#dark ghost

It started with a knock on your door. Too soft to be the delivery guy, too irregular to be a needy neighbor. You didn’t think too hard about it, dismissing the knock as possibly kids just being kids. That is, until you overheard sounds of rustling in the bushes beneath the front window in your living room. The sounds were quick and sharp, definitely not like an animal moving through the area.

Your hand trembles as you reach for your phone, your heartbeat thudding in your chest and the pounding of your own blood within your ears is deafening as you felt the anxiety and panic rising within you. You didn’t think twice before dialing his number. You bite at your bottom lip nervously as you wait for him to pick up, your eyes staying on the window, as if whatever–or, whoever–was outside would pop up any moment.

You hear the line pickup. “Simon?” you whisper, voice cracking in the quiet of your apartment, your ears straining to listen for the intruding sounds of someone on your property. A beat of silence. Then his voice, low and taut. “What happened?”

You explain your fears in clipped, trembling phrases–the knock, the sounds outside, how you swear it’s a person and not just a wild animal. His end of the line goes quiet again, except for the sounds of movement, keys jingling. A door slamming. The ignition of a truck.

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By the time you dared to peek through the curtains and blinds of your living room windows, headlights flashed across your yard. A truck pulling into your driveway. His truck. Relief floods through your chest–then curdles in a mix of excitement and awe when he steps out of the truck. Not Simon. Ghost.

The skull mask catches the light, hollow eyes locked on the front of your house. He moves with lethal certainty, shoulders squared, every inch of him a predator set loose. He stares at you when you open the door, his frame filling the threshold like a shadow made flesh. He didn’t say a word, a heavy hand on your hip as he pushes you back into safety as he enters your home. He’s already scanning the entire living space. “Stay inside,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. The voice he uses on missions. The one that doesn’t tolerate hesitation. The lieutenant. 

You open your mouth, the wrong name on your tongue–Simon–but your words wither under his stare. His eyes weren’t soft like usual, weren’t the ones that crinkled when you tease him. Now his eyes were sharp, cold, and focused. The Simon you know replaced with the tactical man most others knew him as. The man that drew fear and dread from his enemies, and respect from those who work alongside him.

He tore through the rooms of your home with frightening efficiency. Yanking open doors, checking windows, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. Moving about like a deadly fog throughout the space. You followed without thinking, at least until he spun and the bared teeth of his mask filled your vision.

He stalked towards you, forcing you backwards until you were back in the living room and falling onto your couch. “Sit down, stay put, and don’t follow me.” His voice was a command that rooted you to the spot. You obeyed, pulse racing, your eyes tracking him as he vanished down the hall. Every sound–the creak of doors, the slam of window latches–set your nerves on edge. The distant give of your patio door closing as he checks the perimeter.

When he returns, relief sags through your body, but before you could speak, his hand cups your face. His slightly calloused thumb brushing your skin a little too hard, more rough, possessive than gentle and soothing. “Whoever it was is gone,” he says finally.

You look at him with those sweet, trusting eyes he loves so much. “You call me again,” he orders, voice low enough to vibrate against your bones. “Every time. Don't wait, don’t hesitate.” Your lips part. “Simon…”

His jaw flexes beneath the mask, but he doesn’t correct you. Doesn’t soften either. The man in front of you wasn’t Simon–not really. He was Ghost. The one who didn’t cook breakfast with you in the mornings, didn’t laugh until you both were snorting, didn’t rub your head while you cuddled up to him during movie nights. The one who killed, who hunted, who protected you like it was instinct carved into his bones. The other side of the coin that is your sweet Simon.

His voice was quieter, but no softer. “You don’t open the door at night. Ever. Doesn’t matter who you think it is. You don’t answer, you don’t look. You call me. Always.” You swallow, nodding along to his demands. “Okay.” “Say it.” A command wrapped in something almost like care. Your breath hitches. “...I’ll call you.” You felt a flip in your stomach, something inside you aching. You weren’t sure if you missed your usual Simon, or if part of you liked how dangerous Ghost felt when he was this close, when he was overly protective. Overly intense. All for you.

Satisfied, he settles onto the couch, positioning you so you’re sat between his legs as he spreads out longways along the couch. A cage disguised as comfort. One you allowed yourself to settle into, making yourself at home within the confines of his arms around you, holding onto your waist to keep you centered.

For a long minute you let yourself lean into the shape of him there, the scent of leather and cologne clinging to the air. It should’ve felt suffocating. Instead, a strange, guilty comfort slid through you. As you drifted to sleep on him, you realized that calling him in situations like these would always bring Ghost before Simon. And as wrong as that felt sometimes, you found you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret it.

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The butcher shop sat at the end of a grim road, the cobblestone permanently wet despite the weather. You were house sitting for a friend, and wanted to make them a nice meal when they returned from their travels. You knew the specific cut of steak she liked came from this butcher, and this butcher only. That’s how you found yourself walking into the lowly lit shop, a permanent whirring sound coming from the ceiling.

The man behind the counter was big. His long sleeve shirt was pulled to his triceps, showing off his muscular arms. The blood stained white apron around his body looked like it was screaming for help around his physique. You couldn’t imagine clothes shopping was easy for him.

The most peculiar part was the skull mask he wore. Eyes the only thing visible, staring you down as you walked closer at the meat selection. Nothing was labeled, the perfectly marbled meat was just neatly organized by shape in stacks. 

After a while of staring at the piles, hoping wrongly they’d tell you who they are, you resort to pointing.

“Could I get two of this one?” You smile at the man, his eyes finally leaving you to look at where your finger was leading. 

He pulls out a brown paper bag, thrusting it in the air to open it before grabbing two of the meat selections with his gloved hands and putting them into the bag. Hehands you the bag, a small thank you leaving your lips, and walks to the register silently telling you to follow. 

You pay and leave, making your way back to your friend’s apartment. As you do, you can’t help the feeling of someone watching you. But, turning, you see nobody there. You wipe your hands on your yellow sundress and keep walking, chastising yourself for your silly thoughts. Only an idiot would try to kidnap you in broad daylight.

~

Ghost wondered what a pretty thing like her was doing in this shitty part of town. He drank up the curves of her body and the way her breasts threatened to spill from the top of her bodice. But then her face, God he could cum just looking at it. And her soft voice, he wondered if she’d still sound that sweet while he pounded into her wet cunt, if she’d tell him thank you. He’d make her if she didn’t.

Ghost had watched her walk down the street through the double paned glass. He tried to control himself, he really did. But he just had to see her, and he doubted she’d be back. He was just going to look.

Until he saw the way her backside moved as she moved down the street. During Ghost’s time off from the line of duty, he thought he could suppress a lot of actions he was used to. Taking unsuspecting women, obsessing over them, worshipping the soft meat that clung to their bodies. Using them up until it was time to go, then just discarding them without a second thought, knowing there’d always be more. But when he was home, he was able to silence the voices.

But not now.

That’s why he followed her, grabbed the root of her hair just before she got the chance to turn the corner, slamming the side of her head into the brick. He picked up her limp body, carrying her to the back of the shop he owns. The bag of meat discarded where she’d last be seen.

~

Your head feels like it’s ready to pop like a balloon; the pain only being recognized as immense pressure. You’re sitting in a metal chair, hands bound behind you. You can’t remember what happened, you were walking back to your friend’s place and then darkness. Had you fallen? Where were you now? Why was it so dark? And cold?

You didn’t need to wonder much longer, as the butcher from before clicks on the singular lightbulb in the room. Hanging meat could be seen behind him, his breathing behind the mask evident with the frost that blew from it. 

“Where- what happened? Where am I?” Your questions tumbled over each other, fighting over who was more important to be asked.

“My shop.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

The man walks closer to you, pulling your face close to his masked one. “Need more meat for my shop.”

Your eyes widen, feeling yourself begin to hyperventilate. You start to cry as you think about your friends, your family, your life back home, all the things you never accomplished. You hoped someone would find your cat in time before he met the same fate as you. 

You’re so consumed with your thoughts you don’t realize the ropes holding your wrists together are being undone. You only come back to the present when you’re being led to a bare meat hook, your feet dig into the ground as a final protest. The man easily drags you through your defiance, pulling you to your tippy toes and easily tying your hands above your head onto the hook. 

He disappears behind you, before reappearing with a cleaver. Bile threatens to crawl its way up from your stomach, you swallow hard to keep it down. 

“Please don’t do this. Please, please please, just let me go.” Your voice falls on deaf ears as the butcher walks closer to you with the weapon. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see your death coming. You jump when you hear a dull thud, cautiously peeking to see what happened.

The cleaver was now lodged in the hanging meat beside you, the man coming to face your front. Even on your tippy toes, he’s still taller than you. He inspects you for a second before his hands reach up and rip your dress down the middle in jagged pieces. You yelp, embarrassment and fear pooling with your headache as you’re left in just your underwear and bra. The freezer happily bites at the newly exposed skin, leaving tiny bumps in the wake.

Two rough hands squeeze your tits, playing with the nipples through the thin material of your bra. You bite your lip to keep the sound of pleasure from escaping.

“Eyes on me,” the man demands. Your eyes meet his once more. The poor lighting made his brown eyes look nearly black, the depths looking deep enough for you to fall in.

“Please,” you beg one more time. 

Once again you’re ignored, your bra being torn from your body just like your dress. You take a sharp breath in through your teeth as the fabric burns against your skin as it’s being pulled taut. Your tits fall now free from the push up garment, nipples rock hard with both the cold and teasing. Your panties are next, joining the rest of your shredded clothing. 

The man’s hands freely explore your flesh now, switching from rough to feather light. He made his way from your chest, to your stomach, until finally the valley between your legs. Your attempt at squeezing them shut fizzled as his arm easily held one leg in his forearm so the other could continue its delving. 

Fingers met your pussy, spreading the lips to get your clit, already swollen from the nipple play. More pressure is applied and the speed is kicked up, the wet sounds not taking long to appear. You’re thinking about everything you can to distract you from the assault, but it’s hard to do when keeping perfect eye contact. You’re biting so hard on your tongue you can taste blood.

The build up begins to bubble in your tummy, causing your legs to shake and your core to pulse around nothing. You can almost see the smile behind the mask of your assailant. 

“It’s alright, cum for me, I’ve got you, Lovie.”

His thumb continues to work your clit as two fingers are slipped inside you, curling perfectly to hit the spot you never can find yourself. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re creaming all over his hand, screaming as your orgasm ripples through you. His fingers continue to get you through your high, your mind completely blank. You’re brought back only when your other leg is being lifted into his other arm.

You look at him through your eyelashes, still trying to follow directions of eye contact, when you notice hurried movements at his slack button. He’s able to get them open, shoving his pants and boxers to his ankles, revealing his cock. It’s thick and long, the tip an angry red and already leaking the salty substance. He wastes no time bringing it to your sensitive entrance. 

“Wait,” your pleas turns into a high pitched screech as he bottoms out completely inside you. His hips start thrusting fast, pulling you up and down his length chasing his release. The perfect curve of his member is hitting that spongy part inside you again, leaving your head to lull onto his chest, mouth open in silent moans. 

Your pussy is hugging him perfectly, lubricating every movement he makes, filling the freezer with beautiful sounds. It’s not long before you’re having your second orgasm, squeezing the man tighter. He grunts low, vibrating his chest, as he pumps faster. His hips sputter a bit as he gets closer and closer, begging for the high you’ve had. 

His balls are tightening as your slick drools down them, his spine prickling with the tell tale signs. He held you close to him, cock rammed all the way inside you, kissing your cervix, as he emptied himself into you. 

His breathing is quick as he tries to steady himself with you in his arms, grinding into you every few seconds to make sure you get every drop. Despite what you know is best, you begin to fall asleep, your head too fucked out to stay conscious. The man stops your plan, lightly but sternly tapping your cheek. Your eyes meet his once again. He removes his mask, killing any thoughts you had at being released. His short hair is brown, matching his eyes. Scars dot his face, a prominent one above his puffy pink lips. A little bit of blond peach fuzz dance along his hard jaw.

It was little things at first.

You couldn’t remember the last time you took out the trash. Your house never seemed to run out of essential items: toilet paper, paper towels. You remembered running low on dish soap only for a new bottle to pop up two days later.

You felt like you were losing mind. It was impossible that you were buying these things and forgetting. Your bank account, although it reflected a pathetically low balance, hadn’t showed any transactions you forgot about.

It was until you had noticed two pairs of underwear had gone missing. It wouldn’t have gone noticed if it weren’t for the fact that they were your skin-toned colored panties. That you had sworn you tossed in the hamper…