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✰ 𝐊𝐎𝐖𝐓𝐎𝐖 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘
↳ summary: prompt: “on your knees” — A ‘basics’ training course enforced on Task Force 141 after a failed mission causes Simon Riley to lose his cool.
↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)
↳ [1k] content: mentions of injury and violence, oral (m receiving), exhibitionism, rough oral, hair pulling (so inevitably mentions of hair, length not specified), Dacryphilia, swallowing. Ghost is a big massive slut and so am I.
ghost masterlist [coming soon] I| main masterlist |I join taglist
Attempting to get a prolific and deadly team of elite soldiers to engage in a ‘basic self-defence’ training course must have been the most perilous and mortal task Laswell had undertaken in her twenty-year career. You have no doubt that she had already prepped for the uproar it would cause amongst Task Force 414; ‘you’re actin’ like we’re amateurs, Laswell,’ and ‘It’s not as though we’ve stopped missiles or anything.’
The grumbles of the men behind you indicate that they’d been unsuccessful in convincing Laswell that the training program was gratuitous, all looking as though Captain Price dragged them by their ears.
“Ghost, Delta. You’re up first,” he grumbles, his lack of enthusiasm almost comical. Despite the complaints, you couldn’t exactly condemn Laswell for her enforcement. Alejandro’s ribs had cracked wide open when thrown off the roof of a building, caught off guard by a narco he hadn’t seen obscured by the shadows. Ribs L3 to L8 had snapped, L5 managing to pierce through the soft flesh of the Colonel’s lung and rendering him utterly defenceless as the mission descended into chaos.
It goes without saying that Laswell had dressed the unit down to your socks when you returned, Ghost hauling the wheezing Alejandro over his shoulders and into the rendezvous vehicle.
The insulting level of competence that the demonstration requires notwithstanding, Simon steps forward into the makeshift ring, the virtually impossible size of his soles barely making a sound as he walks across the floor. Under Price’s watchful gaze, you’re hot on Ghost’s heels.
It’s a simple task. Simon just has to dispatch you.
Ominously fixed on your face, the skull mask’s obsidian eyes do little to obscure the amber of Simon’s irises in the daylight. He’s gazing fixedly at you, readying himself and widening his stance for the demonstration. The prop pistol in his hand is near comical given the brutality those giant hands had enacted; though, you can’t help but think that someone as savagely efficient as Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley would still, somehow, find a way to annihilate you with the plastic munitions.
“On your knees!” Ghost barks out, his booming, gritty voice startling you despite your anticipation. You barely have time to react to the onslaught of motion, your temporary enemy pressing the barrel of his makeshift firearm into your temple with a bruising force.
Per Price’s instructions, you sink slowly to your knees, hands raised and palms flat to show your lack of armament. The barrel of the plastic G18 lets up against the pulpy skin of your temple, an aching sensation settling into the flesh it had compressed. When you lift your eyes to Ghost, however, you feel as though he’s pistol-whipped you across the face.
Lieutenant Riley’s honey eyes ooze with arousal, something dangerous flitting through the black pools of his pupils. Blown wide, they bore down at you, betraying his stoic composure.
Battering against your ribcage, your heart rate picks up under his stare. Blood rushes to your face, heating it as you gaze up at your captor through your lashes.
You hear Ghost’s shaky exhale from his nose rattle against the plastic of his mask.
✰
Dragging his fingers through your hair, Ghost’s gloves fingerprints massage your scalp as you kneel perfectly still, his hot, ridiculously large cock balanced on the flat of your tongue. His chest heaves quietly, winding strands of your hair around his digits before curling them upwards into a tight fist.
“Deep breath, love,” he rumbles before pushing his hips forward. He clasps your chin with his free hand, keeping your mouth wide open for him as he drags the length of his throbbing cock across your tongue and down your throat.
It’s impossible not to— you gag around him, eyes watering slightly as the blunt head of his cock notches at your throat walls. His nostrils flare, golden eyes beaming in the fluorescent lighting of the hallway.
You barely get a chance to inhale as he’d ordered, using his grip on your hair to yank your head forward onto his dick. You moan loudly, warning a tight squeeze of your strands that cause your hair follicles to strain under the pressure— a warning.
Ghost’s breathing falters slightly as he sets a brutal, punishing rhythm. However, it doesn’t take you long to establish a breathing pattern of your own against his rapid strokes, inhaling every time he slips out of the confines of your fluttering throat.
“Fuckk~” he groans, eyes settled on you like a cross-hair as you make an effort to hollow your cheekbones around his ridiculous girth, eyelashes wet with tears. “You belong on your knees. Looking at me like th—shit — like that in front of the whole unit.”
You’d like to ask him what he means, but he rocks forwards again with a significant snap of his hips that bumps the back of your throat in a bruising collision. Retches threaten to spill from your lips, but his width fills your throat, and Ghost relishes in the constriction around his cock with a growl.
“Yes,” he urges, teeth clenched behind the midnight black balaclava, “Yes, just like that, Christ!”
Ignoring all urges from your body to expel his intrusion in your throat, you swallow around him. It shakes a loud groan from his lungs, the lecherous sound ricocheting off the walls like he’d just shot a pistol.
“You naughty fuckin’ girl,” he chastises you, punishing you by amping up the impossible pace of his rocking hips until tears begin to spill down your cheeks. It only appears to spur him further, a loud, rumbling groan drenching his words, “They’re gonna fuckin’ hear us—“
Moaning in agreement, you nod your head. It’s only slight; you can’t manage much more than a subtle tip forward of your chin. The vibrations seem to rock down his length to his balls because they pull up tight suddenly, and he’s wheezing out a haggard “Delta!’”
He spurts down your throat, coats the insides of your cheek, dribbles down your chin and drips to the floor. There’s so much of him, and you swallow down as much as you can as he leans back against the wall, winded as though an assailant had just punched him in the gut.
Basics lesson number one: Ghost likes you on your knees.
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