck, your ear, even through his mask. You shuddered against him, but didn't lose your concentration. "You like me teaching you things, hm?"

You allowed yourself a small whine, followed by a nod. He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder, sliding his hands back to your hips. He grabbed onto you, pulling your backside flush to his pelvis, making you gasp. Your fingers stopped.

"Keep playing, baby," he cooed into your ear, voice thick and rich with praise and lust. You obeyed, picking up where you left off. He circled your hips with his fingers, before allowing them to slide back to your front, sitting on the buckle of your belt. "If you don't want–"

You cut him off. "Keep going."

He didn't say anything, but he popped your belt open as you resumed playing. He kept his head on your shoulder, watching your hands move as he unzipped your cargos and peeled them open. He slid one hand inside, cupping the front of you over your underwear. He waited and, when you said nothing, he slipped two fingers inside and dragged them towards your heat.

When his digits made contact with your wet core, both of you whined. You stopped, letting your fingers rest against the strings as he trailed his fingers up and down your slit a few times, sliding between the heat of your folds.

"So wet..." He drawled, two fingers snagging your dripping entrance, circling it. You arched against him, song long forgotten. You whined softly into the sudden quietness of the rec-room, and Ghost nuzzled his masked face into the crook of your neck.

"Come on, baby. Keep playing for me," he said, urging you to continue with a pause of his movements. With shaking fingers and a desperate sigh, you started again, rec-room no longer quiet. As you did that, he brought his fingers to your entrance and carefully pushed them inside.

You whined, missing a couple of chords. "Lieutenant–"

"Shh, baby, I know, you're doing so well," Ghost hushed, gently flexing his fingers inside you. "Just want you to finish the song, okay? You can do that for me, baby, I know you can."

Damn it.

Desperately ignoring his thick fingers inside you, you continued. You had just a couple more verses to go, but the fact you could hear your lieutenant huffing softly behind you wasn't doing you any favours.

"So good... so good..." He was muttering to himself, kissing the junction of your neck and shoulder through his mask. His fingers had a slow, but steady pace. He could feel droplets of your arousal running between the grooves of his knuckles. This made him even more hard– painfully so– in the confines of his thick cargos.

With one verse to go, you felt Ghost drag his other hand from your hip to your underwear. He dipped inside, running a finger up and down your folds to collect your arousal as his other hand worked your cunt. He moved his finger, callouses soaked, to your clit and pressed firmly. You keened, arching against him as he rubbed steady circles across the bundle of nerves. Your fingers were trembling against the guitar, warmth spreading rapidly through your body.

"That's it, almost there," Ghost muttered, and you weren't exactly sure if he was referring to the song or your climax. "Sounds so good, baby." Again, the song, or your noises of pleasure? You were surrounded in a muddled daze of him, and you were loving it.

When you completed the song, you were quick to discard the guitar onto the other end of the couch, leaning back against Ghost as he trapped you between his thighs, hands moving against you simultaneously. You released a breathy moan, and then felt the finger on your clit depart. It made home on your mouth, blocking your noises as Ghost fucked his fingers into your needy hole.

"Nice and quiet, sergeant. There you go..." Ghost said, hand on your mouth delicate as he cupped your face.

Your orgasm was approaching rapidly as you screwed your eyes shut, revelling in Ghost's presence behind you, and his fingers pumping into you. You were wet and aching for him, the pressure in your belly building with each timed thrust. His fingers dragged against your walls, rough yet gentle at the same time.

"Been such a good girl, listening to me," he whispered, fingers stroking your cheek as he muffled your mewls. "Think you can cum for me? Think you can cum 'round my fingers?"

You hummed against his hand, hips meeting the movements of his fingers. You were whimpering from the back of your throat continuously as the orgasm spread throughout your body, bubbling through your nerves as he ushered you closer and closer.

"Let go, baby, know you can," Ghost nudged the shape of his nose against your ear as he spoke, fingers to the knuckle inside you, and you whined out desperately. You came with a shunt and a shiver, cunt spasming around his fingers as you sobbed into the palm of his hand. "Atta girl, there you are. So good, baby. So good." He praised you, working you through the ripples of your orgasm.

You were breathing heavily against his hand when he retracted his other from your underwear. Carefully, he pulled his hand away from your mouth, too, stroking your face gently as you leaned back into him. He placed a couple of kissed on the angle of your jaw.

You could feel the hard imprint of his cock against the curve of your arse. You moved backwards, grinding against it, feeling his body stiffen behind you. He exhaled, letting a low fuck slip out of his mouth.

"Want you..." You whimpered, underwear cool and wet against your core, your blood pumping hot through your veins.

Once more, he placed kisses along your jaw and neck through the soft material of his balaclava. You turned your head to allow him better access, relishing in the warmth of his mouth ghosting across your sensitive skin.

"Not tonight," he muttered, and it sounded strained: as if he really, really wanted to. He continued to hold your hips, pressing you into him, keeping you secure on his lap. "You've been so good already, but not tonight. I think you need a bit more practise... maybe tomorrow I can give you another lesson."

You were nodding eagerly before he even finished the rest of his sentence.

•º•

The next day, you were sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing the guitar in the rec-room. The rest of the 141 had gathered, listening to you play a perfect rendition of Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.

After the final verse, Price, Soap and Gaz applauded you. You beamed, resting the guitar on your lap and thanking them. They noticed how hard you practised to learn the tune, and barraged you with a stream of compliments. After a little while, they left, leaving you in the rec-room with Ghost: sitting on the opposite couch, arm stretched across the back, watching you with glimmering eyes.

"You're amazing at that." He said, and you smiled nervously.

"I had an amazing teacher."

He scoffed, still looking at you dotingly. "Sure, but it was all you, pretty girl. The rest of the boys thought you did great."

You averted your eyes, suddenly bashful. When you looked back at him, his head was slightly cocked, analysing your expression. You mimicked the tilt of his head, and you knew then that he was smiling beneath his mask.

"I... I'd like to learn another song, if that's all right with you." You said, drumming your fingers lightly on the sleek wood of the guitar.

"Oh yeah?" He reclined on the couch, shifting his hips. You tried really hard to ignore the movement. "What song're you thinking of?"

You shrugged, biting your lip to hide a smile. "You can choose."

He stared at you for a moment, and you picked up the minuscule movement of his mask. He was smiling like an idiot beneath that stupid mask.

Then, he widened his legs, spreading them further. He pat one of his thighs, a couple of smacks to the solid muscle. "Come on then, pretty girl. I have a couple'a songs in mind."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

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