Ghost + Reader Smut 794 Wc

♡ ghost + reader — smut — 794 wc

tags. dom!ghost, praise, degrading, (light) choking warnings. cheating!, ghost is possessive, cucking, not proofread reader. afab, no gendered terms, gn pronouns (very min usage) note. i cannot defend myself w this,, also hello this is my first fic on here :3 pls enjoy !!

ghost fucking hated it when you brought up the rat that you call your boyfriend.

not once had he ever heard a single positive thing about the guy fall from your lips, yet you've been with him for nearly two years. you were always complaining about him, and ghost was sure that you'd deny time off half the time because it meant you had to go home to him.

ghost knew you were deprived. of touch, of affection, of sex. it wasn't hard to tell, truthfully — he knew you well enough.

that's probably why it hadn't been too hard for ghost to get you into bed with him. he practically begged you to let him fuck you, which he knew would be a hit on his ego later on when he came back to his senses. but right now, he doesn't care.

here you are, underneath him as he bullies his thick cock into your tight cunt, quivering and writhing below him as you near your fourth orgasm. he'd made you cum once from just his fingers, twice from his tongue; he knew he'd have you turned into a shivering puddle of whimpers before he even let himself think about cumming.

he wraps his hand around your throat loosely as he fucks into you, each thrust making a shockwave of overstimulating pleasure rip through your body.

"fuck," he growls lowly. "you feel s'fucking good on my cock, lovie... so fuckin' tight, huh?" his grip tightens almost imperceptibly as he groans, adjusting his hips to hit your sensitive spots just right. "look so pretty stuffed full of me, baby."

his movements slow just a bit when he hears your phone ringing on the bed, and he rustles through the sheets with his free hand to find it. he's about to hang up, or at the very least mute the ringer, when he notices who's calling you.

"guess who," he mumbles, tilting the screen so you can see the caller id. a gasp catches in your throat when you see your boyfriend's name illuminated on the screen in bold white text. ghost doesn't stop fucking you as he answers the call and lifts the phone to his ear.

the man on the other end of the line says your name, expecting to hear your voice. instead, though, he's met by a deep, gravelly one.

"no, but i can put them on," ghost replies, a smirk on his lips even as you shook your head. you clasp a hand over your mouth, trying to keep your moans quiet.

ghost tsks, pulling his hand away from your throat and grasping your wrist, tugging your hand from your mouth. he raised one brow — a warning. don't do that again. he lets go of your wrist then and places his hand on your pelvic bone, using it as leverage to keep you still while he fucks you.

"such a good little doll for me," he coos, speaking into your phone. "taking my big cock so well, aren't you, baby?" he smiles darkly before moving to rub your clit, his calloused thumb rubbing tight, rough circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. you can feel your orgasm building, and you have to hold your breath to keep your sounds in.

"he doesn't fuck you this good, does he?" ghost says, his voice full of faux sympathy and a mocking directed at the man over the phone. you shake your head, but that doesn't please ghost. his brow furrows and he shoves his hips hard against yours, making you cry out in pleasure as his cockhead hits your already bruised cervix. "use your words, babydoll," he murmurs to you.

"n-no lieutenant," you whimper out, the sound weak and pathetic. "you fuck me best. b-better than him."

"that's it," ghost moans, the words dripping with an approval that makes your pussy flutter around him. he rubs your clit harder, faster, determined to take you over the edge again. "cum for me, sweetheart. let me hear you fall apart for me."

you do just that. your body trembles, your thighs closing around his hips, clit throbbing and pussy clenching around him. you cry out his name as your back arches, and he smiles. he looks back at your phone, seeing that your cucked boyfriend hadn't hung up just yet.

"sorry mate, i don't think they're yours anymore," ghost mumbles into the phone, careless for the man's feelings. he ends the call and blocks his number before tossing the phone back into the messy sheets.

he grips your hips with both hands, so tightly that you know bruises will be left behind. slowing his hips, he leans down, his face beside yours.

"you're all mine now, baby," he murmurs into your ear. "all fucking mine."

cr @i7ghost 02292024. do not repost, translate, etc.

when artists draw ghost or price with a soft stomach instead of cut abs:

cw: gun play, throat fucking with a gun im sorry, simon coming untouched, masturbation (reader) I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY BRAIN SO unedited

simon with a gun kink that he's kept hidden would be crazy.

imagine ur big, beefy husband coming home after a long deployment. he's tense, his fists are clenched tight and it's clear he's got a ton of steam he needs to blow off.

at first, you expect a normal night together of him plowing you into the mattress so hard that the bed creaks and hits the wall with every thrust. the kind of fucking that leaves you trembling for 15 minutes after you've finished and cleaned up. the kind that has him pulling you into his arms to soothe and coo at.

but something is different this time.

he starts removing his gear one by one as usual but instead of removing the holster with his gun and safely placing it down, he unholsters the gun completely.

you're watching with bated breath as he unloads the weapon, carefully pulling it back and peering into the chamber. you're watching his hands move, admiring how strong his fingers are and how the veins in his hands bulge out with every movement

you deviously excited by the time he approaches you -- the gun still in his hand.

he brings it up, placing the nozzle against your chin, finger hovering off the the trigger. but you know how well-trained he is -- how good he is at his job. you know that he could have that finger on the trigger in a milisecond, faster than you would even be able to comprehend.

"open," he orders, a voice that sends shivers down your spine. it's firm, rough, authoritative. it's a tone you imagine he uses when he's on the field.

soliders bow to his every whim and you're no better. but unlike those who are trained to obey him because it's their job -- you obey him because you know if you do, you'll get the sweetest reward in the world; that thick, full cock still hidden in his pants.

your panties are already wet and sticky and your brain’s already feeling fuzzy by the time you open your mouth. 

the shock of cold is the first thing you recognize followed by the tang of metal as the weapon settles on your tongue. your lashes flutter as you look up at your husband, face still obscured by his balaclava but his pretty, brown eyes burn holes into you nevertheless.

he slowly and carefully slides the gun deeper into your mouth until it presses against the back of your throat and you involuntarily gag. a groan rips from his cheeks as he watches the tears gather on your lashline.

"that's it, pretty," he coos, "bet you wish that was my cock huh?" you nod your head as best you can with the weapon lodged in your throat, "maybe i'll give it to you if you put on a real nice show for me."

his words take a moment to register in your fuzzy brain but once they do, your hand is flying down between your legs at record speed. you slip it beneath the band of your panties, barely lifting his shirt that you're wearing out of the way so you can finally find relief in the ache that has settled in your cunt.

your folds are wet and sticky as they part around your fingers and you struggle to swallow around the gun in your mouth. there's no give to the metal and drool begins to dribble down your shin in long, thin strings.

simon's cock is hard, heavy and leaking against his thigh. this has been one of his best kept secrets, to watch you submit to his gun -- to the weapon he has used to murder countless people with.

and here you were, doing as you're told, throating his gun while you play with your pretty cunt. he can hear how wet you are, can see the way you desperately hump your own hand trying to get your fingers deeper and deeper. but they'll never feel as good as his, you both know this.

so all you can do is tearfully look up at him through clumped lashes as you choke and gag on the gun he continues to keep stuffed down your throat.

his cock throbs at the thought of being where his weapon is now. he envies it.

you mutter something, muffled and incomprehensible but he knows what you're saying. he can see the way your pupils blow out, hear the way your breathing grows erratic and choppy. you're trembling and breathless, messily jerking your hips into your own hand as you desperately look up at him -- begging for anything to push you over the edge.

his finger finally lands on the trigger of his gun and he sees your eyes widen but the desperate, teary look you give him only tells him more of what you need.

there's a muted, empty click when he pulls the trigger. the gun is empty, you both know this -- but it sends you over the edge anyway.

simons cock twitches and twitches, balls tight and heavy before he's spurting his load down his thigh at the sight of you cumming on your own fingers and moaning around his gun.

the hand holding the weapon trembles as he cums untouched at the entire scene. you pull your head back, gasping for air before pulling your hand out of your panties.

simon lurches forward, you don't even have time to react before he's taking the sticky, messy, cum-covered fingers into his mouth.

he's on top of you, pressing you down beneath his weight, the gun tossed and forgotten on the bed because now all he can think about is fucking you into the mattress. <3

(Source)

141👔

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.