Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Please. Please Simon, oh my god-”

Almost. It’s the word of the day. Almost. Slick fingers and your broken moans occupy his mind. Pleading, no, pathetic and unashamed begging, has spun its sickly sweet web around his ears for the better part of the day.

“I’ll do anything, I promise, just please-”

He wants to feel sorry for you. How wound up and ready your mind and body have to be, stretched so fucking thin between the edges of pleasure and pain. He really wants to. But the switch doesn’t flip. The thought of what’s to come pushes his fingers further into you, curling them until your head hangs forward over the counter he’s crowding you against from behind. A long whine drowns out the pitter patter of tears on the polished marble.

Ghost counts backwards, a little more and he’s been torturing you for a full twenty four hours. He’s not sure if it'll be enough, but it has to do.

Coming home to you is the thing that keeps him on his feet in the field. It’s the prospect of your scent greeting him at the door, your hands that warm his cold skin back up, all the sweet and much too kind things you’ve thought of or collected in his absence. It’s how excited you get to see him, big and sparkling eyes and all, just because he sets foot through the door. All that excitement usually melts into you crying out underneath him fairly quickly, until your voice gets rough and weak because he doesn’t let up. Again, it’s those moments he wants to feel sorry, but what floods him instead as he fucks you into submission is dark and sticky satisfaction. It coats his insides when he bends and twists you just the way he likes it. When you beg him to slow down, go against his instinct to take and mark, knowing it’ll never work, but you try so hard anyway. He knows you love every second of it.

It’s all been the same routine, the ‘be home soon angel’ text, a quick drink after touchdown, goodbyes, and the low vibration humming in him when the lock clicked after turning the key.

What dimmed the shine in your eyes this time wasn’t the prospect of being split in half on his cock though. It was the mundane question of what you’d made for dinner after he emerged out of the shower. The bewilderment didn’t last long on your side, after all, the deployment was longer than usual this time. Grueling weeks spent in the harsh heat of another desert, hiding out in holes in the sand until his skin blistered while various desert dwelling vermin waited for him to finally kick the bucket so they could pounce on their next meal. So like always, your kind eyes found him again, serving him the first actual cooked food he’s had in weeks. Dinner was always quiet when it was just you two, but he saw how your eyes were hanging on him, expectant, waiting, almost giddy.

Not a single shift in his features let you on to what he was really thinking. The image of his hand closing around your throat to hold you in place as he fucks you. Or how he can already hear your whines when he spreads you out on the table for him as dessert. But Ghost needs something else. It's been scratching at the back of his head for weeks at this point, the concept never leaving the center of his imaginary landscape, gluing itself to the back of his eyes ever since you first talked about it.

But if Ghost is one thing, it’s thorough. Preparation is half of the work for the win. And so he started the grueling process of trying to wear you down. First he pulled you onto his cock on the couch after you’d settled down to drown out the restless noises in his head with some TV. Your excited face was extra amusing to him, knowing that it would soon turn sour, pouty and whiny when you wouldn’t get your way.
“Come here sweet thing.” he’d gruffed at you before lifting you onto his lap. The first stretch of your cunt around him blurred the edges of his vision. It’s always how he remembers it when he feels that particular longing sting in the field, but never the same when he actually gets to pull you down onto him. A dark grunt from him got lost between you two when he’d bottomed out, your wandering fingers clawing at his shoulders, trying to find purchase on him while you worked so hard to accommodate him, telling him so much without a single word being uttered from your side.

“Missed you.” you underlined the movement of your tiny hands on him. Hot breath fanned over his throat when your head came to rest on his shoulder, needing some time to fully welcome him back into your wet heat. “Missed this.” you whispered into his skin, open mouthed kisses to his throat soon following after as you prepared to lift your hips. It took everything in him not to abandon the plan and just buck his hips upwards. Every single shred of self restraint had to be pulled together, not that Ghost has a lot to begin with when it comes to you.

From the first time your eyes met, he knew he had lost. How you clutched your notebook tightly to your chest when his hard gaze landed on you, but steadily holding his stare, even if he scared you. The cutthroat business woman soon came back after, arguing with a sharp tongue and even harsher words. And it’s that attitude, the one that reeled him in, intrigued him and ultimately broke his resolve, that he needs to break.

“Don’t move.” Ghost had grunted, hands curling around your hips like a vice. A question washed over your features when you lifted your head again, Ghost had to bite back a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. So eager. Like you always are. “Keep me warm, feels so good like this, love.” he said to you, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss by the back of your head. Not really what you had expected by the look on your face, but also not unwelcome either. Ghost would usually use cock warming to knock you down a few pegs, forcing you to sit still and keep your mouth shut while he sits at his desk and writes reports. Feeling your cunt leak around him while he ignores your occasional pleas as his fingers tap away at the keys. Sometimes he’ll bind your hands or stuff your mouth with something if you’re a real pain in the ass, torturing you with a few hushed words of what he’d do to you if you would just behave. One of his proudest moments is making you come like that, just a few words and his cock lodged inside you, unmoving. Falling asleep with him still inside you had become a regular occurrence after that.

So you took the opportunity gladly, settling down on him, head laying on his chest and listening to the thrum of his heart. Minutes passed and you did as you were told. A rare occurrence, but you were always the most pliant right after he came home, all of your rough edges softened for him so nicely. He likes you feisty, giving him a run for his money the same way he does to you, never wishing for it to be any other way. But that first warm hug gluing all of his broken pieces back together after he stares death in the face pulls at his heart more each time you embrace him right in the doorframe.

His hand twitched on your thigh as you lifted your head back to him, coaxing him into a few deceptively soft kisses. The back and forth of you trying to break his resolve and him giving you no ground leaves Ghost reeling everytime he thinks about it. The fact that you just always try to get your way while being fully aware that his line of work shaped him into an unmovable mountain, no matter the situation. No one in their right mind has the gall to deviate from Ghost’s orders, except you. The way you never take any shit, always trying him, but also submit to him only at the press of a few fingers or a few words hissed through his teeth. So, right on cue, your tongue slipped into his mouth, banking on your knowledge of how wild and sloppy makeout sessions drive him wild. He indulged you for a few seconds, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, savoring the pull in his abdomen at every little movement from you. The little nips of your teeth on his bottom lip snapped him right back to reality, hand flying up to grip you by the chin.

“I said don’t move. Behave.” he hissed at you, your face a mere inch from his.

Your mouth was pulled into a grumpy line by the time he lifted you off of him, setting you back down beside him like a pillow. The pink dusted over your cheeks plucked a string deep down inside him to devour you, eat you alive wholeheartedly. Sometimes, when the noise of war dies down around him and he gets to rest a little in the field, he allows himself to let his mind drift back to you. And after all the sweet and domestic things he’s come to cherish about you leave, the dark red memories make him salivate with want. It was the same feeling now, seeing your chest heaving, breath leaving you between your slightly parted lips. How your lids fluttered when he tutted at you for ruining his fresh pair of sweatpants.

“M’going to change, can’t sit around with your mess on me.” he had simply said, watching the pink pulling your cheeks taught turn a deeper shade. You staying put was implied, but your favorite pastime had always been to nitpick his sentences and use unspoken commands to circumvent his orders.

Ghost’s hearing wasn’t the best after years of blast waves and explosions ripping at his eardrums, but you had to think of him being deaf if you thought you were being quiet while sneaking into the bedroom right after he’d pulled on a fresh pair of briefs. Having the security of being turned away from you, he allowed himself to close his eyes in bliss as he felt you molding your body to his back, little hands sneaking around his waist to brush your fingers over his still very prominent erection. Choosing to forego any underwear after a particularly frustrated Ghost had ruined your favorite pair of lingerie by slicing through it with a knife a while back made the soft press of your chest to the middle of his back even more pronounced.

Another reminder to himself to stave off the ever more scorching urge to just take you until you passed out curled his fingers into a fist around your wrist.

A yelp got stuck in your throat with the force of his grip pulling at your body until all you felt under your elbows was the soft sheets of the bed, Ghost having maneuvered you over his knee, big hands already ripping at your shorts, wasting no time.

The softly glistening folds of your cunt were split by two thick fingers without warning. But just as suddenly, Ghost pulled them back out, lifting them to his mouth to taste the filthy mess, making you whine lowly as you watched him.

The noise only served to have him force three fingers of his other hand into your mouth, pushing deep and bruising until you gagged.

“Shoulda made you clean the mess off me with yer mouth. Home for an hour and you’re already fucking soaking on my cock, desperate little slut.”

Underlining his scathing words were his fingers plunging back into you. The way your eyes turned from wide and alarmed at the intrusion to glazed over and embarrassed at his rightful observation spurred him on to fuck you with his fingers at a brutal pace. There was no way in hell his erection could possibly flag at any point into the evening, not with the way you drooled on his fingers as your whole body shook with the force of his fingers and all the ideas and ways to break you down flitted through his mind.
You’d confessed to him once that you rarely ever got yourself off when he was away to make your reunion even more intense, knowing that once he drew the first orgasm out of you, the real fun started. So it was no surprise that your body was already winding tight with the approaching high. Observation was a critical part of Ghost’s expansive skill set, so he read you like an open book. It was easier to control you this way, spending hours pushing and pulling you from the brink of that last final orgasm that you need with just a few cues. The way your toes curled, your head lifted, the sharp edge in your voice. It was all he needed to drop you right at the top, letting you fall back to the foot of the mountain.

The smile was something he couldn’t bite back as you cried out when he took his hands off you, leaving your quivering hole to clench around nothing.

“You’re so mean.” your meek voice pouted out when you turned away, trying to hide your humiliation at his smiling face. It was never said between you two, it never had to be. The twitch in your body every time Ghost reminds you of how easy it is to get you wet, how ready you always are for him, opening your legs and mouth without fail every single time when he tells you, it says enough. And you know that he knows.

What usually pushes you over the edge is him telling you how desperate you look, ruined by him and only ever wanting more, like the insatiable cum slut that you are. When he outright tells you about the power he holds over you, not needing his strength or even his body to make you submit, all it takes is a few words.

Your humiliation fuels Ghost in ways that he never thought possible in turn. Seeing you hide your face away in your hands as he tells you to ask for what you want. When your mouth snaps shut at his knowing smiles and looks. He feels like he’s flying when he finally pries your darkest secrets and desires out of you, only for him to know and abuse. He always has to make sure, hear you say it. Because the last thing he wants is to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable with his actions. So sometimes, he sits with you, usually in the tub, massaging knots in your muscles and kissing your bruises, and just lowly whispers in your ear what he’s been thinking about until you do the same.

That night, you fell asleep on top of Ghost after he ruined two more approaching orgasms for you. Edging wasn’t something new for the both of you, sometimes Ghost lets you take control of his own pleasure if you ask for it. This is more. He’s holding back just as much, contrary to usually letting himself get lost in your frustrated sighs, heightening your desperation at seeing his face twist when he comes but stopping you from doing so.

His hand drew lazy circles on your back, savoring the grounding weight of you on top of him. He had almost given in again when your frantic and whining voice begged him to at least fuck you so that he could get himself off, knowing how pent up he always came home.

“I won’t come, I promise Sir, just please-,” you twitched when Ghost’s tongue flicked over your clit just the way you liked so much, “please! Ah! Use me, what about you Sir?”

His fingers digging into your skin were the only thing keeping him from taking you up on the offer, ever so worried about him, even when his face is buried in your sopping cunt.

The following day was torture. Sleeping invigorated you to new heights, trying to entice him every way possible. Pulling your hot mouth off his hard cock when he opened his eyes the next morning started the painful chain of events that would lead the two of you to right now. Your fluffy bathrobe you so adored was left hanging after your shower, opting to stroll back into the bedroom naked, smiling at the way Ghost traced the droplets of water running down your shiny skin. He couldn’t fault you for putting on a short dress, it was summer after all, but reaching up to cupboards and bending down to pick things up after you “forgot” your underwear gave him enough reason in his mind to sit you down on his lap and finger you until you cried. Without final satisfaction in sight for you of course.

“You could lure me with a trail of sweets to your cunt, still no way in hell I’d fuck you angel.” he sardonically told you when you’d gotten louder, commanding him to just fucking take you. “Fine, then I’ll do it myself.” you hissed, striding past him towards the bedroom. Ghost watched all of the hardass attitude drain out of you at the drop of a hat when his hand shot out to grab you by the scruff. His low and dark voice would’ve never let on how hard it currently made him to see your timid face, knowing once again where your place was.

“Go on then. Make sure to tell me afterwards how a fucking piece of silicone feels better than me.”

So, here you are. Hours later and your resolve finally starts to shatter when Ghost leaves you feeling empty yet again, tears on the countertop for nothing. Your shoulders hang forward, hands on the counter trembling when he takes a step back. Now there’s a little sliver of sympathy when you slump forward with shaking knees, his straining cock’s been rubbing up on you for the whole ordeal, every fiber in his being screaming at him to finally do something about this pressure that just builds and builds. He knew it would take a little, but not a lot. The feeling of longing when you’re apart is mutual, no call over the satellite phone ever ends without him or you uttering a few words that would rile the other one up.
The sun falling through the window bathes you in an orange haze, making the edges of your silhouette glow with a full body halo, Ghost feels like worshiping you. You’re always so good for him, letting him get into your head and push all of the distracting things out until all you can think about is him.

Your reward is not far away now. Hot flashes prickled all over his skin when you approached him about it. Baring the most vulnerable parts of yourself to him, trust overflowing in your eyes and showing him that it’s possible for him to be vulnerable too in the process.

“Simon, I don’t think I can take much more.” you hiccup, honesty in your voice pulling at his heart. A shaky thumb pushes around the salty tears on the countertop, your body still not standing up straight, not turning around to face him.

“Mhm, you won’t have to angel.” he murmurs down at you when his arms come around you from behind, pulling your weak frame against his hard chest.
“Be right back.” he says and presses a loving kiss on your temple.

You’re leaning on the counter by the time he gets back, facing the door with tired but still intrigued eyes. A hatch opens within Ghost, flooding him with dark waters, keeping all the things that lurk deep down in them hidden. It goes along with jolts of electricity, excitement and anticipation pooling in his gut when he sees you, a hand kept behind his back. What has occupied his mind, no, plagued him, for weeks, is finally here.

And he sees his feelings reflected back at him when you hear the distinct jingle of a bell as he walks up to you. Your features are painted with disbelief and expectation alike, Ghost can almost see your heartrate picking back up as he holds out the collar to you.

The dark fabric is smooth, emitting a heavenly noise as he hands it to you, several little bells attached to the collar. He drops it in your outstretched hands with a serious look.

“Did you drink enough?” he sternly asks.

“Yes Simon.” you answer, saying his name to underline that you’re attentive. Listening to instructions that ensure your wellbeing.

“Did you eat enough?”

“Yes Simon.”, you breathe, a familiar flush spreading over your chest.

Ghost pushes his body into yours, two of his fingers lifting your head by the chin. Focus is required now. The excited vibration humming through him almost makes his teeth rattle. “The moment the front door closes, you have thirty minutes.”

His heart is hammering against his ribs, so hard they’re close to shattering. “The woods to the west. Anything goes wrong or you change your mind, you call me with this. Understood?”

He pushes some sort of walkie talkie into your hand. The back has a sleek black button attached to it. A tracker. Only for emergencies, of course. Knowing where your target is takes the fun out of hunting.

“Yes.”

The shake in your voice hits him in the face like a freight train. Still so eager. Completely focused on him. Just how he likes it.

“Run. Hope you can wear me down a bit for your sake. I’m fucking hungry.”

Chapter Text

The anticipation thrums through Ghost like an angry swarm. His legs prickle with it as he sits on the couch after the lock has fallen in place behind you. Your unfocused eyes haunt him, almost as full of anticipation as he currently is. He knows you enough to imagine your parted lips and hammering heart as you stumble through the underbrush, so full with dark and wanton enthusiasm that sloshes around in you, making you unable to keep your head on straight or find the right footing. If you don’t get far enough to make it real exciting this time, he’ll teach you some tricks to make sure that the next time you let him hunt you will be so thrilling and rewarding for the both of you that you’ll never want him to have you any other way. Or maybe you won’t find it as appealing as you thought you would. That’s fine with Ghost too. The possibilities are endless, ever since you two decided to stick to each other, his mind has never stopped whirring with scenarios and you indulge him in every way possible. 

He thinks back to the first time you looked at him with that certain look of invitation. An empty conference room on the base of the company he had signed his life away to at that time. Not the best offer in front of him, nor the type of work he usually takes, but the lines of your body and the sharpness of your tongue that talked circles around every other agent trying to get him on board swayed him in that direction. 

Another mission of guarding heavy artillery for transport had been behind him. Sharp clouds of gasoline permeated the fabric of his mask, mixing with the burnt traces of gunpowder. He was certain he had swallowed both of those substances as he walked past the glass door of the room, because the fire that ignited within him as he saw you there, tapping away at your laptop keys in the late hours of the night, was unlike anything he ever felt before. You had lost your blazer, the lines of your shoulder only illuminated by the faint light from your screen, cut in half by the fabric of a strappy top. He could feel your flesh giving way when the image of his teeth sinking into your skin flashed across his mind. How he could trace the dip of your collarbone with his tongue, undisturbed, your hair being pulled back, so as to not get in the way of you or him. 

Before he could even finish all of his thoughts, his hand was on the handle pushing down and drawing you out of focus. Another rush had gone through him when the lines of concentration fled from your face to give way for all the softness he was looking for. After a few hushed words and him invading your space after you had gotten up to help him back to the barracks, Ghost had feigned being lost to draw you closer to him, resulted in him having you spread out on the table for him. A full course meal for the soldier coming back starved. 

The months after are a blur, you pulling away because of “professionalism” and hundreds of “I don’t fuck my coworkers” had never helped, because Ghost never let go, pulling you back in every time your eyes met. The weeks came and went, the two of you hovering around each other, sometimes clashing in a furious burst of scraping teeth and finger-shaped bruises. You lost sight of each other for a while after Ghost had to take on another contract. And while ‘out of sight, out of mind’ rang true for other people, Ghost banned the saying from his vocabulary the second your face flashed behind his eyes every time he would get a moment’s rest. After a week, he chalked it up to missing your plush skin beneath his fingers and your fuckable mouth. After three, it was the tone of your voice calling his name, and shortly before you would find your way into his life again, it was nothing physical at all, only your energy that bled into him every time he was around you. Except maybe the times his own fingers were too rough around his cock when your parted mouth and soft moans swirled around his mind when he got himself off. 

The vibration searing through his muscles as your face lit up at the sight of him made him uneasy at first, the feeling entirely too foreign in his cold bones. The round of negotiation had been none at all when the name of your PMC was on the table again. And when you two had clashed again, entirely too early for your so-called “professional boundaries” you so adamantly drew the first time, Ghost was done for. 

The balaclava slides over his head in one smooth motion, the gritty scent of the desert it still carries fills his senses, pushing his mind back into that familiar mold of steel. The routine usually signals his body to come face to face with his own demise again. It used to be something intriguing, the possibility of leaving everything behind once and for all. But over time that changed to the uneasy feeling currently trying to make itself a home in his gut. Because of how you poured your love into him and taught him to let the feeling flow throughout his body. 

A look around the home you built for him to rest and find himself curbs the beginnings of nausea. Another look, towards the clock this time, shows that fifteen minutes have passed. He wonders how far you might’ve gotten, and what strategy you were going for. Years of working in the business of warfare had left their mark on you. Sometimes even teaching Ghost something new. The knowledge of your natural talent, coupled with the things you’ve picked up over the years threatens to take his semi to full mast. He can’t wait. He cannot fucking wait to chase you, hear your puffing breaths alongside the jingle of the bells around your neck as he hunts you through the brush. 

A hand on his cock does little to curb his excitement at the prospect of catching you and eating you alive. But it’s fine. Not the first time the likelihood of dominating someone, whether through violence and gunfire or you through his mere presence, has had him chasing someone with bolts shooting down towards his dick. 

10 minutes. 

Should he fuck your face first? Quiet down your squeals with his cock, until your eyes roll back into your head while strings of drool paint shiny webs on your tits?
Or maybe he’s nice. Eating you out feverishly, loud and so fucking sloppy that your juices and his spit would soak into the ground beneath him. The images force his hand back to his cock to keep him from coming into his pants like a fucking teenager. He decides to take it with the spur of the moment, like he always does, too much planning sometimes takes the fun out of it for him. 

What makes the predator finally purr contently in his chest is the knife he straps to his thigh. Love for cold steel on your body had been the first thing he had pried out of you, almost having to catch a tear running down your cheek as you told him in a shaky voice, you were so embarrassed. Thinking back to those times floods him with pride for how far you’ve come in that regard. Sure, he had helped you along the way to indulge in your fantasies, but the work you did was entirely your own. The fact that Ghost makes you feel so safe that you could come to him with anything, repressed desire or not, is one of the greatest achievements in his life. 

5 minutes. 

He stands by the door, watching the seconds tick away, by now nearly trembling with a gnawing urge to fuck you like he hates your guts. 

The clock ticks over to the sound of the door handle bowing under his gloved hand. Cool air hits his exposed skin, a whip crack of concern pulls his muscles tight for a second, your flimsy dress can’t possibly be warm enough. More fuel for him to find you faster.
Boots scurry over gravel, past your cars, past the gate to your home, and down the dirt road leading up to it. Between the grit of sand and gunpowder stuck to his mask, he imagines your scent, by now laden with dark oak and the sweet tang of your heart hammering away in your chest. 

A thin branch bent away from its siblings on the border of the woods gives away your entry point, your first mistake. Ghost lays focus into his ears but they don’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. The sun’s not far down enough to completely darken the woods, but it won’t be long now, he wonders how you’ll fare by then. 

Trailing isn't Ghost’s specialty, too many variables for him, the heavy weight of a .50 cal in his hands and the crosshairs that search for a head in need of a bullet suit him better. But he’s picked up a couple of things from Laswell, among others.
Like a battalion standing at attention, the trees are close to each other in this part of the forest. Tall and proud are the trunks, webbed together with their smaller siblings growing right beside and all around them.
It’s so faint that he almost misses it the first time his eyes sweep his surroundings. The snapped twigs, the condensed moss, and again, the branches bent out of the way. A spike in his pulse pushes a hot rush to his head, he has your direction.

He follows your trail, almost losing it a few times when your feet have been so fast that he has to stop and reexamine his surroundings to find your next step. A noise to his left rips his head up, hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his knife. The full moon he had planned this night around takes its sweet fucking time showing up tonight, his squinted eyes don’t pick up anything out of the ordinary though. His pulse doesn’t slow again. This was the first taste of what it would be like to see you rush behind a tree once he’s spotted you. 

He hopes you run, try to make one last escape for your life before he inevitably catches you. Fucking hell, he can taste you on his tongue already. 

How the adrenaline threads through your usual syrupy sweetness with acidity, turning your intoxicating aroma into something that will actually drive Ghost mad this time. 

He breaks out of the dense treeline to find a dirt path. You wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? But then again, the hard and dry dirt would obscure your footprints if you do it right. And Ghost knows you enough to know, that you know that. He has to stop for a second to figure out if- 

There it was. 

Faint and far away, but it rattles his bones when the little bells call to him. A dull snap indicates your movement at Ghost’s head whipping up in your direction. You were watching him. You actually had the gall to watch him. 

A maw opens in his chest, thick strings of saliva curl around sharp teeth as the predator pants at your scent. His own jaw clenches with the fountain of frenzy bubbling up in him. 

Your downfall will be your arrogance, thinking you can dance around Ghost and keep him at arm's length, when all you should’ve done is run away as far as possible.

His jeans get tighter again when he crosses over the road, a tingle wanders up his hands and arms with every step, he’s close to you now. 

Another far away jingle nips at his legs to fall into a light jog. His speed isn’t nearly fast enough to make his pulse thrum in his ears, and yet, he has a hard time following the muted thumps and snaps that indicate your movements through the constant heartbeat in his head. No, it’s not physical exertion that has him huffing and puffing. It’s the flash of light fabric darting behind a bush, the illusion of fleeting taste, inviting him. 

To take. To have. 

Ghost swears he can hear a curse leave your mouth, hushed and winded. He’s getting closer now. The moonlight breaking through the treetops illuminates the crown of your head for a split second, he sees your head turn, swiveling around frantically with the underlying song of your collar calling him. 

The cold and wet stone of Ghost’s gaze finds your eyes, visible just above the bone white grin, a mirror of his sardonic grin stretching over his bared teeth below the mask. A bated breath hangs in the 200 meters between you. 

“Gotcha Bunny.” he utters. 

If you heard it or not, Ghost will never know. His stare alone is enough to make you turn on your heels and bolt. 

The hunt is on.

With a snap, every fiber of muscle in his legs contracts to launch his heavy build off of the soft ground and after you. Through the motions, his hand flies down to his thigh, fingers closing around the hilt of his knife with vigor as you take a sharp left, almost wiping Ghost out with the force you change direction with. 

Your little legs give it their all, such a contrast are your sharp and fast steps to his heavy thumps right behind you. The trees fly past Ghost, a blur of bark and leaves in his peripheral vision, forgotten when his focus hones in on you again.
There’s a rumble in his chest at the flashes of skin that disappear and reappear between tree trunks, transforming into a content and low growl as he gets close enough for his ears to pick up your panicked puffs of breath. 

You miss a step, a tiny shriek leaving your mouth. Even now, when Ghost is in full pursuit, you try to keep quiet, as if you have a chance of getting out of this unscathed. 

But alas, your limbs manage to straighten themselves out in the right manner to keep you from taking a tumble. 

A drip of acid sours the warm anticipation lapping at Ghost’s ribcage, but it has nothing to do with you. Sure, he’s physically fitter than most men his age, by a long shot even. What he didn’t calculate is how enduring you are. Your legs show no sign of slowing, not even a little bit. 

And while Ghost is fast, so fast for his build that even a very agile and limber Gaz only beats him by a hair’s breadth, his explosive bouts of strength only ever last so long, even less so as the years go by. He’s made for fast and hard aggression that overwhelms, not attrition warfare. 

To his surprise, that realization roars in his chest, pulling him forward. 

Every breath forced out of his lungs goes along with a dark grunt, feet coming down even harder on the ground now. The distance between you two shrinks with every passing second, tendrils of your scent pull at him, the bells around your neck call to him louder and louder. 

You’ve been keeping focused on the task so far, head only turned in the direction you’re running in, but curiosity gets the better of you as your head turns. Ghost can’t pry apart the features of your face in the dim light, your eyes tell the story of prey. Pulled open wild and hectic when you catch sight of him on your heels. 

But your sweet mouth is almost… pulled into a smile? 

“You little…” is all he manages to press out before your form disappears. 

You abandon the oath of silence as your limbs tangle around you on your tumble down the hill, letting out an even louder shriek that mixes in with water splashing around you. The stream isn’t deep enough for Ghost to worry about your potential demise by drowning.The wet fabric of your dress now clings to the shape of your body, spurring on his feet to descend, this might be his chance to finally rip into you. 

You’re back on your feet fast. Droplets glisten around you in the dim moonlight as you make haste to get out of the water. A string of curses leaves your mouth, clearly not as amused as Ghost over your current predicament. While you pull on the hem of your dress, trying to force the wet and clingy fabric back over your ass to retain some sense of the dignity you’ll completely lose tonight, he strikes. 

Just as your legs fall back into a jog, you catch him, out of the corner of your eye, a big gloved hand reaching for you from behind a tree.

Your squeaking exclamation is cut off by said hand forcing itself over your mouth, the iron vice closing around you, the trap snapping shut. 

It’s always the same, no matter if he’s in the field or at home. A talent, you could say. He takes advantage of the smallest distractions. An opening he’ll force to get bigger by squeezing himself through even the smallest cracks in someone’s defense. Worrying more about exposing yourself to the forest creatures than to put immediate distance between you two, gave Ghost the opportunity to cross the river farther down from you, not a single droplet of water on him. Call it the home advantage, but it’s not his fault you chose to tumble into the stream where the old trunk that Ghost sits on when he needs to clear his head bridges over the stream. 

Your squirming stirs deep within Ghost, a mixture of amusement and impatience from the predator floods him. Heat from your skin seeps through his clothes, pouring gasoline into the already roaring fire inside him. All of that comes to a stop when you feel cold steel at your throat. 

The element of surprise of the knife works in Ghost’s favor as your body goes lax for a split second, allowing him to pull your weight backward toward the bank of the stream. Fear over nicking your skin on Ghost’s blade forces your feet to work with him, a cacophony of snaps and cracks under your struggling limbs, following his iron grip to a flat patch of grass. Nature’s done enough physical damage to you for today, Ghost decides what happens with you now. 

A quick pull to the side has you take one more tumble, coming down on the ground hard on your side while he follows suit, no time to recover or worry about the bruising on your hip tomorrow. A grunt is forced from your chest, mixing with the jingle from your collar as they respond to the impact. Arousal spikes again, igniting his veins and pooling hot and heavy in his abdomen. It adds more force to his weight, currently crushing your hips as he plants his knees beside them and sits down to keep you from trying anything stupid. 

A glance at your face reveals no such inclinations. Bewildered eyes try to track over Ghost’s face for any emotion or cue, but alas, the mask prevents that, so your gaze clings to his own, maybe he’ll let something slip. 

Impossibly, he’s getting even harder now that you’re spread in front of him. The rapid rise and fall of your chest, hard nipples only partially obscured by the wet fabric, your pulse he can almost see thrumming under the skin of your throat. All the details missed while chasing you, now revealed in a pale light. It feeds the pull in his abdomen, winding the coil tight, just on the verge of snapping.

“You’re all wet, little Bunny.” he hushes down at you lovingly. 

With no time to respond, a gnarly rip resounds off the trees as your tits get kissed by the chilly air as Ghost just rips apart the top of your dress with his bare hands. 

“What, forgot your bathing suit?” he questions down at you, eyes following the movement of your chest, your erratic breath showing no signs of slowing. 

He follows his eyes with his head, the side of it coming down softly just over your heart. Almost distraught it bounces around in your chest, each raging beat punching itself into Ghost’s head. A dull moan cascades over his head at his hips grinding into yours, a smile spreading over his face as he continues, lifting his head up until his nose presses into your temple. 

“Everything okay, love?” he faintly questions. The small turn of your head towards him with a soft confirmation out of you clenches warmly around his heart, always so appreciative when he checks in on you like it isn’t the single thing on his mind every time before he ruins you. 

The soft moment dissipates once your mouth falls open in tandem with your legs at Ghost’s absentminded movements of his hips. His right hand lifts from beside your head, the rough pad of his gloved thumb swiping over your right nipple, sending a jolt through your body, always so fucking sensitive, just the way he likes. Your body still doesn’t dare to move, just taking the slow and hard rolls over your cunt, like it’s the only thing you’ll get tonight. 

It fucking blindsides him when you breathe out shakily, muscles winding tight under him, a telltale sign. 

“You’re gonna come like this? Really?” he grunts into the side of your head accusingly, underlining his scathing question with mean fingers pinching your nipple again. 

“Close…” you mewl quietly, eyes screwing shut at the degrading words. 

A surging feeling closes up his throat, he wants to give it to you so bad, go back to the feeling when he drew the first orgasms out of you. Hanging on your lips, fulfilling each and every one of your requests, his mind absolutely boggled that you’d even let him close to you at all. The way you give yourself into his hands, just the idea of you doing it willingly is still enough to get him hard. 

His form lifts so suddenly that the loss of his weight and presence startle you. The last intact remains of your dress go, his knife gliding downwards through it, the fabric falling to the sides. It’s so fast and primal in nature, sliding back onto his knees while Ghost’s hands pull on your hips without a single conscious thought imploring them to do so. Your lower back lifts off the ground with only the force of one hand under it, while his other slides the balaclava over his nose. 

The usual admiration for the plush folds of your cunt in front of him as he leans forward is absent, not a single second wasted as one arm over your lower stomach keeps your legs in place on Ghost’s shoulders as his tongue sinks into your folds. 

Your head is forced back by a long whine out of your throat, exposing the long line of your neck to Ghost and he takes the invitation gladly, tipping you over further as he grunts into your wet cunt to press his massive fingers to the side of your neck, just above where your collar sits, knowing the exact soft pressure you need to make you fall off the cliff that much harder by heart. 

The obscene noises of his tongue lapping up your juices mix with your breathless moans, it’s all that reaches his ears, he feels drunk with it, has to close his eyes as it overwhelms his senses. 

Little nips and tugs have you trembling, pulse hammering so hard he feels it through the gloves on your throat. 

“Yes, yes, yes-” you grind out between your teeth when the flat of his tongue abuses your clit, chasing your orgasm with rolling hips. 

It rips through you unexpectedly, muscles under your wet skin tighten around Ghost’s head, pushing and pulling his mouth closer to you, his nose fully buried into the apex of your cunt. He almost opens his eyes too late, almost misses the delicious way your eyes roll back, the tight pull of your trembling body lifting you off the ground. He keeps you steady through it, continuing his brutal assault through the waves and ripples, lapping up your cum feverishly. 

Overstimulation pulls you tight again once you start to come down, but Ghost has tasted blood now. 

Bolts thunder through you with force, body wanting to pull back with keening whines, but he’s got you where he wants you, he always does, whether you are aware or not. The hand on your throat rises to clamp over your mouth when your voice gets too loud. 

And your body betrays you. Still gushing around him while his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your head upright to look at him. His gaze sears itself into yours, forcing you to watch all of the thoughts flitting behind his eyes while a low rumble bubbles out of him, still underlined by the sounds of your sopping cunt.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, going from silently begging to ease up on you to the same hard edges they take on when you accuse him of being mean. 

It takes a while to push you over the hill, eyes swinging between pleads and demands all while thrashing like a caged animal in his grip. A few suckling motions over your clit, tongue slowing to a grinding pressure has your face going soft again. Not once do you two break eye contact, Ghost now hellbent on drinking in every single muffled noise under his hand, supported by your pleading eyes. 

The second orgasm comes slowly and softly, washing over you with gentle waves that manifest themselves through the long and dark moans under Ghost’s hand. Appreciation for it floods him, the slow and languid way your body moves now, trying to chase the aftershocks, not the big drop with your first orgasm. 

Too gentle for all that has preceded the movement, he lowers you down back to the ground with both hands, proceeding to peel the still wet remains of your dress from your shoulders. He’s seen you naked countless of times, but to sit in front of you, fully clothed, while you’re bared to him and only him, it prickles on his neck. A reminder of his strength in a way, not that he needs one, especially with how vocally appreciative you are of his physique every time the chance arises. A visual image of the imbalance of power, that is none at all.
This all happens because you choose to, your fingers controlling the strings of Ghost, if he’s honest with himself. 

But until you choose to exercise your power, he’ll push you to your limits for as long as he can, just to have his sick appetite see where you might break. 

“Take it off.” you softly whisper, Ghost entirely too aware of you trying to shift the balance with your outstretched fingers coming towards the edges of his mask, still sitting over his nose bridge. 

“Shut up.” he just grits out, swatting your hand away and pulling the mask back down. Your scent trapped below it carries the promise of frenzy, pure unadulterated lust searing through his veins again while he opens his belt. 

You look like you might want to run again at his gesture, but you won’t get the chance tonight again. Streaks of dirt break apart the smooth plane of your skin as he turns you over, forcing your head down onto the grass, arms spread out in front of you like you’re praying, maneuvering you into something he can fuck into without restraint, no matter how much you beg and plead and whine. 

“I’m gonna fill you, stretch out your hole ‘till you cry little Bunny.”
His words go along with him pulling his cock out of his briefs, angry and red it sits in his hand. A hiss pulls through his teeth when his gloved hand slides over it once, twice. “Come and try it old man.” you quip at him, voice entirely too confident for the way your ass is up in the air right now. 

He slicks himself up with your juices, one hand between your shoulder blades, and slides home without warning. The intrusion catches you off guard, squirming under his hand, a pathetic mewl leaving you. 

“That’s what your fucking mouth gets you.” he seethes. “So fuckin’ nice to you, eating your little pussy when I should’ve just strapped you to a tree to choke you out with my cock-” 

He’s rambling now, absolutely no blood left in his brain as he thrusts into you. 

“Begging for it all fucking day, desperate little whore.” His hand on your ass doesn’t sting nearly as much as his words do. He is absolutely right, of course. 

"Acting so damn needy, like no one takes proper care of you. Like you're a bitch in heat, willing to offer this ass to just about anyone. Should take you back with me to base and pass you around my men, like the little insatiable slut you are."

Ghost doesn’t miss how quiet you go at his words, all of his focus honed in on you, the way you just take him like the good little soldier you are. 

What he can’t know (or maybe he does, you’re not sure with Ghost sometimes) is how his words spin around in your head, reaching so far into you, so scathing and nasty, but so delicious in that twisted way, spreading warmth throughout your limbs. 

The initial physical pain subsides into stinging pleasure, your weak voice unable to vocalize it, too overwhelmed with Ghost invading all of your senses at once. 

“Still with me, little Bunny?” he jeers, coiling your hair around his fingers with a shake, the rhythmic jingle of the bells around your neck faltering with the sudden movement. You’ve never actually passed out from getting fucked, not for lack of trying on Ghost’s part.

“Sir…” comes your meek voice from under him, not sure what to respond, too full, too overwhelmed, too lost.

More, he needs more. More of your skin scraping under his fingers, your limbs tangling in the grass, holding on for dear life while he pistons in and out of you. Both of his hands fly to your hips. Bruising fingers dig into your flesh, the need to hold you down not necessary anymore, once you address him as ‘Sir’, he knows he’s won already.

Even though you know it’s coming you can’t stop crying out as Ghost’s hand pulls you up by your shoulder, flailing to find purchase under you before his arm slings around your neck. 

His chest molds to your back, blanketing you in warmth, head coming down next to yours. Safety floods you, the only person in the world who could ever feel like that while Simon Riley has them in what is essentially a headlock. The new angle, his frantic and unashamed whimpers next to your ear, it’s all so fucking much, he’s doing it on purpose, you know it, feel it in the way his face turns toward you.

You hate him sometimes for knowing you so intricately and coupled with the fact that he loves to abuse your weak spots, takes advantage, no, revels in the way your mouth goes slack when he invades your space, knows that you’ll fold at a look, a few words, a press of his massive hands anywhere on your body. Once, after an assignment that went to complete shit, Ghost spoke the words aloud that you would’ve never dared to. In all of the frustration, he reminded you of who he is. What he’s capable of. Asked you if you enjoyed getting fucked by a killer while he had you in a mating press, a plug in your ass, and his fingers down your throat. The taboo feeling that shot through you still scares you a little to this day. You’re not sure if you needed the reassurance afterward, of course he would never hurt you, but the idea of what Ghost, not Simon, is, continues to pull at the forbidden locks within you.

It’s the knowledge that always brims in his eyes, all the things he knows and uses to make you feel so good, taking care of you in all other aspects of life, just because he wants to. 

Safe, close, held, loved. 

“Thank you, Sir.” you press out between thrusts, trying to get your inner workings out into the open before the overwhelming feeling threatens to make you cry. 

A string deep within Ghost’s chest vibrates at your words, you’re so good for him, always. Your appreciation dampens the already receding feelings of the primal need to own you, never failing to surprise him with what you can do to steer him in a certain direction with just a few words or a look. Deeper and slower thrusts take the place of the fury that’s plagued him, your head leaning towards him as far as his arm around your neck allows it. Appreciative noises tumble out of you, broken sighs when he pulls out almost all the way, only to split you in half again slowly and methodically, just the way you like it.  

Your neck tingles with the raw strength rippling over your back, each movement entirely controlled and executed.
Ghost almost gets lost in the slowness, the dragging feeling in his abdomen, not enough, but so good, he never wants to stop. The atmosphere around you suddenly shifts, your combined energy permeating the air around you. The cold and dark forest where Ghost hunts his prey disappears, leaving the soft grass under your fingers, Ghost’s forehead rubbing against your temple as he circles his hips, drawing a dark and heavy moan out of you. 

“Can’t decide between coming on your face or inside you Bunny.” he whispers to you.

Not that that’s really a question. “Inside, inside please, Sir.” you plead with him. A chuckle bubbles out of Ghost before he can help it. It’s just always so delightful to hear it from you. The familiar tingle in his lower spine sparks up at your words, calling him to chase after his high with you. 

“I love how you always want to be bred by me, babe.” he hushes at you, eyes clinging to the flush pulling your cheeks tight. “Wanna kiss you…” your pouty mouth mumbles instead, words never quite matching with what your body tells Ghost. 

And who is he to deny you something as simple as that? Positions are changed quickly, one more spark shoots up Ghost’s spine with the noise of him pulling out, won’t be long now. A statement that hits him square in the face when you spread your legs in front of him, the mischievous smile playing on your lips not lost on Ghost. The balaclava joins the remains of your dress, as do the gloves, his bare hand wiping over his face in a patetic attempt to collect his frayed remains.

“Fuck, I should really do it, huh?” he grunts down at you while he blankets your body with his. A question from your end is lost in a sigh when he sinks into you again, lips slotting against yours as the slow and languid thrusts pick back up again. 

Close is all he wants now, coming down onto his elbows to breathe you in, pick apart all of the notes of your scent he was so ignorant to up until now. 

Wet streaks are left behind where his tongue swipes over your throat, lips coming to rest on your pulse point beneath your ear. 

“I should really breed you, fuck my cum into you, over and over, until you carry my kid.”

Ghost underlines his words by picking up the pace, hooking your left leg over his shoulder, inspiring you to wrap your right one around him, drawing him in deeper as a response to his statement. “Yeah, I’ll pump you so full Bunny-” he hushes down at you before his lips come down on yours once again. “You’re not gonna let anything go to waste, you hear me?” he mumbles between kisses.

He’s not talking to you to get a response, the pleasant sound of your voice reaching his ears is welcome nonetheless. 

“Want it Si, give it to me.” 

Slinging your arms around him grounds Ghost for the final stretch, hips snapping the only movement in his body, chasing, running, chest heaving with deep breaths. Your faces are not even an inch apart when he breaks, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you as his orgasm blurs the edges of his vision. Open mouthed whimpers escape him, carried to your mouth pressing kisses on the edges of his lips, taking in every twitch and jerk of Ghost’s body as electricity fries his nerve ending. “Fuck, fuck, god, I- fuuuuck- ” he grinds the words between his teeth.

It doesn’t stop, one continuous stream of high voltage transforms into shallow abandoned thrusts. 

“Yes, fuck it into me Si, just like that.” you mewl at his ear and he hears the demons from below call to him. 

A shout disturbs the quiet woods, his hubris not going unpunished when the walls of your cunt ripple around him, having been so enamored with himself, your third orgasm for the night approaching at his words, going completely over his head. He’s tethering on the edge, stretched thin between pleasure and pain as you come apart under him, clinging to him, wanting to be closer if anything physically allowed you to. 

—

“You sure you that tumble didn’t hurt you?” 

Ghost is honest with himself, asking you again about the fall you took has a little teasing edge to it. Equal parts of pleasure and humor will forever mix in his mind when he thinks back to the way you pulled your dress over your ass when it was all wet. 

Wet, like you’re both right now, but warm with the steam wafting around the dimly lit bathroom, originating from the tub you’re sitting in. Your head lolls backward over his shoulder, a content sigh swirling around the steam over your heads at his hand sliding over your throat. 

“I’m sure Si, you can stop asking.”  comes your answer, he can hear the smile in your voice. 

Your scratched-up legs, alongside the angry red skin that came to light once the dirt on you was washed away, sit sour in the pit of his stomach. A lesson for next time. 

“Did we really just fuck out in the woods?” comes your amused voice again. “Sure seems like we did love.” he answers just before pressing a kiss on your shoulder. One of the less weird places when he thinks back to the church confessional on your trip to Warsaw. 

The hard hitting questions are already out of the way, both of you coming away from the experience with a mutual vow to do it again, maybe a few tweaks here and there, but now that it’s not plaguing Ghost’s mind anymore, he’s free to go about it with a clear head. One more thing is on his mind though…

“You really want me to put a baby in you?” he sweetly asks down at you, like his hands aren’t already on your tits again. After all, a blowjob was promised if you got a piggyback ride out of the woods. 

“Fuck no.” comes your answer, fast and final. 

To some people, Ghost’s existence is only valuable so long as he saves others. He’s content with you two being selfish in that regard, he doesn’t like to share.