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captainfern · 9 months

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Reader and ghost fake dating for a mission with a twist.It’s a masquerade ball so Ghost wears a fancy little mask instead of his usual skull. Reader gets worked up seeing him in a tux with his hair and part of his face out so they ditch their mics and abandon the mission to go fuck in a bathroom. Just a thought… 🤭🤭

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Master of Puppets

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

[“Master of Puppets” by Metallica]

[18+]

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• summary - you and ghost getting all dressed up for a ball ends in you and ghost fucking in the bathroom lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.6k • warnings - fem!reader, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjobs idk, ghost is a little possessive of his sergeant, strong language

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ok you requested this while my requests were closed and usually i just delete them BUT you're lucky i'm horny for this idea

i'm imagining him in a peaky blinders style three-piece suit and i'm going insane why do i do this to myself

You weren't a stranger to the "fake dating" type of mission. You had done it with Gaz just a few months prior to infiltrate enemy operations at a charity event in Dubai.

So, when that exact type of mission came around again, you were prepared for what it would take.

"Playing boyfriend-girlfriend again, Garrick?" You quipped at Gaz a few minutes before Price's usual briefing.

He smiled, but shook his head. "Not me, sarge."

You made a face of confusion, before Gaz threw his thumb over his shoulder, pointing directly at Ghost. Ghost raised his head from the files he had been reading.

"Seriously?" You gaped, surprised.

Ghost shook his head slowly, muttering out a sarcastic comment, "Dial down the excitement, sergeant."

Now, you stood in the bathroom of your hotel room, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, admiring yourself. It was an absolutely stunning dress that clung to you in all the right ways. Designer label, too, leaving you wondering how the hell Price got his hands on it. Probably Laswell.

There was a light knock on your door before it opened, and you walked into the bedroom so you could slip your heels on. Soap and Price entered, dressed impeccably in suits. You stood at the foot of the bed as they walked in, and you admired them with a big smile.

"You two look very handsome." You said.

"Thank you," Price said, adjusting his tie. "You look absolutely radiant, sarge."

You laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could fasten your heels to your feet, as well as strap your handgun to the strap around your upper thigh.

Soap gaped at you, eyes raking down the entirety of your body while you exposed a leg, tightening the holster around it.

"You're smokin', lass," he said, shock edging his words. "Ghost won't be able to focus."

You rolled your eyes, sliding your gun into place before standing up, settling your dress over top of it, trying your best to make the imprint not obvious.

The three of you left the hotel ten minutes later. A black SUV with tinted windows waited outside, and Soap opened the door for you. Price grabbed hold of your arm before you slid inside, leaning close to your ear.

"Remember, you and Ghost are there to get intel. You don't engage with any of the targets, understood? Soap and I will be nearby if you run into any trouble."

"Understood." You nodded, before clambering into the black SUV. Soap mouthed good luck to you before he turned away, just as Ghost walked slowly down the steps, Gaz a few metres behind.

Your eyes widened. He looked fucking good.

A black three piece suit, complete with the waistcoat and everything. He wasn't wearing gloves, exposing large, strong hands with prominent veins and silver rings around his fingers. What shocked you the most, however, was the silver mask covering most of the top half of his face. It shined in the light of the hotel entrance. As he neared the car, you could see his lips, his jawline, his chin, scars littering the flesh.

You pressed your thighs together.

Price said something to Ghost, and then Soap did as well. Finally, Ghost looked into the car where you waited patiently, and you watched as his lips parted in what could be best described as a small gasp.

"Sergeant..." He trailed off, taking in your dress, your face, your body, you.

"Lieutenant," you nodded at him. "You look nice. Very dapper."

He grunted deeply, sliding into the seat next to you. His body radiated heat that you could feel. He smelt good, too. You bit your lip as his strong thigh pressed against yours.

With a final few good lucks from the boys, the car was pulling away from the hotel and heading for the venue. You and Ghost didn't exchange much conversation, but as you looked out the window, you felt the heat of his gaze on you. You turned your head, catching his bright eyes following the curves of your dress.

You ignored the flip in your stomach at the weight of desire in his eyes. "Like what you see?" You joked, and his eyes snapped up to look at you.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you, before he fished something out of his jacket pocket. He held it out to you, still not quite meeting your eyes. It was a silver mask, much like his, but a bit smaller, with finer details carved around the edges. It was really pretty.

"It's a masquerade ball, so I figured you'd need this." Ghost grumbled, retracting his hands straight away as you took the mask from him.

"Matching?" You smiled.

"I figured... I mean— it was Soap's idea, so if you don't want... you don't, you know—"

"I love it, sir, I do," you said softly, and he sighed deeply through his nose. You then angled your body away from him, pressing the mask to your face with the ribbons dangling either side. "Do you mind tying it for me?"

Ghost said nothing, but took hold of the two ribbons and brought them to the back of your head. He carefully tied a bow, keeping your mask secure against your face. You could feel the soft rhythm of his breathing against your back, and the warmth of his bare hands near the base of your neck.

"Done?" You asked, looking at yourself in the windows reflection.

Ghost swallowed thickly, ignoring something stirring deep within the pit of his stomach. "Yeah."

•º•

You felt somewhat confident walking into the event with Ghost on your arm. All eyes turned towards the handsomely dressed man, clearly well-built beneath the suit and obviously attractive beneath the silver mask. He captured this attention like a natural, which you couldn't come to grips with. He was so calm, collected. You felt as though you were going to burst into tears at any moment.

But you didn't. You wouldn't. Not with the way Ghost circled an arm around your lower back, a hand pressed hot above your arse. Not with the way he kept you pressed to your side, his towering frame shielding you from at least one line of prying eyes.

But, you felt eyes on you too. Eyes on the pretty girl next to the man with the silver mask. They admired you from close and afar, watching the way your dress dipped around your body, and the way your silver mask glittered under the light of the crystal chandeliers.

"Alright, sarge?" Ghost whispered, thumb rubbing circles on your lower back.

"Yep," you squeaked out, the movement of his hand making your body grow hot. "You good?"

"Mhm." He hummed, already surveying the room.

—Okay, you two. Try and get as much information out of these rich-listers as you can—, Price's voice filtered in through your earpiece. —I would say don't draw attention to yourselves, but it seems it's a bit late for that. You're probably the youngest, most attractive pair in that room tonight—.

"Aw, cap, you flatter us." You joked, snagging two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress.

—Just don't get distracted—. Price grumbled, before his voice was gone from your ear.

You held a glass of champagne out for Ghost, who just stared at it. You were already raising yours to your lips, drinking the bubbling liquid in small sips. Finally, he took it from you, but didn't drink.

"Shouldn't be drinking on the job." He said gruffly as you finished your drink, placing the empty glass on a nearby table.

"Says who?" You question, taking the second flute from him since he obviously wasn't going to drink it.

"Says me."

"Pfft, you're not the boss of me." You quipped, downing the second glass of champagne. It was mostly to steel your nerves— which were on fire with anxiety.

He rolled his eyes. "I am the boss of you."

"Oh yeah."

•º•

An hour or so went by and you found yourself sat at the bar. It was a pretty place, decked out in gold and glittering crystal lights. You'd spent the past hour gathering as much information about your rich-list targets as you could, with said information being filtered back through your ear-piece, directly back to Gaz in the hotel room.

Ghost had vanished to investigate further, leaving you alone at the bar, a small glass of water in your hand. You'd thrown back a few flutes of champagne and you realised that water was probably your best bet for the rest of the night.

"What's a pretty lady like you sitting here without company?" Came a voice behind you, and you rolled your eyes.

What a cringe line. Embarrassing.

You plastered a polite smile across your face as a man took the barstool beside you, a simple black mask over his features.

"My company's just gone outside for a smoke." You lied naturally, smile not breaking.

"And he's left you all alone?"

"Mhm, but I'm perfectly fine being by myself," you said. "But it was nice to meet you." You finished with the hopes that he'd take the fucking hint and leave.

He didn't take the hint.

"Well, at least let me by you a drink." He offered.

You shook your head. "I'm fine, thank you."

He took that surprisingly well, but his stare was lingering and uncomfortable as it travelled down the length of your body. You felt goosebumps ripple across your exposed flesh, a grimace threatening to overtake your practised smile.

"You look stunning, by the way," he said. "Absolutely beautiful. Are you sure I can't buy you a drink?"

You sighed. "The drinks are free and, no thank you."

"Are you sure—?"

You felt Ghost's presence before he even spoke.

You felt the looming warmth press to your back, the tower of mass that overshadowed your frame. You couldn't help but lean back a bit, his chest and upper abdomen pressing firmly along your spine. Then, a built arm draped over your shoulders, wrapping just above your tits and pulling you closer against him.

"Can I help you?" Ghost asked, voice even, accent thick.

The man had to crane his head to look up at Ghost. "Just keeping the pretty lady company."

Ghost grunted. "I suggest you move on. Keep someone else company, why don't you."

The man swallowed nervously. "I didn't—"

"Go." Ghost ordered simply, and the man was scurrying away before you could even blink.

You looked up at Ghost, top of your head leaning against his chest. "Thanks." You muttered, waiting for him to let go of you.

He didn't. His hand and arm held you closer, his eyes dragging down your face and your body. His other hand came to rest on your jaw, his thumb trailing along the bone. Then it swiped upwards, along your cheek before pressing to your lips, smearing the shimmering gloss.

You were frozen.

"Ghost—?"

"You're the prettiest woman in this fucking room, you know that?" He muttered lowly, thumb skirting along the seam of your lips.

You didn't answer, just stared up at him. His rings were cold against the side of your face.

The moment was thick with tension, and heat pooled in your belly. You felt his chest rise and fall, a bit quicker than it did in the car ride to the event. His pupils were blown, too, between the slots in the mask, and he ran the point of his tongue across his bottom lip.

—Aww, how romantic—, Soap's voice burst in your ear, and both you and Ghost jolted.

"Fucking hell, Johnny," Ghost cursed, grip on your face tighter. "I'm turning this fucking mic off. I'm sick of hearing your voice."

Soap laughed. —You wouldn't dare—

Ghost switched his ear-piece off, before closing his fingers around yours too. He switched it off, and Soap's voice died in your ear.

You gasped. "Ghost—"

He hauled you off of the seat while you were mid-sentence, planting you on your feet with your chest now pressed to his.

"Follow me." He growled.

You could feel his cock hardening in his suit trousers.

•º•

Ghost locked the door of the bathroom behind you, before he was slamming you against it, hiking your legs around his waist. His mouth smashed to yours, and you gasped, barely having enough time to respond before his tongue was surging inwards.

The kiss choked you, full of emotion. Ghost's large frame towering over you, caging you to the door. One of his hands gripped your thigh, keeping your body pinned between his and the door. His other hand gripped the underside of your jaw, angling your face so he could press deeper into the kiss.

The material of the silver masks you were both wearing bumped together with each desperate movement of your mouths. You were able to respond now; winding your arms around his shoulders, delving one hand into his hair, pulling his face closer to yours. Ghost groaned into the kiss as you tugged at the roots of his hair, and he pulled away to look down at you.

"Such a tease," he muttered, before dragging his lips across your jaw and down your neck. "Wearing this pretty dress, too."

His lips found the strap on your shoulder, teeth skimming the material before he was kissing along your collarbone. You angled your face upwards so he could suck along the soft expanse of your throat. He still gripped your jaw firmly as he did so, and he moved your head himself when he wanted to nip at the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Fucking stunning," he said, breathless, before he was stepping back to get a better look at you. You squirmed under his gaze, drawing your thighs together as your core gained a heartbeat. You whined, and he chuckled lowly, dropping your leg off of his waist. "So pretty."

"Simon..." You pleaded, his real name slipping past your lips before you could stop yourself. Your body was simmering hot with arousal, your core aching just by the way Ghost was looking at you.

Not to mention how fucking good he looked in that suit.

Clearly, you were having much the same effect on him.

He huffed deeply, unbuttoning his trousers, his hard cock imprinted through the material. You swallowed as you watched his trousers drop slightly as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, eyes raking up and down your body. And you weren't even showing anything yet.

"Acting like a Victorian man," you couldn't help but joke. "Seeing a sliver of shoulder and a bit of ankle's got you worked up?"

You laughed lightly, seeing Ghost roll his eyes behind the mask. He grunted, the closest thing to a verbal reply, as he gripped his cock and moved closer to you. Your breath hitched as he closed the gap, kissing you hard.

His cock pressed to your abdomen, warm and hard through the expensive material of your dress. You whined softly against Ghost's tongue, moving a hand to enclose around his length also.

Ghost choked on a low moan, pulling out of the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. The both of you staying like that, eyes directed down between your bodies as you gripped his cock, hand right beside his own.

You used the beads of pre-cum pearling at his slit to ease your movements, fisting a hand up and down, making Ghost grumble deep in his chest. Foreheads still pressed together, you both watched as you jerked him off. His hand remained tight at the base, unmoving despite your best efforts to encourage him.

The bathroom was filled with his soft noises; noises that ignited the fire in your belly further, your core throbbing, soaking your underwear. You hummed softly at him, some kind of a whine, as you pumped him faster, feeling him twitch in your hand.

He groaned and grunted softly, his breaths deep and laboured. His cock twitched with each of your movements, drops of pre rolling in a steady pattern along a vein. You collected them in the grooves of your palm, your movements sliding, sending soft, wet clicking sounds into the bathroom as well.

It felt like Ghost was entranced with the way he was looking at your hand moving along his cock. So when he felt his orgasm creeping up the back of his spine, he internally cursed.

He grabbed your wrist and pried your hand from his cock with a hiss, screwing his eyes closed as the feeling of release seeping away. He'd just edged himself, and he didn't even fucking mean too.

"Fuck, gotta be inside you," he muttered, kissing your forehead as he changed positions. "Not gonna last like this."

He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around him. You helped him wriggle the material of your dress around your waist, and he hummed in satisfaction. You braced one hand around his broad shoulders, the other on the door at your side for stability.

"Fucking hell..." Ghost ran a finger up your slit over your underwear. The material was damp with your arousal, and the feeling of his finger made you squirm in his hold.

"Simon, please—"

"Absolutely soaked..." He wasn't really listening to you. He was too busy playing with the material of your underwear, rubbing up your folds and feeling the way your arousal soaked through.

You quickly moved your hand from the door and fisted a handful of his hair, urging his head to look up. He grunted, gritting his teeth as he finally looked you dead in the eye while you tugged at his hair.

"Simon." You said, commanding as much of his attention as you could.

He licked his lips. "Hm?"

"Fuck me."

"Christ," he whispered, the hand stroking you through your underwear hooking beneath the material. He simply pulled it to the side, exposing your wet cunt. His pupils dilated. "Fucking Christ."

"Don't bring Christ into this." You joked again, and Ghost grunted deeply in response, giving you no warning before he was easing his cock into you.

You spluttered around a moan as his cock filled you abruptly, your hands moving to grip Ghost's shoulders tightly. Your head fell forward, resting against his chest, and you moaned loudly.

His cock nudged that spot inside you that had your cunt fluttering around him, making him groan. He grit his teeth to restrict most of the noises, but he couldn't help himself. Not with the way your cunt was squeezing his cock, all wet and warm and tight.

"Come on, sergeant, come on," Ghost whispered, moving his hips back and slamming into you again. He began to build pace and rhythm with each one of his thrusts. "Let me hear those pretty noises. Come on."

You moaned again, high and breathy as the head of his cock punched the air out of your fucking lungs. He fucked you against the door, the wet sounds of your arousal spurring his movements further.

"Simon, gotta be quiet. Someone m-might hear— ah, fuck—" You bit down on your bottom lip to stifle the moans being torn from your throat by the way Ghost was fucking you.

"Let them hear," he whispered in your ear. "Let them hear how good I make you feel, eh? Let them hear how good you are at taking my cock."

Your head fell backwards against the wooden door, eyes rolling as a string of whimpers were pulled from your lips. Ghost rutted into you, grunting softly as he did, listening to the sounds from your mouth and your cunt. He held your hips, keeping you pinned to the door and unable to move so he could slam deeper and deeper inside you.

You arousal was pooling around his cock with each thrust, now dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could faintly feel your underwear in the crease of your thigh, pushed haphazardly out of the way to make room for Ghost. But you didn't care— you were too focused on the huge fucking cock that was inside you right now.

You couldn't help the whines and soft moans that left your mouth. Your body was burning up, stomach drawing tight as your impending orgasm grew more intense with each rut of Ghost's cock.

"Simon..." You moaned, and Ghost had to compose himself so he didn't come right then and there. You sounded so good, so fucking pretty moaning his name like that.

"Yeah, baby? Feel's good?" He murmured against your skin as he kissed along your jaw. "You wanna come?"

You nodded, fingernails scratching down his shoulders. You whimpered desperately, legs quivering in his hold.

"Let go, pretty girl. Come 'round my cock... that's it."

You came with a loud moan of his name, and he slammed his mouth to yours to swallow it whole. Your cunt spasmed around his cock as he fucked you roughly through your orgasm, heat blooming across your skin. He pulled his face away from yours, lips brushing as he panted, chasing his own high.

"F-fuck," he whispered, releasing inside you, followed by a carnal groan into the curve of your neck. He filled you, hot and thick, and the sensations of it flooding your womb made you close your eyes. He didn't pull out for a while. He just held you to the door, breathing deeply. "Alright, sergeant?"

"Yeah... fine..." You breathed. "We should, um, probably get back to the mission."

"Give me a minute." He groaned, still deep inside you, making you laugh.

•º•

When you did finally leave the bathroom, you made yourself look as presentable as you could before you left a couple of minutes after Ghost. You shoved your ear-piece back into your ear and turned it on. Immediately, you were greeted by Soap's voice.

—Good bathroom break, sarge?—

"Shut up, Soap."

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lazy writing sorry i'm tired lol

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fem reader #ghost call of duty #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #call of duty smut #captain'smetallica

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eilidh-eternal · 3 months

Text

Thinking about tattoo artist Ghost who notices you in the studio quite often. Who recognizes the signs of using tattoos as a thinly veiled coping mechanism and can’t help but think that there’s a… better… way for you to cope. Ways that he can help you with. Things he can teach you that don’t involve needles but would still leave his mark on your skin.

You need him.

You’ve just finished up your session with Soap, finalizing the payment with him at the front desk, when you feel a looming presence at your back.

Ghost.

“Um… hi?” He’s the only one of them you haven’t sat for. Over the last few months you’d worked your way through nearly the entire staff at the studio, amassing a collection of new pieces like a kid collecting happy meal toys in the summer–often and to the detriment of your bank account.

“You're with me next week.” His tone brooks no argument. “Soap, what do I have open next Saturday?”

“I can’t, I–”

“Ye’re open from two to close.”

“Book her. The full day.”

“What?!”

“Got somethin’ special drawn up that I’ve been holdin’ onto. We can make adjustments when you come in. See ya next weekend.“ He saunters back to his station without another word.

Well.

Despite the odd nature of the encounter, you go. ‘Just to see what he’s drawn up,’ you tell yourself. In actuality, you’d had a hell of a week and were itching, chomping at the bit, for the bite of a needle by the time the appointment came around. And damn him it’s good. Really fucking good. Fits your aesthetic perfectly and his suggested placement isn’t far off from where you would have chosen yourself.

Fuck it.

You let him do it. Follow him down the hall to the private room, nod when he tells you to get comfortable and that he just needs to grab one more thing from his station and he’ll be right back.

You’re stripped down to your panties and the oversized hoodie you brought in, big enough to drape and maneuver out of his way while maintaining a bit of modesty, when he comes back.

“You bring water? Somethin’ to eat during breaks?” he asks as he sets a water bottle of his own on the counter. You nod and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Need words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I did.”

Not the first time an artist has asked the question, but his insistence on a verbal answer is a curious deviation from your typical experience here. Soap certainly didn’t wait for your answer before he had his arm slung over your ass to ‘steady himself’ while needling a trail of stars down your spine a few weeks ago.

“Alright, let’s get you settled then. Down.’ He presses on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the reclined chair. “We doin it on the left or right?” His hands linger on either side of you, bent at the waist to hover over your frame.

“Uh, you said right would look best… with the other pieces? So um… yeah. The right.”

There’s a flicker behind the richness of his eyes. Something dark and smoky the seeps into the irises.

“Lookit you. Listen real well, don’t ya?”

What?

He leaves you with mere milliseconds to process. “On your side. Let’s get you stenciled.” His hand trails along your ribs, glides over the bulky fabric of the hoodie and tugs. Pulls at the pocket on the front to get you moving. “Good girl,” he purrs when you comply, shifting onto your left side and folding your arms close to your chest. “Up.” He helps you lift your head and slides a pillow under you. Does the same with your knees, pillow pressed between them to stabilize your hips.

“Thanks…” It comes out in a dazed mumble and he simply hums, as if all of this is… normal.

It isn’t. You know that. Nothing about him says normal.

The mask. His insistence—no, his demand—that you book a session with him. The way his tone brooks no argument or excuse. How some baser instinct tells you to heed his demands. Traitorous fluttering of nerves in your stomach and the heat pooling between your legs.

The black nitrile gloves clinging to his hands like a second skin are cold against your leg. Makes you twitch when long fingers push the hem of your hoodie over your hip and hook underneath the narrow waistband of your thong. “Just moving this up a bit,” he says and pulls it up to your waist, elastic pulling taught against the crease of your thigh and digging into the skin. Pressing against your pulsing core.

The cleanser is even colder and comes with no warning, but the warmth of him has begun to bleed through his gloves. Melts into your skin as he cleans his canvas and runs a hand over your hip in appraisal.

“Got a little fuzz,” he says more to himself than you, thumb swiping over the fine dusting of hair. The muscles in your back tense in an effort to fight against the shudder threatening to snake down your spine, skin burning beneath the massive hand that lingers on your thigh.

He’s precise about it, removing the hair with slow and even passes of the razor and going back over the area with disinfectant. “Doin’ so good for me, layin’ nice an’ still while I shave ya. Bet ya sit like a champ.”

Your eyes go wide, lips falling open in a silent gasp, and you’re thankful he’s currently bent over your hip and can’t see the shock written plain as day on your face. You blink. Force your brows to lower and snap your mouth shut before you say something stupid like ‘thank you.’

The stencil goes on in silence but you can feel his eyes on you. More precisely, on your face. Curious and observant. You’re so focused on not looking at him that you don’t hear him rise from his stool. Don’t register that he’s moved until he’s leaning over you and curling a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards the ceiling. Towards him.

“There she is. Let’s have a look, yeah?”

Why does he want to look at—?

The stencil. He means the stencil. He wants you to look at the stencil.

“Okay…”

He drops your chin but makes no move to pull away from you as you sit up on your elbows, twisting to get a look at the purple carbon adorning your hip and thigh. You straighten out your leg, move it this way and that, looking for any odd stretching or scrunching.

“It looks good. I like it there. It um… You were right. About it being a good fit.” When you look up at him he’s already staring down at you, eyes trained on your face rather than the stencil with a dark, inky quality to them. Pupils expanding and swallowing up the light in the room.

“Course. Knew I’d be right about ya.”

You blink and it’s gone. No more wisps of smoke swirling in amber coals. The heat in them abated by whatever he sees in you.

You have no idea what he sees in you.

He does, however, give you a reprieve when he straightens and moves to the counter to begin mixing ink while the stencil dries.

The air around you feels colder when you settle back on your side, sapped of your warmth by small touches and lingering glances. Like he’s purposely stoked a fire in you just to take from and warm himself with.

“Seen you ‘round here a lot. Got quite the collection.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, and you’re not sure if he’s expecting an answer, but you give him one anyway. Feels… wrong, not to.

“I like the work you guys do.” You’ve sat for all of them. John. Gaz. Soap. And now Ghost. Have their marks inked all over your body.

“That the only thing you like?” The broad expanse of his back is the only thing you can see, but you have a feeling that if you could see the sliver of his face visible behind the mask he’d have that same even stare he always has on the studio floor.

“Gaz is nice to look at,” you offer, and hear him huff behind you.

“That so?”

“Soap has steady hands. They wander a bit, but his lines are the best I’ve seen. Tit for tat I suppose.”

“And Cap?”

“Who? Oh, you mean John?”

“The old man ‘imself.” He turns then, arranging the ink on the rolling tray between the two of you, and you catch the dart of his eyes in your direction before they shift back to his station. “He doesn’t normally do the kinda work pretty things like you come looking for.”

“I- um…” He keeps tripping you up. Making you stumble over the words in your head with compliments and praise and firm hands and–

“You like the pain.” Your gaze jerks towards him, tracks his movements as he lowers himself down onto the stool. “Cap’s got a heavy hand,” he clarifies, but it’s too late for excuses. Your reaction only confirms what he already knows.

“That– I don’t… I don’t like it. It just…” His eyes are locked on you, simmering with something in the molten depths of them that reels you in against your will. Compels you to spill secret truths to a stranger. “It makes everything else quiet, for a little while…” You sink your teeth into your lower lip with the admission, eyes slipping away from the intensity burning in his to settle on a fleck in the wood grain of the cabinet.

Silence stretches long and thick between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers spilling music out of the ceiling and the little clicks and taps of him preparing the various tips and needles for his machine. The wheels on his chair whine as they roll forward, forcing him into your field of vision once more.

Warmth floods your cheeks, rushes up your neck to your ears in a simmering wave of vulnerability, and you can't look away when he leans down to peer into your face. “There's other ways to make it quiet, ya know.”

You toy with the drawstring of your hood, debating how pathetic you’d look if you pulled it over your face and hid from his probing gaze the rest of this session.

“Stop.” Your fingers freeze. The sternness of his tone has your eyes flicking cautiously back to his, apology ready on your tongue, expecting further reprimand. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

Yes.

“That what you need, hm? Someone to make that pretty head take a break for a little while?”

Yes please. You offer him a timid nod.

“What’d I say about that?” he chides, folding his arms over his knees.

Your mouth feels dry, stuffed with cotton, and tongue heavy on its floor. “Sorry.” It comes out scratchy and an octave too high. Too needy.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You’re still learning the rules, but we’ll get ya there,” he croons, hand coming up to chuck you under your chin.

“Rules?”

“Yes sweetheart, rules. You only have two for today. When I ask you a question, I need a verbal answer. Can you do that for me?” His voice carries with authority and his eyes remain fixed on yours, awaiting your acknowledgement.

“Yes.” A touch smoother this time, despite the tightness lingering in your throat.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting a hand over your hair as he straightens and shifts further down towards your hip, pulling his tray along with him. You hear the buzzing of the machine when he begins fine tuning, testing the speed and picking up ink.

“Your second rule,” he says as he leans forward, big, gloved hand coming to rest on your waist and the other hovering over the stencil, needle poised just above your skin. “If ya need a break, tell me. And–” He gives your waist a firm squeeze. “—squeeze this arm if ya need more. Got it?”

It takes a moment for the full weight of what he’s offering to sink in, for neurons and synapses to catch up with the realization of it.

“Got it.” You watch the mask pull taught over his mouth. He’s smiling.

“So good for me already,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your waist a fraction. “Let’s get started on your ink then, yeah?”

The first pass of the needle traces a line on the outside of your thigh, a long, curved section, and already you can feel the quiet creeping in amid the bite of broken skin and the buzz of his warm hands pressed against you.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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katz-chow · 3 months

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part 1 | part 2

ghost distribution system when you're walking from your parking space to the apartment building you live in before hearing small animal whimpers. the snow continues to plow through the city as you pull your scarf closer to you. the sounds echo again and you pause in your steps, awaiting for the source to make the whimpers again.

your feet step closer amidst the snow, it crunching underneath your heavy boots. the sound got less frequent as you turned the corner and peaked behind the parked car. to your surprise, a bundle of brown fur was curled up and snowed on. you gasp and reach down while unfurling your scarf to cover the bundle. as you did, the wind picked up and, from what you notice, is a tiny kitten.

you hurry up the stairs and into your apartment, quickly wrapping more blankets around your new furry friend. you turn on the heat, then a warm bath, then put your towel in the dryer to warm up. the little meows starts to continue again and you coo at it while dialing a number.

the kitten kicked the shallow water in your tub as you massage its soft fur. you giggle and it meows back in response. the knock on your front door startles you but you knew who it was.

you opened the door is a broad man who pushes past you, eyes fixed on your ceiling and a shopping bag in his hand.

"simon, i'm so glad you're here, i..." you turn to him after locking your door and see him reach up, batteries in one hand and the lid to your smoke detectors in his other. "oh, thank you..."

he mumbles as he continues to change them, "the beeping... it's uh...annoying..."

you smile and tap him on his shoulder as you walk to get your towel from the dryer. he follows behind and bangs the lid of your washer close, it's always slightly open.

you feel him close behind you again when you go to the bathroom, humming a familiar song as you walk in. the kitten walked around the warm water and mews at you and simon pokes his head over your shoulder. "is this why you called?"

you nod and bend over to pick up the tiny furball into the warmed towel as you dry..."can you check if it's a boy or a girl?"

he moves a bit, struggling to not bump into various corners in the small bathroom. he picks up the kitten by its scruff and you panic, cupping your hands underneath it to prevent it from falling. after a bit, he finally answers you, "dunno what i'm looking at."

you giggle and take the sopping wet kitten into your hand and continue to dry it, switching from the warm setting on your hair dryer and the towel.

"you think we should take it to the vet?" you ask him as he orders takeout on your phone. you look over at him, your fingers gently petting the kitten that's curled up on your chest, no longer damp and cold but warm and sleepy.

he nods, a bit distracted as he scrolled through what drink to get. "are we sharing custody?"

"like a divorced couple?" you ask him through a silly smile.

that gets a chuckle out of him and he elbows you softly. "we're not divorced."

"well we're not married either. we're not even dating..." you mumble the last part, a bit of hurt runs through your chest as you remind yourself. it was a thought that popped up late last week when he went home after installing your new dryer in your apartment.

after that, it plagues your mind every time you find him helping you or staring close to you. it sounds cheesy but you’ve thought of asking him “what are we?” a few times.

he noticed your silence and meets it with his own. you refuse to look at him, instead focusing on the purring cat on your chest. unbeknownst to you, simon meets your silence with confusion. “yes we are…?”

you snap your eyes at him, brows furrowed. “you never asked me!”

“i changed your smoke alarms…and your tires…” he begins, looking at your weirdly. you don’t get it, mostly because you can only see his eyes and a little under it.

you stare at him, he stares at you. then you begin, “but you didn’t ask…”

he looks at you, confused and kind of amused. he gives you a huff of playfulness and responds, “can i date you” can i marry you?

“yeah i guess…” you tease as you lean over and tap your shoulder against his.

he rolls his eyes and goes back to inputting his credit card into your phone to order food. “just for that i canceled your drink”

“asshole!” you hit him on the shoulder push him away from you, which he plays along and falls to the other side of the sofa.

a silence falls over the two of you once again, this time comfortable and a bit bashful as the two of you, mostly you, begin to process what just happened.

“what’re you gonna name….it” he breaks the silence, remembering that he really doesn’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet. “what about snow…gender neutral?”

“cheesy name…alex”

“basic”

“you’re impossible”

you laugh and he can tell you know he’s not serious, which is good. he’s always worried about pushing too many buttons, making you so upset that you leave. not right now though, his body relaxes.

“toaster?”

“fucking hate that…”

“toaster it is!”

"bloody hell..." the kitten paws at his outreach hand.

master list | letter box | main directory

stop by the letter box!

#katzwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod #modern warfare 2 #fanfic #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #call of duty ghosts #simon riley ghost #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost call of duty

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dmitriene · 14 days

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helping simon to dye his hair, dark strands tangled with your fingers as you apply light hair dye evenly, brown eyes watching your every emotion as he squirms slightly on the chair, causing you to deliberately roll your hips and frown at him, his thick fingers flexing at your lush hips.

you cockwarm him, tight little panties pushed to the side so simon would be able to nestle his leaking, erect cock inside your gummy walls, relishing in the softness and content with feeling of your warm pussy gripping him tightly.

it makes him relax, to say the truth, not fidgeting much and letting you peacefully continue your task of dying his slightly overgrown hair, each gentle roll of your hips and small bouncing up and down his length, making his meaty cock all sloppy for you to glide on, makes simon more pliant.

he grunts quietly, brown gaze half lidded with infinite affection as he looks at your every move, light eyelashes fluttering prettily as his calloused fingers knead the plushess of your hips, rubbing up and down to your thighs, as you almost finish with your work.

it's good, to have you this close, with occasional soft kisses pressed either against his forehead or crooked nose, making simon almost purr out of the pure pleasure.

simon's body tingles pleasantly all over when he feels that you continued applying the blonde color on his hair, combing all of his hair back for greater comfort, as he busies himself in stealing couple of slow, long thrusts inside your sloppy cunt.

his cock brushes against your spongy spots messily, fat tip brushing the right place deliciously, and you let simon have his fun with an light mewl slipping past your lips — one that he swallows greedily with his lips on yours.

you both just better not overexpose the hair dye on his hair, or there will be even more work to deal with.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

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lundenloves · 10 months

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DAD SIMON AND THE 141 VISITING TO CHECK THE KID OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME PLAPSSLSLSPSLSLSK AND HE GETS SO JEALOUS WHEN OTHERS HOLD HIS SWEET BABY PATOOTIE PRINCesss

↳ no warnings | f!reader | 1.6k

dad!simon masterlist | taglist

Anon, I may have strayed from your original thoughts a little. I hold my hands up. At this point, he has been back and had time with her already this is just 141 meeting her. And it's very? Thought-provoking? Possibly not how you imagined? Alas, voila.

Having a newborn allowed for zero quiet. Nothing of the sort was even imagined, sleep was out the window and tiredness was the new trend. It became tougher when Simon had to go back to work, leaving you behind with a long apology and his credit card. What was the card for? You weren’t sure, but made sure it was used like fuck. £17.32 on McDonald’s delivery didn’t seem as painful with his money.

And that’s exactly what you were doing, happily. Baby sleeping on your almost bare chest with a haul of food around you in bed. It was only seven but you had no reason to be up and about, and the reality tv wasn’t going to catch up on itself.

In fact, you were about to reach the episode climax of Love Island. Someone had been mugged off and the producers were keen on making a drama of it, issuing a re-coupling. But. Right before you could skip the credits and fast-track to the next episode, the bedroom door swung open and you screamed. Waking your daughter who naturally began to cry.

"Fucking hell." You frowned at Simon who had quickly shut the door behind him upon seeing you. He wasn't due back till tomorrow. "Scared me.” The scold in your voice was one he ignored, picking up a milk-stained shirt from the floor.

“Put something on, christ.” His voice gruff as he shrugged his jacket off and reached for another t-shirt after wearily tossing the other back to the floor, holding it out. “What, Me?” Black-painted eyes narrowed at you upon holding his child out to him, asking for a trade.

“No. The other person in the room.” You deadpanned, widening your eyes in silent effort for him to take her. “Yes, you.” He did as told, looking down at his daughter blankly. “What’s the rush anyway.”

Although, your question was answered by a loud echo of laughs from downstairs. “All of them?” In reference to the only three men it could be.

“I didn’t agree.” He met your eyes, holding the baby back out to you for the brief second you passed him. Sauntering out to the hallway before he had called your name stiffly, eyes pleading relief of the absolute fucking threat that was his baby. “Take her.”

“You’re fine.” You waved a hand, walking downstairs with him reluctantly following.

It was a shame really, you couldn’t help but snort at the way he held her so high up his chest. “Don’t let Johnny hog her.” Was the only instruction you gave, wandering through to the kitchen where his unit were stood.

“Alright?” The Scot rubbed your shoulder in greeting, “Solid birth n’ all that?” His brows furrowed in genuine care although the question was worded oddly.

“Solid. Johnny.”

He tsked, clutching a hand to his opposite bicep. “Tends to be like that, ae.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He laughed although his eyes fell from yours to over your shoulder. Price held his hand on your back in acknowledgment, his eyes softening with a nod your way. “Christ.” He muttered at the sight in Simon’s arms, taking his hand back and removing his hat. “Congratulations.”

Gaz wrapped an arm around you, leaning his head atop of yours on his shoulder. “It’s mad.” He said more to himself than anyone else, catching eyes with Soap who for once was lost on what to say.

Simon’s eyes were stuck on the baby in his arms, refusing to look up and see the group reaction. Her small hand reached upward, and his finger met her halfway, face unchanged as she wrapped her hand around it. No one said or did anything, only Price who took a step forward to pat the lieutenant's shoulder. The moment was tender, and understood by everyone as such a thing even by Johnny who crossed his arms over his chest and contrastingly pout his bottom lip out to you. “You wanna hold her?” You spoke to him, crossing the space to Simon who had finally looked up.

“Go on, then.” He pushed his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the kitchen chair. Simon’s eyes met Soap’s, a look of trust, threat and relief spread across his face when you had prompted him to hand her over. “Just a wee thing, ae?” He comfortably took her from Ghost, gently bouncing her and smiling when she had cooed.

“Tiny.” Gaz added, looking to Simon who shifted in his spot - looking around the room, finding comfort in anything other than the tiny being. He was still so unsure of himself. Arms crossed together over his chest in anxious replacement of the tac vest he would usually slot his thumbs into. “Fresh to the world.”

“Five weeks old.” You looked at Gaz. “Brand. New.”

He shook his head at the idea of a baby, looking to Price who was subtly enough fixated on his lieutenant. “How’re you doing, Simon?” He asked firmly, in a tone Simon wouldn’t ignore or sigh at, one he recognised as important. A tone of order.

“Fine.” He kept it brief, locking eyes with Price who nodded slowly.

It was hard to read Simon. Period. Even after years being with him, you still couldn’t predict the way he was feeling or what he was going to say about a situation. He distanced himself from his daughter the first few days, intentionally waiting until you woke to sort her out instead of facing himself and his past in the form of the harmless baby.

His allowed paternity leave wasn’t granted extension of more than a week, therefore he left you. And admittedly, although he wouldn’t ever say it, he was glad to get some time away. It had only been a week and he was already itching to be alone, no words you spoke could comfort him. Only the mindless living of a deployment. His desired remedy.

Ghost was dead silent that whole mission. The unit knew why, although they were tightly instructed by Price to keep their mouths shut. Not to even ask about the kid. So they didn’t, not until today, when it was brought up by the man himself. “Ask about the kid, then.” He said gruffly, unlacing his boots and stomping his feet wide of each other, eyes darting between the three men opposite him.

“She alright, yeah?” Soap asked, receiving a dull nod.

“We’d love to meet her sometime.” Price continued cautiously, looking to Simon who then nodded, eyes dropping to his boots. There was a moment of silence before he had spoken up in answer to Price, elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together and rubbing against his mouth. “You don’t live too far from base do you?”

“An hour.” He cleared his throat, “I live an hour away.”

“We could stop by,” Price was the one to suggest it, dipping to reach a bag behind Soap’s drawer. “This is, from, us.” He rubbed the back of his neck, holding the small gift bag out to Ghost who only looked up at it.

“I’m going home tonight.” He said matter of factly. “Just.” A sigh. “Tail me and hand it in to her, she’ll appreciate it better than I will.” Soap smirked at Simon’s falsified reluctance, a hidden invite into his lieutenant's domestic life was on the table and of course he jumped at it.

And you? You knew Simon had given a skeleton of an invite. It was obvious.

So now, as your daughter had been passed to Price from Gaz, it felt oddly comforting to you. For Simon, you couldn’t tell as much from the way he was constantly sighing and moving in his spot - obviously discomforted by the idea of his unit being in such an intimate space of his but it was blown over by the end of the short visit. “She’s going to be tall.” Price tilted his head at the baby, thumb swiping across her small arm.

“Oh aye.” Johnny nodded, nudging Simon who stared down at her. “Think she’ll have your eyes?” His efforts granted a shrug from the man next to him.

“The colour keeps changing, but,” You caressed her head in Price’s arms, “They are his shape.” The tone of your voice warming Simon enough for the thought of a smile, the side of his lip curling just enough.

Gaz nodded to a bag Soap had left on the counter, “There’s some stuff. We didn’t get much time.” He reached for it, holding it out to you. The purpose of the trip.

“And there’s a card with some money.” Johnny added, “See yous’ round the New Year for the wee yin.” The bag had generic baby gifts inside, although it swelled your heart to think of three large military men shopping around for each thing inside

And the card was a treasure in itself, one you would certainly keep, handing it to Simon so you could hug Gaz and Soap, receiving a kiss to your cheek from Price after taking the baby back. “Maybe see you lot closer to Christmas?” You asked, bouncing your daughter when she had begun to stir.

“Course.” Price nodded to Simon, following the other two out the door. You heard them talking about the baby from the threshold, watching as they piled into their respective cars and pulled off with waves and a single salute from Soap. Because, Soap.

Simon sighed once the door was shut, looking down at you. There was something between warmth and sympathy in his eyes, wrapping an arm around the back of your neck and kissing your temple. “You putting this up?” He mumbled, holding out the card before pressing his thumb and pointer finger together against his daughter’s tiny feet in sudden affection.

“On the mantel for now, probably.” You rubbed his arm, following him through to the living room.

There was new lightheartedness around him after they had left. Like having his unit meeting his daughter was somehow a weight that had finally been shrugged off after the fact. Even prodding a few more kisses than you would usually receive from him. His brain worked in mysterious ways, although you were not complaining.

Not now anyway.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugadu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 #dad!simon

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yawnderu · 4 months

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Please, God, I've never asked you for anything; please make sure my baby is okay.

Simon carries you in his arms, balaclava thrown away a long time ago as he drags your body to shore, bare hands desperately removing your vest like it's a barnacle stuck to your shell. He places his ear next to your mouth and nose, eyes closing in relief for a second when he can feel your faint, cold breathing.

He doesn't waste any time on starting CPR, the heels of his palms pressing down on your chest hard, making sure to avoid your ribs. Your lips are blue and you're barely breathing, body cold and eyelashes dotted with tiny specks of ice from the frozen water.

Please, don't take her from me. Please, God.

He keeps pressing down on your chest, trying his best to make the water in your lungs come out despite the way his vision gets blurrier by the second. His lips press against yours, giving you two rescue breaths before he goes back to doing CPR.

His heart almost jumps out of his chest when he hearts you cough, cold hands desperately grasping for anything you can touch before he forces you on your side, allowing you to cough out the water that made its way into your lungs.

Your eyes open slowly and he gives you space to regain your breath despite the way his entire body aches to hug you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb massaging the cold skin gently in hopes of giving you some warmth.

''I'm here, baby.'' He says softly, taking a deep breath to keep the dam from breaking once you manage to give him a lethargic hug, confused and in pain, yet its pure muscle memory to hold him the moment your eyes meet his.

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celestialwhoree · 3 months

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Ex bf!Simon🖤✬

You're still close. Both mature adults, and you know him better than anyone - he can't lose you, can't stand the thought of letting go of the one person who understands him better than anyone.

When he comes back from deployment and you practically beg him to come to this new club in town with you, he almost says no, really really wants to say no, but when you look at him with saucer wide eyes and a little pleading squeeze to his hand, he agrees to pick you up at nine. Tells you to wear something pretty. He knows you always look pretty, really, but he can't help but miss being able to show you off.

When he picks you up on his black YZF R1, sees you standing there on the sidewalk, he has to adjust his seat on the bike with how embarrassingly hard he gets at just the sight of you all dressed up for him.

"I thought you'd bring the truck." You whine as he hands you his 'spare' helmet that he actually just bought with you in mind. Simon gives you an affectionate little pat on the thigh when you slide on the bike behind him, unable to stop your dress from rucking practically to your hips, the thin lace of your panties inadvertently brushing against his lower back, the worn leather of his belt inconveniently pressing into your clit and you try to think of anything but how wet it's making you. "Traffic's bad tonight, can get there faster on this." He explains, muffled by his helmet.

He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole way there, just like he did when you were together, claimed that it reassured him you were still there, still safe.

Walking into the club is an assault on your senses, and you involuntarily curl into his side as he guides you to the bar, a hand snaking around your waist to settle protectively on your hip, thumb caressing the slightly raised line of your underwear without realising how much it riles you up.

Simon easily manoeuvres you over to the bar, one hand on you at all times, keeping you with him, keeping you safe. He calls his drink order to the bartender over the heavy thump of the music before giving your side a little pinch to pull your attention back to him' "Did you say something?" You hum as you're pulled from your daze. "What d'ya want to drink, baby?" The sound of the music obscures the old pet name that comes out in moments like this where the line in the sand between you is blurred by loud music and the comfort of his hands on your body. "Moscow Mule."

He keeps you tightly to his side as much as possible, occasionally grabbing you by the pressure point in the back of your neck when you get distracted and wander off.

Simon lets you have your fun - until some sleazy bloke who looks like trouble has his hands on your hips, grinding your ass into his pelvis with a smug grin, thinking he's got you hooked. "Hands off, mate." Simon grunts into his ear, a hand snaking around your front, settling on your navel as he pulls your back to his front, and when you turn to look indignantly up at him, he leans his head down to speak directly in your ear. "He was minging, baby." And goes on to soothe you like a petulant child when you go to complain about being able to make decisions for yourself. "Didn't see 'im lookin' at you the way I did, yeah? Just trying to protect my girl."

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

meant for this to be a drabble but I'm alr thinking about NSFW pt2. Feeling slutty!!!

💕🎀

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ghouljams · 3 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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