That One Ghost

In reality you had sent Simon a suggestive photo. More than just suggestive actually.

You were sat infront of a mirror. Legs spread wide open. No panties. All you had on was Simon’s go-to sleeping shirt, the hem was pulled up to expose your breast. Your face hidden behind your phone.

He only looked at the photo for a second. But through out the whole meeting all he could think about were your slick folds glistening in the picture.

You roll your eyes.

“I could report you. For sexual harassment at the workplace,” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. You would never, of course, actually report him. Hell. You’ve had worse conversations with the man than just sharing the name of the last person you had sex with. 

The only thing stopping you now, is that person– who’s eyeing you as he swirls his whisky around in the bottom of his glass. And that the hook-up was only… 23 hours prior, when you and Ghost arrived on base for the mission briefing. 

“Alright, fine,” Soap grumbles. “At least tell us something, c’mon. If you won’t give us a name, how ‘bout… a rating? One to ten, how good was the person.”

You roll your eyes, again. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“Hey, now! You’re the one who went all in on the details last time! That… Luke guy… y’know the one you said didn’t give good hea-“

“Ugh! Do not bring him up. You know how that situationship ended, Soap. Plus, I told you that in confidence!” you swat his arm. “But, fine! If it will get you off my ass…”

You trail, eyes meeting Ghost’s from across the table. His head tilts. 

“An 8,” you hum. One point for every inch, but Soap doesn’t need to know that. “However, there is still room for improvement. He knows I like it a little… rougher than what he gave me.”

“Wow, jeez. What the hell did I miss?” Gaz asks as he returns to the table, sliding a fresh cocktail in front of you. 

You see Ghost’s eyes narrow just a bit before returning to their normal, relaxed state. 

Soap gives you a rough pat on the back while laughing. “Aye, lass, that alcohol finally starting to settle in?”

You laugh slightly and peel your eyes away from Ghost’s. The conversation continues, with Soap sharing his most-recent threesome story while he was back home, and Gaz teasing him saying “sounds like the girls did all the work, mate, you sure you’re not the pillow princess?”

“What about you, L.T.? Who’s your most recent?” Soap prods. 

Ghost never feeds into these conversations. Just brushes it off with a gruff “that’s none of your business”. The group of you thought, for a while, that he was celibate… or maybe just wasn’t into sex. You, of course, know that’s not true. Yesterday’s hook-up wasn’t the first between you. Not even the second. In fact, it became… a sort of ritual. Before every mission, you’d have sex. After you got back, if neither of you were sent to the med bay, you’d have some… mind-boggling blow-off-some-steam sex. 

The last three weeks of leave you both had, he spent a majority of it at your apartment, gathering up all sorts of noise complaints from neighbors. 

So his usual response of “leave me out of this, MacTavish” won’t be surprising. 

“Wolf.” 

What. The. Fuck. 

Gaz sets his pint down with a thud, and stares at Ghost for a moment before looking at you with a confused expression. You stare at the masked man, trying to keep your expression neutral, but you can’t seem to wipe the bewildered expression from your face. 

Next to you, Soap nearly chokes on his beer before letting out one of the loudest laughs you heard from him in a while. Gaz joins in. Then you do too. 

“Wolf? You mean, our Wolfie? This Wolf, here?” Soap fights out through his laughter, pointing between Ghost and you as he does. “You’re outta your mind, L.T.!”

Ghost just stares at you, then shrugs. He lifts his mask just enough to down the rest of his whiskey, then sets the glass down as he slides out of the booth. 

Soap finally manages to calm down his laughter to bid the man a goodnight. 

You drown out the conversation between Soap and Gaz as they continue to talk about women, and the other shenanigans they got up to while on the brief leave. A buzz in your back pocket pulls you to reality. You carefully check the text message, making sure to angle the phone away from Soap and Gaz when you see the name pop-up on your screen. 

Simon: My room. Ten minutes. 

Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

You quickly shoot back the rest of your cocktail and nudge Soap to let you out of the booth. 

“I’m calling it a night, boys,” you stretch your back as you stand. “Oh, and, blondie behind the bar has been eyeing you all night, Soapy.”

The blonde bartender averts her gaze as you motion towards her and Soap follows your point. He smirks slightly, and Gaz rolls his eyes. 

“Goodnight, don’t stay up too late with our Ghost,” Soap teases with another laugh. You scoff then walk away. 

You don’t think you have a choice. 

Outside of Ghost’s door,  you’ve barely raised a fist to knock before you’re pulled inside the room and pushed back against the door. A small bedside lamp illuminates the room, and gives you a clear look at Ghost’s blown pupils. 

“An 8, hmm?” His hands push underneath the skin tight tank top you elected to wear out that night, pushing up the fabric to expose your bare breasts. “That’s not what it sounded like last night.”

You suck in a breath. “You’re lucky they thought you were joking, Simon.”

“Ah. No. No ‘Simon’ tonight, sweetheart.”

The fabric of his mask rubs against your neck as he leans down to whisper in your ear. His hands leave your torso and grab both of your wrists, bringing them above your head and pinning them against the door with just one of his hands. 

“It’s Ghost. I want this whole fucking base to know who you belong to. Don’t forget, Johnny’s sleeping next door. When he gets back, I want him to hear that you know I’m much better than an 8. Got it?”

“Y’all have some sort of big dick contest going on?” You tease, pushing your hips forward to grind against him. “Might as well call him in here so he can watch.”

Ghost pulls back, his eyes narrowing at you. “You’d like that, huh? To show off for him? Show him how your pretty body reacts to me?”

You suck in a breath as his free hand curls around your neck, not tight, just enough to hold you in place. 

“Too bad, I don’t like sharing. You’re mine. Mine to see, mine to fuck. Got it?” 

His words send a chill down your spine, and a heat between your legs. He’s never said anything like this before. 

“Careful,” you muse. “I might think you actually want a relationship with me.”

Ghost’s shoulders tense. You watch as his chest rises slowly, then falls with an audible exhale. His hands drop back to your waist and hoist you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and reach for the edge of his mask.  Before you can grab it, he jerks his head away. 

“Mask stays on, sweetheart,” he mumbles. 

You give him a quizzical look, but don’t push it. Is the mask a turn on? Yes. But, he’s never actually worn it during sex. In fact, he’s very adamant about separating work-him, from the stuff he has with you. Behind closed doors, he’s not Ghost. Usually. 

Ghost sits on the bed, pushed into the left corner of the room, with you in his lap. You lean forward, pressing a kiss into his cheek through his mask. You trail down, ghosting your lips over his neck. You feel him shudder underneath you. 

“You gonna let me kiss you properly,” you pause, leaning in close to his ear. “Ghost?”

A noise reverberates in his chest. One second you’re sitting in his lap, the next, you’re flat on your back with him kneeling on the floor between your legs. His eyes are on you as he places both of your legs on either side of his head, so the bend of your knees rest on his shoulders. 

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge, Wolf,” he says in a low tone. A warning. You’d never thought the stupid call sign that you’ve carried with you since your days in the Navy could sound so hot. But in this moment, it sends a wave through you, and makes your thighs tense. 

His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs and pull until your ass is dangling off of the bed, and your—still clothed—cunt is mere centimeters away from his face. You wiggle slightly. Testing. His grip tightens, his blunt nails digging into the exposed skin of your legs. 

Ghost’s eyes flick down between your legs. You know he can see the red lace of your panties peeking out from beneath your too-short denim shorts. Maybe he can even see the small wet patch you can guess is forming from the way you feel it drip out of you. You sit up enough to pull your tank top fully off, throwing it to the floor somewhere— you’ll have to search for it later. 

You arch your back slightly, your hands finding Ghost’s head and trying to push him closer. One of his hands engulfs both of your wrists, pulling them off of him. 

“Ghost,” you plea softly. The ache between your legs is growing. Your wrists twist where he holds them pressed against your stomach. 

“Keep them there,” he presses your wrists gently down. “Or I stop.”

You huff, but nod. 

Slowly, his hand leaves your wrists. You do as you’re told. Both of his hands hook under the waist band of your shorts. 

“Wait they’re kind of tight, you’ll have to unbutt-“

The sound following his tug makes you gasp. A jagged, tearing, as the shorts rip at the seams, turning into nothing but a wad of fabric on the floor. 

“Those were my favorite shorts,” you say. You can’t deny the action made your pussy twitch, however. 

“Shorts,” you can hear the slight grin in his voice. “I wouldn’t have called them that, baby.”

You almost jump as his masked lips press into the center of your panties. He exhales slowly through his nose at the contact. God you want to rip off that stupid balaclava. Your fingers twitch slightly, and you mimic his breath. 

“Can feel how wet you are through all of this,” Ghost murmurs. The slight friction from his lips, making you squirm slightly. 

“Ghost,” you breathe out, pressing your pussy harder against him. The tip of his nose brushes your clit. “Please.”

“Hmm,” his head pulls away. In place of his face, his thumb presses your clit softly. Not moving. Just a tiny amount of pressure. “‘Fraid that begging won’t work.”

His thumb circles once. Just barely brushing against your sensitive nerves. Even still, it’s enough to make you take in a sharp breath and clench your toes slightly. You lift your head to watch, and meet his eyes. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely catch the light color of his irises. He presses his thumb a bit harsher, making your mouth fall open softly. 

“There she is,” he sweet-talks. “My pretty girl.” 

You bite your bottom lip, bringing your elbows to rest beside you so you can hold yourself up and watch him. Your right knee wraps around his head, pulling him closer again. 

“C’mon, Ghost,” you hum. “I know you want a taste.”

His eyes roll back and flutter just slightly.

“Fuck,” the swear comes out sharp. His free hand fumbles a bit to lift the bottom edge of his mask up until it rests on his nose, exposing those perfect lips you’ve seen wrapped around your clit multiple times before. His tongue swipes across his lips to wet them before he leans in, kissing at the fabric. You pull your leg tighter, and he grunts. 

Ghost is putty in your hands at this point. He likes to put on this tough-guy “you listen to me” act. But you know how to break that down pretty quickly. His tongue presses against the wet spot pooling in your lace. The warmth of it in contrast to the cool air of his room makes your toes curl. 

Ghost circles his thumb faster as he sucks at the fabric, the addicting bitter taste of your pussy coats his tongue. He groans again, his arms tensing around your thighs, trying to pull you impossibly closer to his mouth. His eyes flicker up at you, and you can see the center of his brows quirk upwards as your eyes meet. 

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper. He huffs against you, hooking a finger under the crotch of your panties and pulling until they too resemble nothing but a strand of ribbon. 

“Those were my favorite,” Ghost nips at the inside of your thigh. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

You giggle and wiggle your hips, taunting him. He takes the bait and leans back in. His tongue presses against your perineum, gathering the wetness that dripped down. He flattens it, then slowly drags upward to your clit. He hums as he wraps his lips around the bud, sucking softly and using his tongue to rub circles against it. 

Your head lulls back and you pant out a swear. He repeats his last motion for a while; sucking your clit and rubbing his tongue against it. You pant out, grinding your hips slowly on his face. He breaks away with a gasp for air, then kisses your hole that flutters from the loss of contact. His tongue prods at it, gathering more of you. His finger replaces his tongue as he returns to your clit.

No matter how many times you fuck him, you will never get over how he feels. He watches your face as he slowly slides his middle finger into you, curling it gently upwards at his second knuckle, hitting that one spot inside of you he knows will make you a mess. You moan at the feeling, arching your back just slightly. 

Ghost breathes heavily against you. “Fuck, you taste so good. You like that? My mouth on you feels good, huh, baby?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” your breath catches. 

He pushes a second finger in, continuing the curling motion and stretching you out. His tongue doesn’t stop its assault on your clit, either. You bite your lip. The hand that’s still gripping the top of your thigh, squeezes at the flesh, then lifts and gives it a gentle slap. 

“Don’t hold back those moans,” he licks his lips. “Want them to hear, remember?”

“Okay,” you nod with a gulp. “Okay, okay. Just please, Ghost, keep going.”

You might consider it embarrassing that he can make you come too quickly with just his mouth and fingers, if you were in a less hazy, less horny, state of mind. But in all honesty, he is just that good.  

Ghost obliges your plea, groaning into your pussy as you begin to twitch around him. His fingers pick up their pace a little, now curling into that spot with precision. It makes you see stars. 

“Holy– fuck, Ghost!” You nearly scream. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Tell them who makes you feel this good. Come on my face for me. C’mon, you can do it,” Ghost laps at your clit like a starved man. 

“M’close,” you whimper, your leg still wrapped around the back of his head, tenses harder and forces him to stay focused on your clit. 

“So, so, close,” he teases. 

You feel the coil in your belly buzz. It’s teetering over the edge. Sweat beads on your brow as you squeeze your abs, letting the white hot euphoria take over your body. 

“There you go,” Ghost coos as you fall over the cliff. Your body convulses as you come around his fingers. The leg around his head falls away, and your arms collapse, sending you falling onto your back, as you pant out his call sign in broken moans. 

“That’s it, keep going, baby,” he continues talking you through it. “You feel so fucking good twitching on my fingers like that. Jus’ like that.” 

He lets out a soft, pleased, hum at the sight of you coating his fingers. It’s practically dripping onto the floor. Carefully, he repositions you so you're laying fully on the bed. He stands, then kneels on the bed with his knees on either side of your hips. 

You watch as he leans over, sticking his middle finger coated with your cum into his mouth and sucking it clean. 

“Want a taste?” He offers his ring finger to you. You giggle and open your mouth, letting your tongue fall out. He mimics you while rubbing his finger across your tongue and towards the back of your throat. You wrap your lips around it, gently bobbing your head and swirling your tongue to clean it. 

“So fuckin’ filthy,” he groans as he pulls his hand away. You swallow thickly, and can’t fight against the heat that rises in your cheeks and at your core. 

Ghost leans back, expertly undoing his belt and pulling it out of its loops with one hand. He stands, and motions for you to put your wrists out in front of you. Really, all it is now is a curl of his fingers, since you’ve done it so many times now. Tying your hands up is one of his favorite things to do. There was probably one other time when he didn’t, and it was your first hook-up, before you had discussed what you were into with him. You hold your hands in front of you, with your wrists touching. Ghost seems to hesitate for a moment. Then gently grabs your hands, kisses your knuckles, and tosses the belt to the floor. Something flutters in your heart at that. But before you can ask about it, his lips are pressed against yours. 

You lace your fingers around the back of his neck. The hand not holding himself up above you works to unbutton and remove his jeans. You hear a soft shuffle as he kicks them away. 

Outside of his room, there is a slight jingle of keys, and a hushed “g’night, Gaz” from a familiar Scot. You break away from Ghost and he pauses, turning his head slightly towards the door. A shadow passes under the door. More jingling of keys. A door opening. A door shutting. Then a thud as Soap flops onto his bed on the other side of the wall. 

“Sounds like Johnny’s home,” Ghost hums, gently brushing your hair from your sweat slicked forehead. You take a moment to admire his biceps, which are squeezed in the sleeves of his t-shirt. You push the shirt up, running your hands along his muscles. 

Ghost reconnects his lips with yours. You part your lips to bite gently on his bottom lip. Using one hand to hike your left leg up to rest on his hip, he nudges his way between your hips. Between your legs, pressing into your cunt, you can feel his stiff cock, and you can feel a small patch of precum as it leaks through them. You whine into his mouth as his tongue runs against yours. 

“Shhh,” Ghost hushes as he pulls away. “I know, I know. You need me so bad, hm?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper. 

“I can’t hear you,” he snickers. “Please, what?”

You whine, rolling your hips up to grind against his cock. “Please, Ghost. Need your cock.”

Just as easily as you can make him give up control, he can get it back. 

“One more time, whose cock do you need?”

“Yours! Ghost, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me,” it comes out a little too loud for your own liking. Soap will be teasing you for months after this. If he can even bring himself to believe it. 

“Look at you, you needy little thing. Begging for it. You’ll get it, baby,” he brushes a hand down the side of your face before leaning up and swiftly taking off his shirt. You watch as he slowly pushes his boxers down. His cock springs free, slapping him on his stomach. You nearly drool at the sight of it. The tip is flushed pink, and leaking precum, which threatens to drip down his shaft. 

If he doesn’t slide it in to you in the next two seconds, you might lose the rest of your composure. Thank god, Ghost seems to be able to read minds tonight, because he quickly spits into his hand, pumps himself a few times, and lines himself up. His free hand lifts your leg until your ankle rests against his shoulder. With the same hand, still holding your leg close to him by the crook of the elbow, he pulls the mask over his chin. You pout slightly. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he pushes into your cunt slowly. “You know you like it.”

A sharp moan leaves your throat as he fills you completely. He groans, his head lulling back for a moment as he sets an agonizingly slow pace with his hips. You use the wall behind your head as leverage, with one hand planted firmly against it, you roll your hips in time with him. 

“You feel so good,” Ghost moans, his hand squeezing your ankle tightly as he pressed a masked kiss to the inside of it. “Takin’ my dick so well. Like it was made for you–fuck, keep squeezing me like that–like you were made for me.”

You clench around him as he pulls his hips back. He leans forward, using his left arm to brace himself against the wall as he starts to pick up his pace. You reach up, running your nails down his tattoos. He groans, rutting his hips forward harshly. You keen at the pressure against your cervix. 

“Feels t’good,” you whine, arching your back. “Feels s’good, Ghost.”

“Fuck, yes, sweetheart.”

Both of his hands are against the wall now, his hips setting a near brutal pace. Sharp noises are forced out of your lungs and ascend in a staccato in time with his thrusts. 

Thunk. Thunk. Thu– 

If Soap didn’t hear your moans, he definitely hears the bed knocking into the wall. Ghost’s arms flex as he pushes the bed further from the wall to make it quit. You look up at him through your lashes, meeting his ecstasy filled gaze through his mask. You can feel the coil in your stomach start building again, and lower a hand to rub circles into your clit. 

“Good girl,” Ghost breathes out. “Come on my cock, f’me.”

You nod quickly. At this point, your mouth is hanging open and you can’t even try to cut back your moans that fill the room, and probably bleed out into the hallway. Ghost grabs your hand at your clit, and replaces your fingers with his own. 

“But, you come with me, when I say, got it?” He punctuates the sentence with a grunt. 

You whine loudly, your hand grasping onto his wrist between your legs. You’re so fucking close. 

“Can’t–can’t hold back, Ghost.”

“You can, and you will, sweetheart. You want my cum in you, yeah? Want me to fill you up?”

You babble out a string of pleas and begs, interlaced with his call sign. He’s never come in you before. Always preferring to make a mess of your face, ass, or tummy. But, god, does the thought of it flip something in your brain. 

“Please, please, come in me,” you beg, arching your back and trying so hard to hold back your orgasm. You swear you start seeing stars when his moans pitch up. He’s close too. 

“Look at that fuckin’ body,” he bears his weight on his knees again as his hand pressed against the wall drops to your right breast, giving it a gentle knead while pinching your nipple. Goosebumps erupt on your skin in the wake of his fingers as they dance across your stomach. His palm flattens on your lower tummy, pressing lightly so he can feel his cock prodding you through the flesh. 

Heat pools under his hand, and you have to bite your lip to distract yourself from coming. You squirm slightly, gasping for air. 

“Let me come,” you beg. “Please, Ghost, let me come. Come with me. Come in me–fuck!” 

The pressure in you is slowly becoming unbearable, you don’t know how much longer you can hold back. Ghost whines, his hand on your ankle falling to cup your knee and pull you closer. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts. “Okay, baby, come on my cock. C’mon, come with me.”

At his word, the coil in your belly snaps impossibly hard. You arch your back, mouth falling open in a silent wail as stars form in your eyes and your whole lower body nearly goes numb. The pressure in your lower tummy releases as Ghost’s hips stutter against yours. 

“Fuck, yeah,” he groans, pushing himself fully inside of you. “Just like that, love. No one’s ever made you feel like this, hmm?”

A loud whine tears through your throat. “No one makes me feel this good, Ghost.”

Ghost chuckles looking down at you. “And no one else will, hmm? Are you mine?”

“Fuckin’, yes. I’m yours, all yours,” you babble, still reeling from your orgasm. 

His hand on your tummy rubs small circles. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching as his softening cock pulls out, and your pussy flutters around nothing. His thick, white, cum threatens to drip out, but he catches it with a single finger and pushes it back into you. 

“Don’t spill any of that, I want you to feel it drip out of you as we head out in the morning.”

You whine as he fucks his cum deeper into you with two fingers, already overstimulated. His lower stomach, groin, and sheets are soaked with your cum. Ghost gently sets your left leg onto the bed and steps back. You pant, trying to catch your breath, as he looks for a towel. 

He comes back after wetting a rag in the small bathroom connected to his room. He runs it along your inner thighs, and across your stomach where you, well, splashed on yourself. Then uses the same rag to wipe himself down.

You manage to push yourself up, scooting to the edge of the bed to try and stand. 

“Stay here tonight,” Ghost takes off his mask as he speaks, laying it on his bedside table. 

You look over at him. “Really?”

You’re a little shocked. Most of the time, apart from when he stayed at your apartment for a few days, it was sex, then sleep in your own beds. 

“Yes,” Simon says almost matter of factly, like he can’t believe you’re questioning it. He extends a hand holding his shirt from earlier. 

“But, they're going to see me leave your room in the morning,” you protest, taking the shirt from him and slipping it over your head. 

“Yeah,” he smirks. “I think they already know that.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Okay. I’ll stay, but I get the dry side of the bed.”

“Bed’s too small, you’ll end up sleeping on me anyway,” Simon sits on the bed as you scoot over. He flicks off the lamp before going under the sheet, folding an arm under his head and placing the other on his chest. You scoot closer, trying to make room between you and the wall so the rough plaster isn’t digging into your back. You place your head on his left pec, wrapping your arm around his torso underneath his arm. He lets out a long exhale. 

“Simon?” you whisper. 

He hums, already half asleep. 

“I think we need to talk about this when we get back from this mission,” you trace small circles on his stomach, watching as he flexes slightly under your touch.

“Yeah,” he pauses. “We’ll sort it out.”

Your soul left your body.

“Simon?” you gasped, throwing your hands up in horror as adrenaline shot through you so fast your fingers trembled.

He staggered inside, a duffel bag slipping from one shoulder and thudding to the floor. One hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to the side of his head.

“Are you okay?!” you gasped.

“I got smashed with a plate. What ya think?” he muttered, eyes shut tight.

“You were supposed to be back in a week!”

“Mission ended early,” he said with a pained groan.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wanted t’ surprise ya.”

You stared at him.

Then gestured wildly at the ceramic graveyard on the floor.

"That is objectively the worst possible strategy for someone who constantly tells me to be careful because of all the enemies you've made."

He gave you a flat look. “Nice. Blame the victim.”

"The victim broke into the house like a raccoon with military training."

He huffed "rude."

“Just go sit down,” you said, already ushering him toward the sofa. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He kicked off his boots with a grunt and dropped onto the couch like all the bones in his body had collectively decided to quit. By the time you returned, kit in hand, he looked tired in that deeply worn-out way that made your chest ache, guilt gnawed at you like a tiny feral creature.

"Si, I'm so sorry," you blurted the second you sat beside him. "I genuinely thought someone was breaking in and then the door opened and I panicked and my body moved before my brain did and I hit you and—"

"It's alright, swee’heart," his voice came soft, steady.

You worked carefully, cleaning the scratches on his forehead and the small cuts along his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch much, though he did keep staring at you with that quiet, warm look that always made you feel like you were the only light in the room.

“Been through a dangerous mission,” he said, “an’ get home to get clocked by me wife.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, glaring at the cotton pad like it had personally offended you.

“Never said it was.”

“You are being very smug for a man who got ambushed by dinnerware.”

He huffed a laugh. “Usually wives greet their husbands with kisses and hugs. Not ceramic warfare.”

“I was trying out a new greeting method.”

He raised one brow. “Next time, how about a pan to the face?”

You let out a helpless laugh. “Shut up.”

“You hit me.”

“I thought you were breaking in!”

“Still counts as domestic violence, luv.”

You snorted despite yourself, and he looked absurdly pleased with that.

Once you finished, he leaned back into the couch with a long sigh, still horrified and still trying not to laugh at the stupidity of this entire situation. He tilted his head toward you.