Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

MIDNIGHT TEA

Your head was spinning, it made you unsteady on your feet, wobbling to and fro with each step. Your fingertips trailed against the wall as a point of stability. What was the time? 3am? 4am?

Damn boys, you always tried to drink them under the table but it never ended well. You couldn't sleep, between the sugar high, the alcohol coursing your veins and the throbbing headache you'd watched shadows dance on the ceiling until you'd felt sick.

A cup of tea. Your Lieutenant had taught you that there was nothing a brew couldn't sort, providing warmth after a bad day to soothing a rope burn after training. But he wasn't here right now, so you had to fend for yourself.

You nursed a blister pack of ibuprofen in your palm as you clicked on the kettle and reached for the decaf. It was annoyingly high up, no one had a use for it really. 

Feet stretched onto toes, but it wasn't enough lift, so one knee slid onto the counter as a boost and it worked. It worked until someone cleared their throat right behind you and your soul leapt from your body.

"Jesus fuck..."

You would've tumbled down onto the laminated floor beneath if it hadn't been for two gloved hands that gripped your ribcage and caught you. Instinctively, your hands held whoever was behind you. They whispered in your ear.

"Careful."

You let go like you'd been burnt and stood upright the instant his voice graced your ears, raising a palm to your forehead.

"Luitenant."

He let out a nasally laugh, his eyes dropping briefly. The way he'd grazed your breasts meant there was plenty to stare at. You quickly crossed your arms over to cover yourself.

That was when the kettle began to rumble, the bubble of the water getting more intense with each passing second.

His mask shifted as he grinned more, his chocolate gaze returning to yours. Finger by finger, he carefully removed his gloves, pressing into the countertop, caging you into the spot you stood. He smelt of metal and outside, fresh yet dirty.

He got closer, the material of his mask brushing your lips and they fell apart. The warmth of his words came through the fibres as he spoke.

"Think we're well passed that, don't you?" 

An involuntary squeal escaped from your mouth. He wasn't wrong, he'd been fucking you for months. But the charade was so well rehearsed you couldn't help yourself. His dominance over you was on thing that never faltered, regardless of the situation. The red marks around your wrists that you hid beneath your watch and a hair tie knew better than to question his dominance. Zipped together, unable to move. You knew how to break out of the flimsy bit of plastic but you hadn't wanted to as he ate your pussy like a starving man. He'd taken particular pride in making you squirt lately, down to an art, all he said was good girl and you soaked the sheets beneath you. 

Significantly sobered up from his presence but a bold tipsy nature overwhelming your senses, you felt in the mood to fight. You tilted your head away from him. 

"Are we? Past it?"

He leaned in further, grabbing a fistful of your hair right by the scalp and rolled your neck back further. It made your lips part with a sharp gasp.

"Oh yeah baby, we're beyond it."

He rammed two fingers down your throat, the salvia which pooled as you gagged for only a split seconde lubing them up enough from them to slip right inside you when he stuffed his fist down the waistband of your issued pyjamas, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. You groaned as the kettle reached it peak. And when you came as the kettle stop boiling, he removed his fingers and lifted his mask so he could like you off himself before his laugh echoing in your ribcage before he pushed himself off of you, his heavy boots thudding in retreat.

"Mine, pretty girl. 10 minutes."