thinking about Ghost as a recently freed gladiator
(18+ for some explicit content at the end, also this is just some thoughts so may develop into something with more substance l8r lol)
part 1 part 2
Gladiator Ghost earns his freedom and sticks around Rome since he sure as shit doesn't want to go home, and wants to help train Soap and Gaz so they survive the Colosseum (like Price did with him).
But he's having trouble adjusting to freedom. Hell, he wears a toned-down version of his helmet in public. It keeps people at arm's length, but the stares follow him everywhere he goes. Better his stupid mask than his scarred face...
But now, he's stuck at a stall staring at two different types of olive oils that the vendor swears are popular choices (The oil that was given to the gladiators to clean themselves was some cheap, generic, crap, and he sure as shit doesn't know what they bought).
Suddenly, you crop up next to him, telling him not to buy that, and you whisk him to an upscale taberna and buy him a fancy little amphorae of olive oil as a celebratory gift for winning his freedom. "If you're hoping for anonymity, my dear Ghost, your fortune may improve if you leave your helm in the arena."
He barely had time to process before you disappeared into the crowd, leaving him with nothing but an I'll see you around the Colosseum.
But Ghost can't stop thinking of you.
Most Romans cowered before him. He's a massive brute who they've watched sow carnage and violence for years, he can hardly blame them. Watching a beast in a cage is amusing. Sharing a bathhouse with that same beast is something else.
You had been so soft and pretty, draped in expensive silk. You had been a brave little thing, walking right up to a known killer, but he had followed you like a dog.
He wants to sink his teeth into you.
He lets the oil you bought him run down his abs and drip onto his cock, stroking himself harshly. The oil feels luxurious on his skin, and a pleasant aroma wafts towards him. This was a quality product, must be why you liked it...
He's rough with himself, rougher than you would be. And his hands are calloused and tough. He imagines your head leaned against his thigh, one soft hand stroking his cock and the other fondling his balls.
He cums embarrassingly hard, letting his groans reverberate around his tiny apartment. The insulae was loud enough, his neighbors wouldn't care.
He dozes on his shitty bed, rubbing the mixture of oil and cum into his skin. It's gross, but he's been covered in worse. And he feels his cock twitch when his thoughts stray towards you again.
He'll nap, jack off again, and just clean up after.
Ghost hopes you meant it, that he'd see you at the Colosseum.
He's got every intention of fucking you if you'll let him. He'll gladly be your hound. He drifts off to thoughts of you riding him, your hand around his throat.
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since we're on the fall of rome subject with smarmy general!price... his second in command is ghost - who used to be a gladiator that price saw promise in and freed...
he's even rougher, especially when price isn't around, so much more crass than price is. he doesn't care to hide his desires like price does, in fact he sees you as a reward for loyal service to his general.
one night he forces you down, spreads you wide open, and spits right on your cunt before fucking you unprepared, and it hurts but it also gives the pleasure you usually feel getting fucked an edge to it, a little sharpness. it's embarrassing to admit how good it feels to take it from someone who'd just push your face into the carpet of his tent and take you like an animal, so you cry and whine. by the end he's so fast about it you don't even come :(( which is the real tragedy here...
"awe, did simon use you too roughly, honey?" price acts so sympathetic :')) he cuddles you close and acts scandalized that ghost would treat you in such a way while he was gone fighting.
you had been too clueless to masturbate and finish yourself off, sitting in prices tent and rubbing your thighs together desperately waiting for him to come back :(((
"such a barbarian, huh? didn't take care of you proper?" price lays you down and you've never felt a mouth on you before, but after ghosts rough treatment it feels too delicious to feel embarrassed about. he spreads your pussy with his fingers in a V and rubs his mustache on your sensitive, redhot skin, soooooo rude :(((( doesn't even let you close your legs - keeps them forced open with his big bear head and sucks your clit hard into his mouth until you scream
the next day you can't figure out why his soldiers laugh when you pass by to bathe yourself in the river... or why two shadows seem to be following behind you...
It’s just Ghost from COD as a Gallic gladiator, of whom was a popular type of gladiator in the republican era of Rome. I was going to draw all of the 141 as gladiators, but I’m not sure now.
follow up drabble to Ghost as a recently freed gladiator
Warnings: mentions of sex
You're amused the next time you see him.
Ghost remains stony under his helmet, refusing to take your advice to stop wearing it.
What he’ll never tell you is that he tried; everyone still stared at him. It's to be expected. He's a huge lumbering thing, face and body littered with gruesome scars.
A coy smile graces your face. Fuck. Venus made flesh. (Ghost doesn’t give a flying fuck about insulting the Roman pantheon, they’re not originally Roman, and they’re certainly not his gods.)
Price greets whoever the fuck they're meeting right now. Either the editor or the master of ceremonies, Ghost thinks foggily. He's too stuck on what on earth are you doing here…
He gets a good look at you, standing among this man’s entourage. His mind flicks through possibilities, wife, whore, servant…
You’re dripping in expensive-looking silk; the cloying scent of perfumed oil fills the room. Surely it must be clinging to your skin. He has the thought of licking a combination of sweat and oil from the hollow of your throat.
Your skin looks so soft. Ghost wonders if some part of you would light up at his teeth sinking into your flesh, at your blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Would you bite him back?
He pauses. There are splotches of color on your fancy silks. He frowns. Paint and powder ruining the vision. Interesting.
You haven't once looked away from him, and he can't tell how he feels about it. What are your mithful eyes seeking?
"...Right, Ghost?" Price is looking at him, eyebrow raised expectantly. Fuck.
Ghost grunts, unable to look away from you. It's good enough for Price to work with.
"Venceslaus, why don't we have a drink? Go over the details." Your master (that can't be right. You look leagues more regal than he does) nods his head, and gestures in a sweeping motion towards a door.
"Let us move to the atrium." Venceslaus eyes Ghost with obvious disdain. "And please, leave your dog here," he says, sending Ghost a withering look. And then they’re gone.
"Did you like the oil?"
Ghost stares at you from behind his mask. Up close he can see more of the odd white powder that dusts your skin and clothes.
He wants to tell you is was the most luxurious thing that's ever touched his skin, that he thought of you as he tugged his cock until it was raw.
"It was fine." You smile graciously and nod. He eyes your lips, wondering what the inside of your mouth would feel like...
"I told you I would see you again." Your smile morphs into something mischievous. A certain levity in your eyes that makes him uneasy. Ghost grunts, remembering how you had vanished after telling him that.
"Venceslaus is planning a large celebration for the emperor's birthday. He's allegedly concocted the bloodiest spectacle in his honor." There's something dry and biting in your voice. Something within Ghost rumbles with approval at your annoyance.
“I’m working on a sculpture in honor of it.” An artist, huh? That explains what a soft creature like yourself is doing with this crowd. Venceslaus is your patron. Ghost grunts in acknowledgement, letting himself indulge in finding your figure under your silks as they swish against the floor.
"You live here?" You shake you head, glancing around the vestibule.
"Venceslaus pays for my own private residence. So I can work in peace," you say, rolling your eyes at the last part. Ghost chuckles a little, no real humor or levity in it.
No, no, just a sick delight in knowing he’ll get to plow you in peace soon.Â
