Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

SCREAM (HALLOWEEN SHORT)

Soap didn't even bother to knock as he burst into your room.

"Wee one, get up, we're going out."

You reluctantly dragged your gaze from the film you were watching prior to this interaction, in complete peace and quiet.

"We most certainly are not."

"Aye, we most certainly fuckin' are."

Lips remained sealed, hoping the silence would convey your desires to not move.

"Ghost is coming, av bought masks for all of us. 'Mon, it'll be class."

Fingers closed your laptop over, a sigh paired with the action. The idea of having to get up, brace the cold, put something nice on and leave base tonight was not flying with you, but Soaps energy was so contagious you found your legs swinging out the bed before you could stop yourself.

"SOUND! Right, be ready in 15 minutes, we'll be in the rec."

And with that, he left, accidentally slamming the door behind him in his enthusiasm. It lay on your desk, the Ghostface mask. Stunning. Hands fumbled through fabric, you always brought a nice outfit or two when you were on duty, and they ended up never being worn. You liked your own company during the down time, being able to use it as you pleased. The guys always went out, almost excessively some weeks. But it was Halloween after all, one dance wouldn't harm, especially not when you would be anonymous. You smoothed the black material down over your curves and took a glance in the mirror. A little mascara and some red lipstick were going to go to waste but you wore them anyway, and with you hair down... you hadn't noticed how long it had gotten since it was basically always tied up for work. There was a little glimmer of confidence your reflection sparked inside as you pulled your boots on, grabbed the mask and left.

Your ego was stroked further when you pushed the door open to the rec room. Previous conversation going quiet. You blushed.

"You look great!"

Soap exclaimed, breaking the tension that quickly formed. As always, your gaze naturally drifted to Ghost, noticing his every move. Noticing the way he shifted in his seat, one arm over the back of the sofa, the other dangled, relaxed, between his legs. Everyone was wearing all black, but even in the monotone, each person looked different. Good. That would make for easy identification when you were out.

A couple hours and a few bottles later and you felt free, swaying your body under flashing lights, humidity thickening the air when you inhaled. The beat of the music thud through your ribs, it was amazing. You regretted not coming out with them more often. Mouth dry, you sought relief from the bar.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The tattoos were the instant give away. Ghost in a Ghost mask. How original. It was funny in this inebriated state, and so you giggled.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

You felt brash, bold.

"You."

A hand mindlessly touched his chest, only momentarily. The one thing this mask did that was different was it covered his entire face. The mesh behind shielding even his eyes. It made you realise how well you understood the nuances of his body language. An open book. And as your fingers brushed his t-shirt when you pulled your hand back, he didn't move. The way you'd fancied after him for a while was frustrating. Almost as frustrating as he was. There was a relationship between you sentient enough to know it was there, but not enough to know what it was. Neither of you pushed to uncover it either. His arm stretched out, large fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you into him and you heard a glass smash behind you, the lightest spray of liquid on your calves. Apologies mumbled from a drunk stranger as Simon's arm slid around your back, a hand firmly on your waist. Without tactical vests in the way it was so obvious how strong he was, the muscles of his body flexing. Thoughts were unsure whether to be impressed or whether the reality setting in dimmed how you felt about your own strength. You mumbled into his chest.

"Thank you."

As your gaze lifted you melted into another fit of giggles, here you were fantasising about this man and he was looking down at your with a piece of cheap plastic on his face. Was it funny or was it kinda... Shut. Up.

"Come. Come ON!"

Heady emotions make you wriggle free from his grasp and take his hand, leading him to the dance floor. Fingers interlocked with his as he slowly loosened up, your ridiculous moves infecting him with an insatiable need to join in. Soon, the lights raised; you hadn't even been aware of the time. The comical groan from the bar resounded, Ghost placing a warm hand between your shoulder blades, gently guiding you outside, regrouping with the others. Suddenly self-conscious that you and him had been dancing together for the majority of the night, his hand dropped back down to his side.

Since feet ached from your shoes, you declined the offer to stay up with some beers in the rec, saying your goodnights and trudging the corridors in search of your bed, brain slightly fuzzy, a little dizzy. You leaned against the door after the closed behind you, safety, back in your space. Something shiny made you look at your desk. It was a sweet, a single sweet still in its wrapper. Strange. You moved to inspect it closer. A lemon sherbet. Simon's favourite. Fingers nimbly pulled the edges of the plastic, unravelling the sweet, popping it into your mouth. It was sharp and sweet. You could understand why they were his favourite. Face freed from the mask, eyes glanced at yourself in the mirror. You looked sweaty, tousled, it kinda looked good. Two knocks on the door. At this hour? Maybe just Soap wanting the mask back. You opened it.

"Trick or treat?"

"Simon?!"

Funny. He still had the mask on. You smiled.

"What do you want?"

"I'll tell you a joke if I have to."

The sweet.

"Was the lemon sherbet yours?"

"Ah, you ate it already?"

You pushed it between your lips with your tongue to show it off. The next moves we're a blur. He reached up, taking it out your mouth, slipping his mask off at the same time, putting the sweet into his. Feet stepping forwards forcing you back into your room, a hand pushing the door closed, the other throwing the mask down on your desk. He had the same sweaty appearance, hair messy, his shirt tight. His fingers curled around your face. You could feel as your pupils grew large. Then lips pressed against yours. You offered no protest. The faint taste of the lemon sherbet lingered as he pulled away. Your hands searched for the hem of his shirt, tearing it up and over his head. He didn't refuse, his own hands returning to your body, gripping your waist, trailing up your back, fingers wrapping a little bit of hair from the nape of your neck. You could feel his cock getting harder as he pressed against you. And so you allowed one hand to wander, grasping at the material that was taught over it. His fingers pulled your hair tighter in response, tilting your head back as he peppered needy lips over your neck. A familiar tingly sensation coursed around you, nipples tightening under the dress, warmth accumulating between your legs. Your lipstick was smeared over his skin as his lips made contact with yours again. You could feel the bulge pulsating through his trousers, needing freed. He opened his mouth up, tongue pushing the sweet back into yours. It meant you could barely talk back to him, your moans as he slid your dress up, touching you, simply reverberating against his skin.

"I guess I'll need to find something else as my treat then."