He Gives Off A Halloween Vibe 😬

Meow-sky

Quadruple Threat!🔪

Jealous Much

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FemReader

SPICY ❤️‍🔥 GOOD SPICY SAUSAGE

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Hard Sex, Not really but just in case Domcon, Unprotected sex. Fingering fem receiving.

Please support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

It had all started out so innocently...

Being the head doctor at such a large Base you were stationed at ment you delt with many people- A revolving door of bodies coming in to be treated by your skilled hands, but it seemed that people often got the wrong idea when it came to you and your job.

That and you were a pretty cute.

The evening had started out well, You were about to finish your shift and call it a evening to get started on the pile of paperwork on your desk, Their wasnt a lot on staff tonight anyway and most teams out on missions- As you prepared to start your pager went off and you groaned, looking directly at the device on your hip and went to your treatment room next door to your office. Seeing in the large room was non other TF 141, the group often darkening your door with their antics.

"Ah my Best Customers I see- What can I help you with?" You say cheerfully, always prideful in your bedside manner.

"He got blown off the back of the truck-" Soap said calmly gesturing to Gaz who looked- well like he'd been blown off a truck and into sand-

"Oh, Well let's get you cleaned up and checked out" You say softly, helping him from the vest and shirt to check the damage. Fortunately most of the injuries were superficial and the vest look the brunt of the hits.

Gaz stared at you starry eyed, watching how you patched him up and moved with grace around him- That and the slightly tighter scrubs didn't hurt his imagination. He'd had his eye on you for a while, every since he had seen you weeks prior.

"Thank you (Y/L/N)- You know I got to ask what kind of food do you like?" He asked, his lips turning up in a smile. Your hands freezing for a moment as you raised a man.

"Pardon?"

"Food. I'd like to know what you like, a Thank you dinner if you will" He said, The team surprised by the Balls of Kyle to openly and infront of them all ask you out.

"I'm flattered but no- I don't go out like that" You say innocently, Kyle deflating as you finished patching him up.

"What about a few drinks at the pub-"

"Gaz-" Ghost all but hissed, snapping the poor man back to reality with a pout. You chuckle at this and pat the poor man's shoulder, thanking him for the offer but refusing non the less.

Dismissing yourself politely to go and get started on the paperwork.

"Damn You did't have a chance Kyle- I've heard stories that her legs are welded shut. People trying to get at her for years" Soap said with a sad sigh to his clearly love struck friend, however in their conversation they didn't see Ghost eyes practically glowing in silent rage as he watched them leave.

In your office you sighed, feeling quite embarrassed by Gaz so upfrontly asking you out to dinner. It was sweet but you knew it would only cause trouble- the sound of your office door locking snapped you from your mind, looking up in a panic you stop the large figure standing in your office. Ghost.

"Simon? What are you-" He waved off your words as he walked over to your desk, Warmth blooming on your face as he grabbed you a bit roughly from your seat and forced you across the desk.

"S-Si I'm still at work you cant-" You were cut off as he pressed his fingers harshly against your clothed core, rubbing circles over the thin blue fabric.

"I know- How many times have they looked at you like that?" He growled, you could practically hear the jealousy rolling from his tongue as he spoke. You whimper as you feel his free hand slide down you scrubs and panties in one motion.

"Thought about you bent over this very desk"

His fingers slid into you easily began to move slowly, almost teasingly inside you to stretch you out. "Not knowing youre mine, aren't you?" Simon asked, his voice low and on edge.

"Yes Sir~"

You replied, barely able to breathe from the intensity of his touch. "Good girl" He said, pulling his fingers out and smacking your ass hard enough that it stung.

Standing close behind you, rubbing his cock against your now sore ass. You felt him push into you, Inch by inch slowly and wjth care as if he wanted you to feel every bit kf it, Bottoming out quickly with a huff. Slowly he began to move slow at first, but each thrust getting harder than the last.

"Oh fuck-!" You whimper out legs shaking as you have to bite back a loud cry of bliss. The soilder thrusts faster and harder into your aching cunt, his fingers digging into your bare hips, his breath coming in short pants.

"That's it, Good Girl" He growls out.

He pulls his hand away from your red hip and grips the back of your neck, holding you still whilst he pounds into you. You feel the muscles in your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds and the grip from Simon damn near makes your head fuzzy. You could feel the heat building inside you, and knew you were so close to cumming so quickly. But Simon didn't stop. He pushed himself deeper into you, harder and faster as he felt you walls flutter around him.

He began to hiss, grunting your name in your ear as his hips desperately shuttered against yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your wimpering desperate sweet moans.

You mindlessly blabbering out his name as like prayers, his hand quickly flying from your neck and covered your lips to keep you quiet, smirking at feeking you tighten by the action.

"That's it~"

He grunted against your ear, rolling his hips in just the perfect way that he knew you liked, feeling your legs shake as you screamed out against his hand in bliss, cumming all over his cock. The man only able to give a few weakened thrust into you as his own hips shook.

Feeling Simon bury himself deeply into you- Deeper then you'd ever felt before as he moaned in your ear and came, Warmth filling you as you whimpered against his gloved hand. Simon panted hard above you, pulling his hand away finally from your face he carefully pulled out of you, You giving a soft whine as he did so.

You laid there, panting hard as the crashes of your orgasm made your legs weak as you leaned over the desk for dear life, the cool wood like heaven on your scorched skin.

You felt gentle kisses up your neck as Simon pulled your panties back up and smoothed your scrubs back down like he hadnt disturbed it at all.

"You with me Love?" He said softly in your ear- you humming and nodding as Simon helped you back to your feet and set you so you were seated on the desk, you trying to keep the wave of cum from spilling from you.

"You know, you can just have me change my last name. I'm sure people wouldn't dare flirt with Mrs. Riley" You point out with a smirk, Simon giving you a half cooked glare as he fixed himself back in his pants and grabbed for his mask which he had tossed off mid action.

"Could be dangerous if people found out my wife was on base- Or they could station you elsewhere" He said, Walking over and running his large hand over your thickened thighs.

"It's dangerous either way, Besides someone is bound to find out.. Or I get sent back home if you end up knocking me up-" You point out, especially since Simon had cum inside you and knew damn well you weren't on the pill. He smirked at this and kissed you gently on the lips, a twinkle of mischief in his eye-

"Now that would be a sight~" He purred out, planting kisses on your neck as you giggled at his antics.

"Now that would be something worth takin' a risk on~" He whispered in your ear as you were picked up, getting a surprised yelp from you as he laid the both of you down on the floor of the office.

"You serious about this?~" You say Grinning up at your husband as you were laid on your medical coat on the floor. Simon nodding as he began to pull off your shirt.

"Deadly~" He purred out before the sounds of you and him giggling echoed through the office- Clothes now being tossed off fully for the next round.

Just outside your locked office door stood a horrified Soap, he had gotten there in the middle of the action holding Gaz Vest which had been forgotten and he had a few questions for you, Shocked at hearing the apparent good doctor was getting her back blown out in her own office-

However after hearing what he's just heard and the fear of discovering LT Ghost wife and hearing the unmistakable voice of his LT.. this was a fear he didnt know he needed to have. He slowly began to step away from the door as silently as possible-

He had to warn Gaz of whatever storm was coming his way for hitting on the LT wife and He really didn't want to be there for the making of baby Riley-

That angry Johnny song is gonna be playing through my head the entire time I write this Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer fanfic I swear

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

hihi, i really love ur writing and I wonder if u could do a s/o who does cheer for a bf team with Jeff + the proxies

Hi love!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE this idea! Honestly I think the creeps would love it too! I hope you enjoy 🖤

S/O WHOS A CHEERLEADER - CREEPS SCHOOL AU

JEFF THE KILLER:

Ohhhhh you got this man GOING

His ego goes absolutely WILD

Seeing you in that cute little skirt got him distracted

It takes a while for him to get back in the game, and by that time the football coach is pissed.

Makes some star plays just to impress you too

The crowd roars as he makes the winning touchdown. But all he cares about is you as he throws off his helmet and comes sprinting towards you with that crazed smile

He'll tackle you into a hug and give you the most loving kiss you'd ever gotten from him

He'll pretend he never did it afterwards so don't expect him to ever "remember"

TIM/MASKY:

Motivates him tenfold

When he realizes you're cheering his name from across the mat he seems to get ten times stronger

Everyone's already scared to wrestle him but when they see the change in his eyes it makes them want to run screaming

Lets just say the round doesn't last much longer when you start your cheers for him

Walks over to you when everything's said and done and picks you up in his huge arms and spins you around, planting a kiss on your forehead with a big smile

"My good luck charm, that's what you are."

BRIAN/HOODIE:

Gives you that big ol' toothy grin when he sees you cheering from the stands

They don't have cheerleaders for baseball games but it warmed his heart to see you all in uniform cheering for him

Makes sure to show off even though it's not exactly hard for him to do so

When he hits a home run he absolutely adores the way you go wild! Sprinting around the bases and giving you a wave and blowing a kiss as he touches home

As the inning changes and he's put in the role of pitcher he makes sure to pose all nice for you. He gives you a show. You better take damn pictures

Also signs a baseball for you ;]

"TICCI" TOBY:

Oh he gets so shy

I doubt the soccer team knows he has a s/o so seeing someone cheering for him was certainly new

As the game gets going he tries his hardest to focus. He is the goalie after all, most of the game relies on his skill.

He doesn't have to try to impress you with his skill

When he throws himself to the side to block the ball he hears your joyful cheers and he can't help but smile

He just saved the game after all

After they've said their good games, he'll run over to you and give you a sweet kiss. You better bet he makes you wear his jersey to school the next day

"D-didn't expect to see you here! My little ch-cheerleader!"

Sweet Tooth [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Summary: You're trapped between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, trapped between a door and your superior. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: +18 Smut (MDNI!!!), oral (fem receiving), pussydrunk!Simon if you squint, angst, forbidden romance happening in the midst of a mission.

A/n: i know i said i was gonna take a couple of days off from writing anything but this Simon brain rot hasn't sunk in quite yet but it. is. brewing🥴 @sofasoap i don't know what happened😭 one minute I was vibing to my music, the next I was neck deep in smutville😭😭😭

You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be allowing this. He's your superior. He's your Lieutenant. He's... H—he's...

He's on his knees.

He's hiking your leg up his shoulder. The slit of your dress parted wide open for him to take you apart from the inside out. His arm curls over it, hand planted on your sternum to keep you pinned against the door and the other slid against the small of your back whilst—

"fuck." is all you hear from below. "you're dripping all over my mouth, sweetheart."

You can't look at him. You just can't.

Even though you know you won't see his whole face, you know his mask will be right above his nose. And you know you'll see his mouth, his tongue gliding tender strokes through your pussy.

Hell, you can hear the lewd sounds. The slurping, the sticky wet noises of his mouth playing with your folds. It's hard to do anything but squirm in his hold. He's much bigger than you, keeping you where you are with just a fraction of his strength. So you just stand there and take it.

"Ghost—" you moan breathlessly, eyes glassy and bleary when you open them to try and talk some sense into him but words are melting and flee from your head the more his tongue flattens against your pussy. "Ghost, th—they're— they're going to—"

Words. Fleeing. Faster than your mind can comprehend. A sudden squeal escapes you before you can slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue slides inside you. His chin is glistening. And his nose as it cards against your clit, and it nearly tears a scream from your throat.

Your fingers grip his arm, legs trembling when the heat pools and threatens to flare brightly. He continues to lap at your folds like it's his job. The way he looks at you, with dark eyes veiled with desire, makes you melt.

Those eyes usually are so cold and calculated. Razer sharp and focused on the task at hand.

He's still focused, of course. But there's no sharpness. Not an ounce of ice and malice. His eyes are hazy, all soft and sweet and desperate for the way your essence drips onto his tongue. Desperate for you. You don't know how to handle that.

You don't know how you're going to look the rest of the team in the eye once you get out of this tiny bathroom. The operation was almost over. The target was in the bag, Gaz and Soap are working on getting the damn bastard out of the building unnoticed. Laswell's probably with them. You and Ghost?

You can't help but recall how he was always close by. Especially when you had to lure the target away from prying eyes. He kept a good enough distance, but close enough that you could feel the darkness of his eyes piercing the back of your head.

Then, once the target was secured —bound, gagged and blinded with a cloth over his head— and ushered away by Gaz and Soap, Ghost wasted no time in cornering you. Ambushing you, more like.

A gasp leaves your throat. Your hand grabs the top of his head, still covered by his mask. You don't mean to and you immediately mutter broken apologies when he freezes. You try to pry yourself from his grasp, knowing that you crossed a line. The mask doesn't come off, it never does.

But it was an accident, he shouldn't be that good working his tongue inside your fluttering pussy. You hate yourself even more for even allowing things to get this far.

"D—didn't mean to, I swear—" you stutter as you try to slide your leg off his shoulder. "I—I'm really sorry, Lieutenant—"

But he won't let you. You yelp when he pushes you back against he door and you feel his mouth on you, licking into you again. Only, he's more adamant this time. More determined to ruin you.

"Gh—Ghost— Si— Simon!" your scream practically goes unheard as you squirm against his mouth. You want to try and reason with him. But it's impossible to see reason when your head is filled with pleasure.

His hands are firm against you, tongue eagerly sinking into your wet heat before his mouth sucks on your throbbing clit. You hiss sharply, head falling downwards to barely open your eyes and find his. You're careful to let your hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his dark blazer, your lips parted open as you panted heavily.

Something has long since strung and drawn tight. The high was far too perilous; if the drop doesn't kill you, it'll be a miracle. And he knows. You're sure he knows because the more you tremble in his arms, the tighter his hold becomes.

It happens all too fast. The thread snaps and you shatter violently against his hold, hand slapped over your mouth to trap the loud cry inside your throat. Your head lolls against the door as the ecstasy hits you like a truck and rolls over you in hot waves. You're writhing in his grasp, helpless to the onslaught of the electrifying high.

He doesn't stop lapping at you just yet. You're gushing and pulsing into his mouth, dripping all over his nose and chin, wetting the cloth of his mask. A few more licks until he finally pulls himself away from your swollen pussy like it's the last thing he wants. You breathe deeply as you watch him.

He's still looking at your folds whilst his tongue glides over his lips, breathing as heavily as you are while collecting the glistening fluids there. It was like observing at a predatory animal after a kill.

He leans in again. You shudder when he presses a kiss on your folds. Fingers spreading you open to gently press his lips against your swollen clit. Kissing you there like he's saying one last goodbye. His tongue makes another flick over the sensitive bud and another and you think he's going to wring another orgasm over you all over again and it terrifies you because you don't think you'd want to stop him.

Thankfully unfortunately, he draws away and finally lets you go. You faintly whimper at the last sight of his mouth before he draws the mask over his face.

Your legs were shaky as you made your way back. It was still hard to catch your breath. The alcohol in your blood has long since burned out by the time Lieutenant Riley was done with you. Regardless of that, you still stumbled on your feet.

Thankfully, Soap was right there to catch you. He was just as surprised as you were when he did. "You alright, lass?"

You smoothen over your dress as you quietly nod, not trusting your voice to speak for you. Another hand gently palms over the small of your back. In an instant, you're as stiff as a board when you feel him behind you.

"Exfil's here, love." he says. "Time to go."

The throbbing between your thighs returns with a vengeance. You barely manage to suppress a whimper.

You don't think you're going to catch a wink of sleep tonight. The worst part about it is that it'll have nothing to do with the mission.

support my ko-fi I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this. do i leave it as it is? do i turn it into a mini-series? what's happening, brain? idk.

[part 2] banners by @cafekitsune

Cod Masterlist

Can anybody give these old-ass Democrats protest lessons? They're acting like they're still living in pre-2015 politics when the GOP gave a shit and wasn't deranged.

A member gets up and starts shouting: All get up and shout with him.

Don't walk out: MAKE them carry you all out, not shutting up the entire time. I'm serious, go limp, be dead weight.

Putin's Puppet says a provable lie: Everyone chant "LIE" in unison for a solid minute instead of holding pitiful little signs in front of a man who can't read above a 3rd grade level.

Have someone who knows ASL sitting with you, interpreting everything in full view.

If you're gonna hold signs, make them BIG like you're actually trying to do something. Have them in multiple languages.

Make other signs that say clever or cutting things that will make him rage for days. "DOESN'T OLD TRUMP LOOK TIRED?" or "PUPPET PRESIDENT" or "EVERYONE IS FACT-CHECKING THIS SPEECH TRUMP DIDN'T WRITE" or "THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES" or his current tanking approval rating next to a laughing emoji.

Make a stink every day in congress, throw as many bills as you can on the floor even if they go nowhere, look like you're trying.

Have someone, idk maybe someone you actually want to boost for President in 3 gd years, be your voice of opposition in the media, loudly complaining and telling the facts, every single day. Let the people know you're there!

How hard is this? There's probably better suggestions than mine if they actually hired seasoned protestors or behaviorists/psychologists or even the biggest teenage troll they can find on a messageboard.

The Emperor Has No Clothes. So fucking act like it.

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

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.

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