angel

In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place. 

Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.

The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.

It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.

The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training. 

All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.

It’s harder than it sounds.

You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.

And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.

But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you. 

You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.

But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz. 

If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.

You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything. 

You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs. 

You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.

But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication. 

If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.

You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them. 

There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.

So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.

It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.

To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago. 

Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement. 

It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate. 

You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.

So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.

You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly. 

It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.

When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”

You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.

“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”

“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”

It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.

He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.

You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side. 

Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.

You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person. 

Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.

So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.

While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention. 

“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.

Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement. 

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.

Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin. 

After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?

The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.

“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.

It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.

You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.

God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.

It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself. 

When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.

Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?

“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”

It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life. 

Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him. 

He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.

“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”

“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”

He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder. 

The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.

The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language. 

You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.

Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.

“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”

You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe. 

“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”

Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.

“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”

You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”

Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.

“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”

Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy. 

If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.

You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.

“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.

But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.

For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.

“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.

Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”

Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them. 

But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.

And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.

Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.

“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.

Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.

“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.

“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands. 

You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?

“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”

Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”

Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.

His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.

“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone. 

But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.

“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”

He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”

And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now. 

You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.

You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now. 

Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.

“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.

When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room

“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end. 

After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar? 

A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.

He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.

Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.

You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.

“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.” 

Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.

“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.

You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”

Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide. 

“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”

You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.

Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him. 

Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”

Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.

“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”

Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.

“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”

“That’s not–”

“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”

Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.

“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”

Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.

“C’mere.” He says.

You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries. 

You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant? 

“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”

That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But… 

“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”

“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”

That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl. 

“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively. 

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”

The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.

“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”

You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?

And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.

There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks. 

“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly. 

It takes you a moment to process that. 

“You– what?”

Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”

He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”

He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.

“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”

Oh. Well.

Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting. 

While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.

“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.

There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.

“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you. 

“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp. 

He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.

“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.

Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.

“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.

But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.

You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.

“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity. 

There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.

“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.

You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together. 

“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.

But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.

“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”

Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear. 

“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.

Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.

“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.

“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.

You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.

“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”

“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.

Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs. 

“I don’t know.” You say stupidly. 

It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.

He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately. 

“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”

He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.

Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.

“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”

“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”

But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot. 

He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.

You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.

He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.

He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.

“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.

But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.

“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt. 

He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.

“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”

You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.

But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.

“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.

“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”

He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.

Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine. 

“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.

You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant. 

“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.

“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”

Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.

“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”

You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.

“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.

Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.

You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.

Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.

“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.

“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves. 

Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.

You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.

You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.

“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”

“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”

Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown. 

It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock. 

You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.

He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.

“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”

Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.

You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering. 

You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.

“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”

“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.

Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.

“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”

You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.

You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.

His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.

You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.

It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.

Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.

It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.

You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.

You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.

Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.

“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.

God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost. 

You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.

Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this. 

You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy. 

You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.

The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.

You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch. 

Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.

“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there. 

You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.

You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.

An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.

Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.

You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.

“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”

You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button. 

“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”

He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.

You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.

And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you. 

You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.

Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.

He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.

You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves. 

It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.

Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.

You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.

He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.

Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.

He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.

“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”

His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”

Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.

Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.

“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”

For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.

“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”

The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.

“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”

Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response. 

“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.

He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.

When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.

He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”

“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”

His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”

You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.

Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?

You slap at his belly hard, writhing away. 

“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.

Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick. 

It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.

Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”

There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.

His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.

“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”

All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.

You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.

You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.

Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.

You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.

His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.

You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.

You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.

Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside. 

“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.

One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.

“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.

“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”

Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.

“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.

“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”

The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.

“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. 

You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.

Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock. 

“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”

He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.

“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.

“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”

The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.

Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.

Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”

You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.

Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs. 

You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it. 

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.

It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.

This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.

You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.

It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed. 

You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.

Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery. 

“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.

“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.

To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.

“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.

You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything. 

You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.

“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.

There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.

“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.

You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.

“You,” You say.

There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.

Sergeant John MacTavish was the reason you had poured over your contract for any get out clause that didn't cost you a fortune. You came up with nothing. The military had paid for a high end training course for you on the provision that if you left the role within 2 years then you had to pay every penny back.

Plus this job paid well and the benefits were great. You didn't even mind having gruff military personnel seeing fit to give you a bollocking over the phone because you would be following procedure whether they liked it or not and they could file a damn ticket if they wanted their issue looked at. Generally they were an OK bunch at heart, but rough around the edges and used to recruits eager to please them. When they realised your lack of any rank also excused you from being ordered around by anyone but your actual boss they usually mellowed out.

Of course you had made the mistake of chewing out one such gruff man after he called in a temper demanding that his laptop be fixed as a priority. Not even his work laptop, no he wanted his personal laptop fixed.

“Look MacTavish was it?”

“Sergeant MacTavish tae you.”

“No it isn't. I am not one of your soldiers. I work in IT for the military, your laptop is not military property so I'm not touching it. Use your big boy Sergeant wage and buy a new one.”

“Listen here ye wee bitch-”

You hung up on him and got on with your day right up until he physically showed up at your office on base. You handled IT for multiple bases, you had not considered that the person you had chewed out would actually work on this one. Oops.

He was a big motherfucker as well. Handsome. Crazy scary dog energy. Definitely not your usual soldier with his lack of uniform (unless jeans and a t-shirt that was so tight he was liable to tear out of it was uniform these days) and out of regulation haircut. You scrambled to try and stand but he was already looming over you in your chair, leaving you no space to do so as he settled his hands on the armrests and leaned over you to get into your face.

“I'll need tae settle for you then hen. Better make it good.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lassie on my laptop begs tae get it up the arse. Is a good girl for a thick cock pounding her tight cunt. Even when she's fucked oot her nut and ruined she still gags around a man down her throat and swallows like a proper bitch.”

You were flooded with fear and arousal. Nobody had ever spoken to you like that and you weren't entirely sure he was joking. He wouldn't actually do anything to you right? He was just being a dick because he wanted his laptop fixed. Just trying to intimidate you.

“And I bet she gets paid a lot more than me MacTavish, back off.”

Oh no. There was a feral gleam in his eye and a rabid grin that showed those sharp incisors. He clearly relished your response.

“Then I'll need to buy ye with, what was it? Right. My big boy Sergeant wage.”

He leaned in close and took a deep breath. Christ he was sniffing your currently greasy and messy hair. You hadn't showered in like 2 days, you were fucking IT, it wasn't like people usually came to physically see you in your little den.

“...I'll fix your fucking laptop oh my God just bring it by.”

“Atta girl” he all but panted into your ear before tugging at the lobe with his teeth and then fully tounging at your ear hole.

The sensation was truly the most awful thing you had ever felt. Your skin crawled and your body shivered uncomfortably as you tried to push him away from you. He chuckled and you choked on your own saliva as he firmly smacked your pussy before pulling away.

“I'll bring it right doon.”

You were left completely gobsmacked in your little office, your body hopped up on adrenaline and your cunt throbbing from the spank it had gotten and from the sick part of your mind that found the whole thing depraved and disgusting but sort of titillating.

When he brought the laptop back he hovered behind you while you worked on it, making you sweat. It was an easy enough fix and you sighed in relief and carefully avoided eye contact when you told him it was fixed.

“Ye’ll check it over, cannae be sending me away with a half done job.”

“You can see that it's working.”

He leant over, arms surrounding you so he could scroll over to open a video file. It was of a woman being railed hard from behind, drooling into the pillow and babbling for more. The wet squelch was disgusting, the man spitting down on her and smacking her already red ass.

“Speakers are fucked.”

You squirmed in your seat.

“I can hear it just fine.”

“Aye? What are ye hearing then?”

You remained silent, eyes fixed on the wall instead of on the screen. At least you were silent until he drew a yelp from you by groping one of your tits.

“Told ye, if ye cannae prove that it's fixed I'll need to settle for you. Bit shorter, softer and dirtier than my lassie mind, so got tae give it yer full effort.”

“I-It's working!”

“Prove it, what ye hearing?”

He made you replicate the whole script from each broken moan to the begging to the degrading. He was only satisfied when the whole video had run its course, by which time he had a hand on either tit, rough with how he groped and tugged.

“See now? Wisnae so hard to follow a Sergeant's orders was it?”

“No” you mumbled, crying out when he gripped your nipples through your shirt and twisted. “No Sergeant!”

He let go then, closing the lid of the laptop and standing with it to leave.

“Did you know?” Ominous words aside, Gaz quickly manages to get to the root of Soap’s ire, finding himself joining the petulant club of disgruntled men stabbing their food and imagining it’s your boyfriend. He’d probably squeal like a little bitch after only one punch Soap mused. Not at all the type of man worthy of you. 

Still, they grit their teeth and wallow in their jealousy and rage because you just seem so happy, even if they both privately think you’d be so much happier with them. These thoughts are never vocalised to one another but it’s clear in the way Kyle clenches his jaw when you smile at your phone, and the way Soap is constantly raring for a spar to expend the sudden rush of agitated energy, that neither of them are truly happy about the boyfriend. 

The fragilely maintained peace doesn’t last, shattering barely a few weeks after they’d recieved the news, because they finally meet him. It’s during an outing at the local bar that often housed soldiers during their down time. The team had been waiting for your arrival, Soap’s knee jiggling as Kyle repeatedly checked his phone. You were thirty minutes late, you were never late, and just when the boys begin to fear for the worst, you arrive, only with a man’s arm wrapped around your waist. 

Instantly Kyle’s smile dies and Johnny’s clutching his glass so tightly that it’s a miracle it didn’t smash into a million pieces. You seem a little harried, usually immaculate appearance a little messed and the rumples in your shirt give the team a perfect idea of why you’re late, not to mention the stupid smug smirk that’s painted on your asshole boyfriend’s face. 

While Kyle at least tries to be a little magnanimous, though the petty remarks do slip through, Soap doesn’t even try to hide his dislike. “This him then? Shorter than I’d pictured” Soap says with a predatory grin, shaking your boyfriends hand so hard that something pops. Those words set the tone for the rest of the night, and it’s only thanks to Price sensing the underlying tension and keeping your attention on him and Simon that you don’t truly notice and get upset. 

Stuck between the full force of Kyle and Johnny’s charm turned to the max, your boyfriend barely gets a sliver of your attention. Especially when Kyle’s hand migrates to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles that feel like fire as you try to focus on anything else. (Later you’ll try not to feel sick when you just narrowly avoid moaning Kyle’s name instead.) 

By the time your boyfriend is practically dragging you out of the establishment with gritted teeth and a strained smile, it’s been decided. There’s no discussion, it’s a completely silent transition, but upon finally meeting the douchebag, him and Kyle are suddenly on the same page. That being to get you to leave your loser boyfriend, using whatever means necessary. 

It starts small, neither of them want to scare you off. They’ve both always been naturally flirty with you, touches that already bordered the line of inappropriate, but they need to get you used to the thought of them, both alone and together. As much as Johhny wants to pin you to the bed and fuck you stupid, Kyle convinces him its not the best route. They needed to get you reliant on their touch, their words, their praise until you could barely think of anything else, let alone the supposed man calling himself your boyfriend. 

Johnny hugs you every morning, inhaling your scent and crushing you against him far too long to be normal. Kyle asks you how you slept, cheekily commenting that you’d have slept better in his arms. They pull your focus from your phone, subtly sliding it out of sight or straight up pouting when you won’t pay attention to them. Spars always inevitably ended with them grinding against you, acting like they weren’t hard, smirking smugly at you when your eyes were drawn to their erection. 

It pays off, because it doesn’t escape either of their eagle eyed notice when you start to seek them out more, the way you lean into their touches, how you seem almost surprised yourself when you start to initiate, desperate for their touch. 

That’s when they start to kick it up a notch. 

You’ll never know that it’s not an accident, Kyle leaving his door open wide enough for you to hear the way he moans your name, to see his hand desperately jerking his cock. Though he’ll later ask if you liked the show, watching the mortification flood your face when you realise he caught you watching. “I don’t mind, you can watch whenever you like, if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you touch,” those damned whispered words haunt your every waking hour, filtering into your dreams so much that more than once you wake up achingly horny. 

Never one to be shown up, Johnny stumbles into your room, alcohol on his breath and cheeks flushed as he collapses ontop of you. He uses his bulk to squish you into the mattress, nuzzling into the skin of your neck and pinning your arms to your side with his own muscular ones.

“What are you-” you shriek out in surprise, only to be cut off when he shushes you. 

“Calm down. ‘S just me,” he murmurs, as if that was the only issue. Further protests fall on deaf ears as you’re forced to accept that Johnny is your blanlet for the night. (You don’t fight nearly as hard as you should.) 

It’s the worst sleep of your life. Not because its uncomfortable, no, Johnny’s body against yours is too comfortable, feels too good. Then your night turns straight into hell when he starts to grind against you in his sleep. You can feel everything, his cock is slotted perfectly with your groin and his moans and whimpers filter directly into your ear. In your panic and guilty arousal you don’t know what to do and just when you go to wake him, the ache between your won legs becoming too much to bare, he stills. Your heart roars thunderously in your ears, throat dry and senses dialled to 11 when you hazily realise that he’s cum. 

Too keyed up from a restless night and unwilling to look Johnny in the eyes, you miss the victorious smirk he shoots at an equally proud and jealous Kyle. If one was bad enough, now the two of them are always together and they are insistent on not leaving you alone. Hands on your hips, around your shoulders, brushing your ass as the other stands moves to fill whatever free space there is. Not to mention the relentless use of pet names, babe, lovey, honey, bug, darling, everything’s been given a go until they settled on the things that flustered you the most. 

The final straw is when you walk into your room to see Johnny and Kyle sloppily making out on your bed. You don’t say anything to them at the time, unwilling to speak or do anything that you might regret while you’re still with your boyfriend. You refuse to be that person. 

The fate of your relationship is decided barely three months following its inception though its not as difficult to break it off as you thought it would be, especially not when just before he tells you that he didn’t want you hanging around Johnny and Kyle anymore. It was him or them and wasn’t it a little funny that he genuinely thought you’d pick him? 

It’s the fastest breakup of your life, not even a five minute phone call. Though you had hung up when he’d started to scream at you, all but running back to your room where Kyle and Johnny were waiting with matching grins, pulling you down between them like they’d practiced. 

The Death of God happened on a gloomy Thursday afternoon. One moment he had been mowing the lawn and the next thing he had an epiphany about hating his suburban life, hating his suburban wife, hating the 2 kids and hating the lawnmower he had spent his last bonus on. 

The Revelation happened on a sunny Friday morning when you had popped up on his tiktok feed and told him that you understood him, that you were there for him. He had made his way to the commune, telling his wife it was just a visit to find himself. And he did. Which of course meant he never came home.

Truly you would consider yourself some what of a miracle working taking in this portly, charisma void of a businessman and turning him into some semblance of interesting. Well as interesting as anyone in this little slice of heaven. He had a fascination with growing tomatoes now. Good for him. 

The hundreds of little deaths of God had been great for business. When someone had a crisis, when someone thought they were broken, when someone just couldn't fucking take it anymore, that's when they were so desperate to believe in something that you could make them happy with a smile and a kind word every so often. You could keep them happy (well, what they believed was happy and wasn't that all that mattered?) by keeping them a little tired, a little hungry and occasionally a little high. Good for the soul really, that's what you always said. 

Surely you deserved to live on a steady diet of champagne, strawberries and decadence for all the good work you did. They all understood how difficult it was to be you. And despite your trials weren't you still so lovely to them? Even when they acted out you were gentle in your reminders that they needed fixing, that you were only ever there to help, that their friends and families would try and convince them otherwise because they didn't understand what it was to be broken. You opened your arms to them always, it was in their nature to err and in yours to forgive. 

Honestly you could keep this up for the rest of your life. A small group of people devoted to you, happy in their worship and happy in their toil. No violence needed to keep them compliant, just a soft touch and the occasional psychological torture as necessary. You had no aspirations to go beyond this, you had it good. No need for a death cult or to make yourself an actual God to them. You already had your champagne and strawberries after all, life was good. 

–

They were big, these two new men to your little oasis. It would be a tricky thing to half starve them you thought, but then it would also be a shame to have them lose all that bulk that you found you quite enjoyed looking at. Still, it was important for enlightenment and all that.

So you gave them a steady supply of soft smiles and reassuring touches, a diet of “yes this is an eco-living commune!” and “oh I never thought anyone would want to join me out here, I just got very lucky that so many wonderful people share the same morals.” They went easy of course, ex-military, used to structure and relying on someone above them to do the thinking. Perfect for you really, just two attack dogs that were impeccably trained.

They neglected to tell you that they hadn't been regular military, that they had been high ranked special operators in an elite task force. That would have made you suspicious after all and it was better you thought them stupid. Johnny had seen you on tiktok and wanted you and Simon never denied his boy anything, so here they were, playing you completely into their hands.

First it was getting themselves special privileges, unlimited access to food, a home right next to yours, full evenings of rest. Hadn't been hard to make you think it was your idea.

“Och it's alright lass, I ken we're naw military anymore. Dinnae need tae be a lean, mean, killing machine oot here.”

“Of course not Johnny, I'd hope you think you're very safe here.”

“Aye, feel safe with you. Ye look after us. Wish ye would let us look after you more!”

“I don't need anymore than I already have, but it's so wonderful of you to say, truly.”

Then a few days later when there had been time for that little declaration to settle in.

“Simon! How are you, I didn't see you yesterday.”

“Sorry, pulled my shoulder something awful. Felt like a right git not being able to do work properly.”

“Oh that's terrible, how did you pull it?”

“Ah just lack of training is all. Too used to being strong, retirement doesn't really lend itself to that.”

“You're still plenty strong!”

“I hope so. Some of the things I hear about what people's families think of you… if it ever came down to it, I want you to know I'd protect you with my life. Both me and Johnny would, strong or not.”

You had really been given an absolute gift here. That was something that had been making you a little paranoid. If family members escalated to violence there was really nothing you could do. You were a lover (here meaning awful con artist but that was just semantics) not a fighter. And now there was a solution right in your lap.

“How would you and Johnny feel about being security then? I'd hate to think we'd ever need it of course, but it would make people feel safer. Some of their families are terrible people I'm afraid, I don't want anyone to get hurt because someone tries something violent” you said gently, of course concerned for these innocent people being viciously abused by their awful families (these brainwashed people being taken by their loved ones to recover and live meaningful lives again, lives which did not involved maintaining your champagne and strawberry habit).

“If you ask us of course we'd never say no, it's just… would it be ok to have an hour a day to train? It's such an honour to protect this place, not looking to half arse it.”

“Of course! Come to my house with Johnny after supper and we can discuss some accommodations for your new roles.”

–

“How does that sound?” you asked, soft as silk.

You knew how it sounded, it sounded like you were the damn second coming. Giving them unrestricted food and sleep, telling them you'd have a house for them built right by your side? You knew it was working by how Johnny's eyes had went big and wet, projecting puppy-like adoration. And Simon? Oh that big, delicious man stood and walked over to you so he could kneel at your feet. Fuck you had never felt better about yourself.

“We don't deserve so much of your consideration. I-” he said, the first time you had heard him struggle to get words out through his emotion. “I want to thank you properly.”

He said it like it was a revelation and it peaked your interest. You could have squealed with delight when his cheek leant against your knee, your dress pushed by his face to let skin meet skin, eyes locked with yours as he turned to kiss your flesh. You hadn't fucked any of your followers, too messy. But these weren't regular followers anymore right? No, these were special followers. And it had been so long and he was looking at you like he was desperate to give you any pleasure he could. 

Oh Simon was desperate all right, had been thinking about getting you sloppy and pathetic for him since Johnny had excitedly shown him that bloody video of you acting like an innocent little lamb. He wanted to just barrel in, bend you over and claim you right away. It was Johnny who insisted it would be more fun to trick you, who had whined like a bitch about it until he got his way. Bloody MacTavish. He really needed to train those puppy dog eyes right out of the boy. Those had got him to indulge in all sort of risks already. Nearly fucked the whole plan right up when you had come dangerously close to catching him balls deep in Johnny in your bed, absolutely ruining him as per his own puppy dog eyed request.

For his part Johnny was positively giddy. He might give away the game if he really got to watch Simon taste you. Would he play gently with you? Oh my God would he pretend he was inexperienced to make you feel superior? Let you think you were guiding him? That might kill him dead. He tried to not fucking salivate and start panting at the thought of it. 

“Then thank me properly.”

Fuck the way his eyes lit up at that. This gorgeous man wanted you, he wanted to please you. As a hand squeezed your calf and he started to drag his mouth up your bare leg you felt the sick thrill of wondering how far they would go for you. Already people had given up families, friends, wealth. You had never pushed it beyond, horrified whenever you thought about how delicious it would be if they would die for you, kill for you and so shoving those dark thoughts to the back of your mind. 

But you didn't want Simon to die for you. You did want to see how far you could push, how deep his devotion ran. To that end you wove fingers through his hair and pulled him off of your thigh, his eyes flickering from your wet panties sticking to your cunt up to your own eyes in question. 

“I want you to kiss Johnny.”

You said it like a woman possessed. Fuck. That's exactly what you wanted. You wanted these big masculine men to fuck against their own desires but do it for you. They were dumb jocks really, probably had never fumbled around with another man before. They'd find it hard, find it wrong. You didn't really consider yourself a bad person before this moment, just a clever one. This was straying into something else, some monstrous part of you that was salivating with the thought of finally being released. 

“Will you do that for me?”

You heard a choked sort of noise and looked over to see Johnny hiding his face in his hands. Of course, big Scottish man must be scared of doing such a thing. Or rather having such a thing done to him. You imagined it would be some attack to his sense of self to have a bigger man press a kiss onto him. Fuck maybe he would tear up. Maybe he would fully cry if Simon pushed inside of him. You hoped that God really was dead because if not you were sure They'd have some stern words for you after this. 

“Oh I've never…”

Fuuuuuck. Simon's vulnerable eyes darting from Johnny to you were liable to make you cum on the fucking spot. You smiled indulgently down on him, running a hand over his face is a caress. 

“You know I only ever do what's best for you don't you? I wouldn't ever ask you to do anything that isn't for the greater good. Do you believe in me Simon?” you said, the years of practice infusing your tone with a cloying sweetness. 

“Yes” he replied, barely a breathy whisper of affirmation. 

His glazed eyes looked at you with such adoration before he nuzzled his face into your hand and left a kiss there before making his way across to where Johnny was sitting on the sofa, face still hidden in his hands. He went over on his knees, crawled. You pressed your fingers against your throbbing clit, cupping yourself to try and tell your body to calm down because there was so much more to come. 

Simon crawled between Johnny’s legs, going up on his knees and grabbing Johnny’s nape to drag his face down. He was whispering something in his ear, maybe trying to settle him, trying to assure him this was what they needed to do for you. Of course had you been aware Simon was hissing at Johnny to keep it together, to stop laughing about how easily you were falling for this, then the whole thing would really have been ruined. Luckily Johnny was still a soldier, Simon still his LT, so when he was ordered to put his game face on he did it. And luckily Johnny was still a good boy, Simon was still his master, so he knew that squeezing at his pup's nape always got that furrow in his brow to relax, got him eager to please and ready to tear up at the first little tease or overstimulation.  

It was really destiny that you would be this level of power hungry, this eager to push and see what you could make people do. He had been training Johnny to put all his eager to please energy to good use for years, had turned a feral mutt into a feral mutt with impeccable training. The chance to turn a corrupt fox into a corrupt fox whose only desire was to be stroked and pampered was making him painfully hard. Johnny had been right, tricking you was far more delicious than just forcing you into it.  

When he moved Johnny’s hands from his face it was to reveal a man looking ruined, looking liquid eyed and flushed. Simon mouthed a good boy to him before pressing a kiss to his lips. It was calculatedly shy and tentative and he kept a steadying hand on Johnny’s knee, squeezing when he felt he might lose control and start panting and licking his way into his mouth as he usually tried to do. Simon couldn’t very well punish him right now without giving the game away, so he just had to use the suggestion of a future punishment. 

After the first peck you watched a slow and decadent slide into forbidden desire. They got a little bolder with each press of lips, seemed to squirm a bit more with the struggle of it feeling good but wrong. When Simon pulled away and Johnny whined despite himself you slid your hand past your waistband, needing to touch yourself or you’d die. 

“You’d like it if Simon used his tongue wouldn’t you Johnny? Would be nice to feel it against yours. It’s important that you two are close isn’t it? To do your jobs well that is.”

Johnny would have agreed with full enthusiasm and pounced Simon to get them both on the floor so he could rut his hips down into the cock he was desperate for, but the hand at his bad knee squeezed again and the spark of pain reminded him of the mission. So instead he looked at you, teary and unsure.

“H-his tongue? I… I’m naw…”

“You’re not what Johnny?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Who told you that?”

You watched him play with the thin chain around his neck, the crucifix falling out of his shirt. Catholic. Oh this must be even more torturous for him. No matter, you had killed plenty of Gods already, you could kill his. Watch guilt eat and eat and eat at him until finally he gave in to the desire. Gave in to you. Let any other divine figure die in favour of a new God.

“Oh Johnny, do you think I would lead you into temptation? It’s ok, I would never make you. If you don’t like it that’s fine, you can both call it a night hm? Security is a tough job, I would never think less of you for not being up to the task. My fault really, I must have mistaken the potential I saw in you.”

He surged forward and shoved his tongue past Simon’s teeth and you moaned deeply, fingers so slippery that getting proper friction on your clit was a challenge now. You did not think you had ever been so wet in your life, feeling slick trickle out of you as they clumsily seemed to fight for dominance, saliva dripping down Johnny’s chin from how much he was trying to follow your instructions, how deep he was trying to pull Simon’s tongue with his into his mouth. 

When they next pulled away they both seemed dazed, like they couldn't believe they had just done that. Poor Simon turned to look at your pleadingly, legs widening so you could see he was straining against his pants. He was rock solid from making out with Johnny and you were cumming all at once, hips rolling in time with your fingers as you breathed out instructions with your cunt still clenching in waves.

“Good, so good for me. Want you both to cum, get all of that tension out. Wouldn't ever leave you wanting would I?”

They both looked needy, but the fact that they quietly waited for instructions on how to cum was possibly the most erotic thing you had ever seen. 

“It's OK, you can help each other. That's what it's all about here isn't it? Helping those in need in the community, and you're both in need. Jerk your cocks together, it'll be bonding for you to cum together like that.”

They fucking did it. Simon shoved his pants down enough to free the absolute monster of a cock he had and dragged Johnny only his lap on the floor. Johnny's cock was thick as anything and just as hard. Fuck the image of Johnny taking Simon’s cock, taking every hard inch of him in his ass. Crying about how it wouldn't fit, how it was wrong. Clutching his crucifix. You needed to make it happen soon. Maybe you could make Johnny wear a plug, say it was part of training. Get him ready to be fucked by his friend and once superior without him ever realising that's what you were doing. 

Their precum was already making the slide of it easier as Simon took the lead, big hand wrapping around both of them and slowly pumping, staring at it in fascination. You were slowly overstimulating your clit, feeling that tension start growing again already. 

“Spit on it Johnny.”

He did it without hesitation, his saliva making Simon’s jerking squelch. It didn't take long until Johnny was begging, needing to cum. You didn't even register that it wasn't you he was looking at as he begged, you were too lost in sensation, eyes locked on their cocks rubbing together.

“Go on, cum. Both of you.”

Simon sped his hand and his low grunt (the ‘s’ok pup, cum’ so low you hadn’t heard it over your pleasure) combined with Johnny's drooling and panting sent you spiralling over the edge again as they both shot ropes of sticky cum all over each other.  

Fuck. What else could you make people do?

–

Over the next few weeks life got even easier for you. Simon and Johnny were excellent right hands, earning respect from all of your followers and taking on almost all of the tasks you had (which you had made sure were as minimal as possible already, the whole point of this endeavour was to live an easy life). 

Simon was careful to make sure to be seen with you, start planting the seeds in people's minds that they were an extension of you. Johnny was rapidly losing patience which made him incredibly satisfying to fuck because he got to beat every single complaint out of him. It was him that wanted to go this route so he was going to finish what he started. It had been a long time since he had seen Johnny get so worked up over anything and he forgot how much he enjoyed him when he was like this, biting at every little bit of bait that Simon left with the express purpose of having an excuse to punish him later for it. 

Johnny needed putting down when he got this wound up, at this point Simon had taken him over his knee at least once a day, collared and leashed him most nights, fucked him silly so much that he was constantly aching and plugged to keep ready for a quickie when he needed it. Which right now was inhumanly often and with them still in the bunkhouse they were having to get very creative with the venue. Johnny was going especially feral given that you had only been alone with them once more since you had promoted them and you had acted like last time had never happened. Clever actually, Simon had to hand it to you, you were very good at playing with people. He could see the little glimmer in your eye, the delight at seeing how Johnny seemed to be vibrating with anticipation of something that never came. You were setting him up to beg, making sure that when he gave in and went directly against his God that it would be him pleading for you to let him do so.

It wasn’t like you had ever been close enough to tell, but that little cross around Johnny’s neck had SR carved into the back of it. Simon had corrupted the Roman Catholic out of this pup years ago, the cross only came out on special occasions when Johnny wanted to play coy and innocent or when Simon wanted to remind him who he belonged to (because it certainly wasn’t a God, it was his fucking lieutenant). Well and now, when they both knew the sight of it would give you such a power trip that you’d fall right into their trap. 

“I was thinking about your house” you said, the three of you standing where the foundations were already being put down. 

“Aye?”

“It just seems such a waste when I have extra bedrooms in my home.”

“It would be such an honour to stay in any of them. Would we not be intruding?”

“Of course not Simon, you are my right hand men now. It makes sense for you to stay close to me. To one another.”

You swore you could see Johnny’s ears perk up, a phantom tail flicking quickly behind him in rapt attention at that. Of course their minds would go there, just like you wanted them to. It hadn’t been too difficult for you to be patient, to play with them so that you didn’t push too far too fast. It was something you were very good at. 

“Would you… still let us build something here?”

“Oh?”

“I think a temple of sorts would be nice. Somewhere for you to relax. You work so hard for all of us and if you are taking us into your space I’d hate for you to have nowhere to go to meditate alone.”

It only took a few days to wear you down. You had no idea how much influence they already had with your followers, how easy it was for them to plant that idea there and have them be the ones appealing to you to please allow them to do this for you. And while that shred of morality you had left was screaming at you not to do this, not to actually Deify yourself lest it go too far, the adoration inflated your ego and drowned your conscience out. 

So they started to build your temple.

–

“Ah! Like that. That’s it, that’s what I need” you moaned out, Simon in between your legs worshipping. 

You had moved them into your home, the large house comfortable and spacious in comparison to the bunkhouse the other followers stayed in, and that night Simon had come to your room and gotten on his knees for you. How could you say no to him? 

The adoration of your followers was nothing compared to this. They loved you yes, but fuck Simon was reverant, tongue swirling around your cunt so there was more holy water for him to glut himself on. This was decadent, languid on your bed with him focusing entirely on your pleasure, expecting nothing in return. This man who was spending his days by your side, overlooking the building of a temple in your honour. You could not decide in this moment if you wanted him to fuck you on the altar when it was done or if you wanted to fuck him. 

It was a good conundrum to have because you felt that you could simply have both. You could have whatever the fuck you wanted with this man by your side. Who could stand against him and Johnny? And who would ever worship you more? You had never actually bought your own bullshit before, but if he kept this up maybe you were some sort of God because how else could you be living this deliciously?

You tugged his hair sharply to get him off of you and pushed at him until he was on his back. You would take what you wanted from him because it was your right to do so. He did not complain as you settled your cunt on his face and rode him, if anything his clever tongue worked harder to please you. You held his head and used him, and he drank you down and thanked you for the privilege after, vanishing out of your room as silently as he had arrived.

–

It only took another few weeks for Johnny to break and oh he broke so perfectly. Simon came to your room every night to pray, and Johnny must know, must have heard how Simon spilled thank yous against your cunt even as you pushed down to deprive him of oxygen, even as you smeared your slick all over his face, moving exactly as you liked with no consideration of him. You never touched him in any way meant for his pleasure, only to use him for yours.

It was not Simon who knocked lightly on the door. Simon didn’t knock at all, he always just let himself in. 

“Come in Johnny.”

He was nervous, that much was clear. You did enjoy the sight of him in only his boxers and crucifix, moonlight doing wonders in making him look incredibly edible. You wanted to knead his pecs like they were tits, wanted to sink your teeth into the meat of his neck until you tasted blood and he cried out your name instead of his God’s.

“I want…”

“Hm? You want?”

“Will ye let me please ye? I ken Si… I’m naw good enough for ye, but I want tae be. It’s just, I’ve never uh… I’m a quick study.”

And with perfect timing, in walked Simon. Couldn’t have planned it better yourself (well, actually Johnny had planned it, Simon had laughed and ruffled his hair at how eager he had been to act the part of the blushing virgin before unhooking the leash and getting him out of his collar and into his crucifix).

“Good evening Simon” you purred. 

The man didn’t really acknowledge that Johnny was in the room, instead going to his place by the foot of your bed and kneeling. It was always where you started, with him lapping at you until you ordered him onto the bed or the floor so you could take what you needed. Only you pushed him away with your foot when he tried to pull at your shorts, holding him at leg length and looking at Johnny.

“Come sit will you?”

He nervously shuffled over, sitting next to you on the bed with his eyes darting uncomfortably down to Simon kneeling pretty, your foot still holding him away from you. He swallowed and you thought it sweet how he held your gaze to avoid watching as you motioned for Simon to move and he did so without hesitation. Johnny still didn’t look at him even as you put a hand to his knee to make him spread his legs enough for Simon’s broad shoulders to fit between them. 

“If you want to learn I’d never stop you Johnny, I want you to be the best at the things you’d like. And I’m sure Simon makes a wonderful teacher.”

Simon didn’t need prompting, obedient and perfect boy that he was. He started licking up Johnny’s thick thigh the same way he would have if you were sitting there. Johnny, bless him, gripped onto your leg like it was a lifeline, fingers digging into the plush flesh hard enough that you imagined it may leave marks. You swallowed his loud whine with your mouth when Simon slipped his boxers down and took his hard cock right to the root. It almost made you laugh, if you tried to take that in your throat you would certainly be gagging and crying.

When you pulled away Johnny was a whining mess, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other still dug into the fat of your thigh. You wondered if he had ever gotten head. Certainly not from another man. Oh wouldn’t his priest be so disappointed in him. You could imagine a severe man in the robes of God, looking with disgust at the whore before him. But you were a kinder creature, letting him indulge in pleasure without telling him he couldn’t. 

Well, to a point. You pushed Simon to stop with the frankly immaculate looking blow job when it was clear from Johnny’s hips rutting that he was close. Then you swung your leg around, straddling Johnny and squeezing yourself to him, stopping him from trying to get friction from you.

“Not yet Johnny, you need to be patient hm? Simon, open him up. Tongue first, then fingers.”

Johnny was tearing up, looking at you like he didn’t understand why you were doing this while feeling horribly guilty that he liked it. He howled when Simon’s tongue started playing at his rim, his hands gripping at your hips to try and make you move against him. You put a hand to his throat and squeezed lightly.

“It’s ok, you can take it can’t you?”

“I-I cannae, please bonnie, I’m naw- I dinnae-” he whined before he choked on nothing, eyes blown wide, “h-his tongue is, fuck it’s inside.”

“I know Johnny, I know. Is it too much then? Should I tell him to stop? If you can’t take it, then at least you tried” you said, sweet as anything but putting a tiny edge of disappointment into your tone.

“I can take it! Please, I can! Dinnae make him stop, I can take whatever ye gie me!”

“Good boy.”

Oh, the reaction to those two words was worth exploring. It was like he changed from a man to some pathetic animal, eyes watery and begging, hands pawing at your hips while his own desperately tried to buck up. You felt how he froze, heard how he choked when Simon pressed a finger into him.

“Hmm that’s it, take what you’re given, you’ll be good and hold off for me hm?” you cooed, moving a hand to run fingers under his chain, all the way around until you were behind his neck and could yank, have that crucifix choking him. “Looks better like this Johnny, almost like a pretty collar for you.”

Jackpot. Even with you clamping down to give him as little room for friction as possible you felt the hot gush of his cum, him getting there from being choked, being compared to a dog to be collared. Well if he was going to be a mutt that came without your permission, the permission of his master, then he needed to learn his place no?

“Fuck pet, told you to be patient.”

“Sorry, m’sorry bonnie. Ah! M-make him stop, s’too much!”

“Make him stop? But he’s been good for me, followed everything I’ve asked, You went ahead and finished without permission. Wouldn’t make sense to punish him and reward you, I need to be fair pet.”

He was clearly overstimulated, his hips trying to rut even as he gasped at every bit of friction he got. Oh you wanted to see him fucked out and ruined. You wanted his heart on a fucking platter.

“More Simon. Johnny here is going to let you fuck him tonight, so you need to open him up properly.”

“I-I-” Johnny stuttered, bottom lip quivering and eyes wide and wet. If you weren't so high on the decadence of having these two men at your mercy you’d have questioned just how practised that was. 

“Tell me Johnny. Tell me what it is you want.”

Tell me what it is I want to hear that you want. Be a good boy, don’t disappoint me. You’d hate to disappoint me after all I’ve done for you.

“I want Simon tae fuck me tonight.”

“Good boy” you said, hammering that final nail in God’s coffin as you yanked again at the chain so hard it snapped, taking your trophy and tossing it onto your desk without ever having examined it closely.

You watched Simon ruin him at your command. You drank their praise like champagne, bit into their gratitude like strawberries bursting their juice on your chin. You were greedy in how many times you used them for your pleasure, their fingers, their tongues, the sight of them overcome with hedonistic abandon. 

You felt like a God.

–

The temple was beautiful, no effort or expense spared. The first floor was a space for everyone, for the brand new community gatherings that you occasionally led but had mostly been letting Simon and Johnny lead. Above that was two glorious floors of space only for you. The only other people permitted to set foot in here were your two right hands. It was something else, being in the luxuriant bed drinking champagne and watching the two of them play with each other for your benefit. 

You could not stop thinking about the way Johnny had writhed at the mention of a collar when you had taken his crucifix for yourself (it still sat on the desk right where you had left it). You could not stop imagining how such a thing would look around his thick neck, how your other followers would look at it and be jealous that he got to be so visibly claimed by you.

As always your wish was their command. Simon had presented you with a gorgeous necklace of sorts, almost a choker, the pendant a symbol you didn’t recognise. 

“This doesn’t look like a collar for you.”

“It’s for you. The symbol is from the cult of Venus, we thought… well we thought if you could wear it, show people, then when we wore it…”

“You want them to know you are wearing it for me.”

Perfect fucking boys weren’t they. They didn’t just want to show up in a collar, they wanted to show up in a symbol associated with you. It was pretty enough what they had chosen, delicate and clearly made with care and devotion. You turned and lifted your hair so he could put it on you and the very next community gathering was Johnny eagerly explaining the symbol to your followers. It was etched into the temple walls soon after. 

–

The realisation happened all at once. You only attended community gatherings for special occasions now and when you did they were all looking at you like you were their God made flesh. Your followers had become something else, something well beyond a little eco-living commune. That had not been your doing. 

The door was locked. You could not leave your space in the Temple. Your hand flew to the back of your necklace, realising with a startle that you couldn’t take it off. Simon and Johnny never did have collars made. Why would they? You were rapidly realising they had never intended to. You looked in the mirror, tried to find a clue. The pendant… it was only when you drew it over and over again that you figured it out. This wasn’t some symbol of an old Goddess, it was the letters S R J M twisted around to make a pretty symbol. You sat and stewed, waiting for them to get back. When they did you were sat on the bed, glowering at them.

“Aww ye figure us out bonnie?”

“You played me.”

“Like a fucking violin sweetheart” Simon cooed, walking over to flick the pendant. 

You huffed up at him. Everything was completely fucked now. You had all but ordered your followers to treat these two as your spokesmen. You had been slowly vanishing from public life, ingraining in their minds that you were a God who lived in a temple and only graced them with your presence when they had really earned it. All this after years of breaking them down so they thought nothing they ever did was good enough, so of course they would never think they had earned it. 

And you had never used violence for anything, you were soft and lived on champagne and strawberries for fuck sake, it wasn’t like you could brute force your way out of this. You were enough of a schemer to know when you had been outplayed.

“So the little shy virginal act?”

Johnny laughed and came over to nuzzle into your hair.

“Ye’d naw believe how many times Si has been in my arse hen, this isnae even the first house of God he’s bent me over in.”

You scowled and pushed his head away, but his eyes only sparkled with excitement as he bullied it right back into nuzzling you like a fucking dog. 

“Pup has been so excited about you finally figuring it out. You’ve been teasing him for months now, don’t think it’s time to give him a treat for how well behaved he’s been for you?”

It’s not like you were against the idea, it had been delicious being the dominant one all this time but there was something interesting about the idea of letting Simon take control, letting him get Johnny to fuck you the way you had let him fuck Johnny. Because that would be the case you knew now. It was so obvious knowing what you knew, you really should have figured out way sooner that Simon had always been in control. All the things you had done since he got here that you had thought your ideas weren’t yours at all, he had put them in your head. 

“So that’s it then? You keep me here and take over?”

Simon was looking at you with something deranged behind those eyes. It was dreadfully exciting. 

“You're coming to tonight's community gathering. You can decide if puppy gets a treat after that.”

–

The Birth of God happened on that brilliant Friday evening. One moment you had been fighting against your conscience, and the next you had let go. You had walked forward, no floated, and pressed a holy kiss to his head. Watching one of your followers plunge a knife into the heart of another on your altar, both with a smile on their faces, was fucking beautiful.

The Revelation happened about the same time. You dipped your fingers in the blood (the same colour as those tomatoes he so loved, the tomatoes that his body would feed and your followers would eat) and marked his murderer with your symbol, the initials of the men that had made you God. 

Nah, for real if someone was breaking in you didn't care but they could at least be fucking quiet about it so you could go back to sleep. You had not slept in an actual bed in fucking days, only catching what could barely be described as a nap in the cots at the hospital between emergencies. 

“Find a first aid kit, we need to get him stable!”

Oh come on. The people robbing you were injured? Stupid fucking hippocratic oath. Technically it said nothing about having to help people who had broken into your house, it just said you couldn't harm them. So if you laid here and ignored it then Apollo couldn't say shit. 

…God fucking damnit. You dragged yourself out of bed, honestly too tired to react to the gun pointed at you with anything but a withering look, and went to pull the first aid supplies from their place. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is my house skull mask, who the fuck are you?”

There was a man with a mohawk bleeding all over your couch. You grumbled about that a little but dutifully knelt by him and started to cut the clothes around the problem area so you could clean it out and stitch him up. A heavy tactical vest was on the floor, leaving him in just a t-shirt. The other young man was pushing a wad of bandages to stem the bleeding. Good, he was doing a good job. 

Kyle looked at Price who only furrowed his eyebrows and nodded, giving him permission to follow your instructions. So that's what he did. 

“We get a bonnie medic with safehouses these days Captain? Cannae say I'm complaining.”

“Shush or you'll wind up biting your tongue off when I do the stitches” you said, prepping the needle and thread. 

You looked quickly around his get up, seeing he was wearing jeans with a belt and undoing it. 

“I've definitely seen a movie like this” the skull mask man said which you elected to ignore.

“Tell me more LT.”

You shoved the belt in the man's mouth and he took it between his teeth immediately. Not his first rodeo then. Made sense, they were probably soldiers. He was a model patient as you stitched him up, not squirming at all. 

Your focus overrode your exhaustion for long enough to give each of the others a once over, making sure there wasn't anything else serious you needed to treat. By the time you got to the last man, the one your patient had called Captain, you were completely dead on your feet and your eyes were starting to sting. 

“Thanks luv, c'mere.”

Being scooped up by some military man who had broken into your house really should have caused some sort of fight or flight response, but you had nothing else left to give. You were asleep before he even made it to the bedroom, putting you right back under the blankets. 

–

Your alarm never went off and you frantically called in to work to let them know you'd be there as soon as possible only to be told in no uncertain terms you were on leave for at least the next week. 

It was with some shock that you emerged from your room to find that dream wasn't as much of a dream as you thought.

“Let's have a little chat about the next week hm luv?”

He barely threw his stuff inside his own flat before he was going over to yours to speak with you and before he could try to convince you to let him do you a favor, you stopped him.

“Your hair.” You pointed out and he instinctively ran his hand through it.

“Didn’t have time to fix it up,” he grinned. “Just growing out my mane, you know?”

“It’s nice.”

Soap wanted to argue because even he knew it was a mess and you were just being polite, but when he saw the soft look in your eyes as you stared at it with a sense of awe.

He almost felt a little self conscious that he didn’t clean it up before he came over to see you and that’s when he got an idea.

“Cut my hair for me, bonnie.” He offered and couldn’t help but chuckle when you stared at him incredulously.

“I don’t know how to cut hair.” You argue but he shrugged.

“I’ll teach ya.”

Somehow, he convinced you and now he was sitting in a chair with a towel wrapped around his shoulders with you standing in front of him holding a pair of clippers.

You looked nervous as you held them like it was an instrument that could seriously hurt him despite the fact that it had a guard on it.

Despite that, he had a smile on his face.

“You can start out with a trim.” He suggested and you looked at him helplessly. “Just make my hair even.”

“What if it’s not?”

“Then I’ll go back to the Mohawk.”

Soap watched you fight with yourself. He may have convinced you this far but you still had your doubts even thought he could careless about what happens to his hair.

It would grow back and it’s not like he’s never fucked up his hair before. This was just an excuse to get close to you.

He very gently grabbed your wrist and turned on the clippers, making you cringe with fear.

“Like this.” He guided your hand through the familiar motions and saw some of his hair fall out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t over think it.”

"Okay..."

You started off slow, hesitant to cut his hair wrong before you found a rhythm on your own. You were incredibly gentle, more than anything he would ever be on his own head, and suddenly he found himself dozing off.

The sound of the clippers, your hands in his hair, the smell and presence of you had him relaxing so quick that he could hardly hold his head up. He fought hard against falling asleep and he was grateful you finished because he would've taken a nap in your chair.

Soap blinked a few times to wake himself up before he looked up at you with a soft smile.

You stared down at him with a slight flustered look on your face as you ran your fingers through his now full head of hair.

Soap shivered and couldn’t help but lean into your touch, his eyes nearly fluttering shut, he could sleep like this, he would sleep so much better if you ran your hands through his hair every night.

He stopped himself however and gave you a soft smile. He looked at himself in the mirror and he couldn’t help but feel proud of you for giving him a decent hair cut.

He need to shave his beard but he could do that on his own.

“Thanks, hen.” He beamed at you and you smiled back as well.

“You look different without the Mohawk.”

“A good different, right?”

You averted your eyes from him when he gave you a wink but you giggled, a sound he missed dearly.

“Very good.”

Bonus Soap with full head of hair:

They haven't seen him yet, slowly stroking his cock behind a tree. Grinding his hips against his hand, imitating thrusting inside a woman even if it's just his large, hard fist he's fucking here, their giggles make his tip wet as they splash water all over themselves. Sweet, soft bodies glisten in the sun, dozens of nipples perk up from the cold water, these nymphs are making his cock leak all over the ground :(

It's their fault for being so cute; he really has no choice but to start a little chase. First, he tries to walk into the sunny view, cock hard and very presentable, but to his great fury, the nymphs just scream and scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind.

He tries to catch them, even just one of them, to bully with his cock, but they start to play with him when they notice they're faster than a clumsy old faun. He almost snatches one by the waist, but the nymph turns into a young willow and he finds himself only humping against the soft bark of a tree.

Hearing a chime of giggles all around him, his cock gives another angry pull. They're laughing at him stumbling around like a centaur, or worse yet, they're laughing at his cock that's twitching and leaking between his hairy thighs, deprived of a woman's warmth :(

He's being played like a fool, and he throws his head back in the middle of the glen and roars, scaring away birds and squirrels with a mighty, furious bellow.

He just wanted to give them his seed, maybe tickle them with his tongue, but if they're going to make fun of him like this, he'll show them what they're missing... He'll show them what happens when you play cat and mouse with a horny god.

Catching his throbbing cock in an angry fist, he starts to stroke himself and play with his balls, the hairiest and heaviest part of all fauns. Knows that the dumb little creatures are watching with wide eyes and dropped jaws even if their stupid giggles have stopped.

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

You’d been chatting with this guy, Simon, for a few months and things had been going really well. You’d exchanged numbers and spoken on the phone and even FaceTimed a couple of times, all perfectly normal. He made you feel like he really understood you when you’d shared problems at work, like he really cared and wanted to see you happy when you’d opened up. When he suggested you meet face to face, it was an easy decision to accept his invitation. He was good looking and amazingly fit, he told you he was in the army as an explanation for the scars he had on his face, and you’d listened in awe as he told you amazing stories of his exploits across the world.

It had been mind blowing to see him in person, so fucking big and good looking with his blonde hair and muscles. When you’d sat down to dinner your stomach was doing flips already, it was hard to remember to eat when he stared at you with barely concealed lust in those beautiful dark eyes. He complimented you on everything you wore, everything you said. You’d kept your trembling hands busy by drinking your cocktail, until your head felt like it was spinning too. You’d stumbled when you went to the bathroom, bouncing off the wall until strong hands came to your rescue.

Now those strong hands tested the knots on the ropes around your wrists and ankles. The cool sheets of the hotel room bed under your back, clothes already stripped away as tears stung and burned your eyes. Simon hovered over you, his hot breath against your face, tongue licking along the side of your face as he mumbled those honeyed words to you still, telling you how good and sweet you were, how he was going to ruin you for any other man.

Soon his cock was buried deep inside you, stretching and dragging against your velvety walls, thick and hard. You were helpless, unable to resist or defend, a rabbit in his trap and at his mercy. He ploughed into you, biting and mouthing at your neck, leaving ruddy marks and dark bruises as you whimpered and whined at the fullness. The burn and stretching changed, wetness coating his cock as he took his pleasure, your body adapting and betraying you as your nerves sparked with every thrust and your cries of anguish shifted to moans of pleasure.