This turned into a full slow-burn and found family story... Hope you're in for the long run <3
Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen today, of all days, to wear the socks with the little cat paws.
You hadn’t noticed it before. But you do now. Now that you’re standing right in the middle of Simon’s kitchen, and the floor is somehow… too bright. Too stark a contrast to the tiny, colorful paws on your feet—and to the crying child in front of you.
You squat down, a little too fast, almost stumbling, and pull the sleeves of your shirt over your hands to dab the tears from Sammy’s cheeks. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. Nobody’s taking your cereal away from you, alright?”
Sammy immediately shakes his head, his lower lip trembling. “Yes, he will.”
You pause for a moment and look up. Simon is standing behind Sammy. Both his son—and you—are right in his line of sight.
His gaze makes you shift your squatting position several times. First down onto one knee, until you realize it looks like you’re proposing to Sammy. So you switch to both knees and sit back on your folded legs.
“He—” You clear your throat softly, glancing back at Sammy. “He doesn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, he does,” Sammy immediately insists, his voice cracking.
Okay. Good. Great. Now what?
You nod slowly, as if in agreement, even though you have absolutely no clue what you’re actually doing here.
“Okay… Maybe he does mean it like that.” You force yourself not to look up at Sammy’s dad again and swallow hard. “But only because he wants you to stay healthy.”
The crying subsides. Just slightly.
That’s good. That’s… progress. You think.
“Vegetables are important, right?” you add, cautiously as if you were treading on thin ice.
Sammy nods hesitantly. His one-armed grip on the cardboard packaging remains tight. The other arm still in the cast.
You let out a quiet breath. "And if you want to grow up to be as big and strong as your dad—" Your gaze lifts again, settling on Simon’s muscular arms, and your thoughts falter—drifting in a different direction.
You look away again, perhaps a little too abruptly. "—t-then you have to eat your vegetables."
Sammy doesn't look convinced. So you press on.
You raise a hand, making a vague gesture in Simon’s direction. “This all comes from—well… from vegetables. Zucchini and cucumbers and—”
Oh God.
No.
Don’t keep talking.
Please don’t name another long, thick vegetable.
“—carrots.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
With eyes much too wide, you stare at the floor beside Sammy. Heat creeps up your neck.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Simon. How he slowly crosses his arms over his chest and continues to look down at you.
You don’t have to look directly at him to know that Simon is grinning right now. “Definitely the carrots," he says.
Your head lowers more, your shoulders lifting slightly, as if you could retreat into an imaginary shell—like Tuna would. But you take a deep breath and force yourself to carry on, acting as if you have the situation completely under control.
“How about this—” your voice is a little too fast, a little too high. “you can eat some of your cereal now, okay? Just a little bit.”
Sammy blinks at you. You blink back. For much too long. Why are you two staring at each other? Why isn’t he saying anything?
“And if you’re still hungry after that,” you continue, slower this time, more cautiously. “then we’ll have a proper meal together. This—” You gesture toward the food on the kitchen island beside you. “is probably… um… pretty good.”
Is that true? You have no idea. At the very least, it doesn’t smell like anything specific.
Sammy looks back and forth between you, the food, and the cereal. "I eat that one first," he decides, pointing at Simon's food.
You pause. Good, your quick Google search right after Simon’s brief phone call earlier had paid off.
"Then the other way around. Real food first, some cereals after," you agree, offering him a small smile.
Sammy hands you the box of cereal so you can put it away for later, then climbs onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, with great difficulty.
Your movements are calmer than you feel inside. You know this house. You lived alone with Sammy long enough to know every inch of it. Simon’s presence... it throws you off balance.
Suddenly, it’s no longer quiet. No longer empty. It feels alive. And safe.
You turn away from the cupboard where you’d stowed the cereal, only to jump back from the person who has suddenly appeared right beside you.
"Holy fu—" You cut yourself off instantly, pressing a hand against your chest to steady your heart, which is now pounding even faster from the fright, and glancing over at Sammy.
"—chsia," you quickly correct yourself.
Sammy looks up from his plate. "What’s that?"
Your cheeks flush crimson, as if you’d just run a marathon. Your heart certainly is beating that fast. "It’s a pink and red flower, sweetie," you answer a little too quickly, breathing a silent sigh of relief.
That answer satisfies Sammy, and he goes back to eating. Much too quietly. Much too cooperatively.
"Simon!" you hiss in a loud whisper, debating whether to give him a light smack on the arm for practically teleporting right next to you.
He simply ignores your reaction, acting as if he hadn’t just snuck up on you. "You’re good with kids."
You shake your head immediately. "No." A brief pause follows; your hand drops away from your chest, and you lean back against the kitchen counter behind you instead. Facing Sammy, just so you wouldn't have to look at Simon. "I... uh... looked it up. Reverse psychology..."
Now you turn your head halfway toward him; panic nearly constricts your throat. Or maybe it’s just the way you have to tilt your head to look at him when he's standing this close. "Well, not—uhm... for m-manipulation. J-just... U-uhm... just to... help."
He says nothing for a few heartbeats. But he returns your gaze. "Effective," he remarks calmly.
Your heart gives a small, erratic lurch. You ignore it.
Then you nod, as if he had just given you an instruction, and walk past him—much too quickly—toward the side of the kitchen island where Sammy is sitting.
Damn it, focus!
Simon follows slowly, then continues on into the adjoining living room and reaches for the Blu-ray cases that are scattered across the couch.
"Nice socks," Simon says from behind you.
You freeze.
Cat paws.
Oh God.
"...Thanks."
~~~
How the hell did you end up here???
Sammy sits in front of you, grinning, his cast wrapped in plastic bags. Shaving foam clings to his chin, and his hair has been styled into a Mohawk using shampoo. His giggling echoes off the now damp bathroom walls.
Simon squats beside the bathtub.
Fortunately, he managed to talk Sammy out of climbing into the tub as well—otherwise, it would have been far too cramped. At least, that's what he said.
But he didn't say a word, when Sammy had clung to your leg after the movie you all watched after dinner and begged to take a bath with you two.
Every excuse you offered had resulted in big, fat tears rolling down Sammy’s cheeks. At the end, you couldn't say no, as always.
Now, here you sit in Simon’s bathtub, wearing a bikini and an extra T-shirt.
It was stupid of you to put on a white T-shirt; it has already become completely see-through.
Simon holds the can of shaving foam. His arms are propped against the rim of the tub, putting his tattoos on full display. Stray droplets roll across his skin, and foam clings to his fingers—fingers from which it is far too difficult to tear your gaze away.
"You too! You too!" Sammy squeals, clapping his foam-covered hands together so hard that the suds go flying through the air and the plastic bag crinkles.
The blush refuses to leave your cheeks. It has become a permanent accessory on your skin.
You cup your hands into a small bowl, and Simon shakes the can of shaving foam again to spray some into your palms. With every movement he makes, his dog tag clinks against the outer wall of the bathtub.
"And now?" you ask Sammy, who looks at you as if you’ve just insulted him.
"That’s shaving foam! It goes on your face!" he explains to you with a groan, reaching for your wrists with one hand to guide your hands up to your face, one after the other.
A strangled sound escapes your throat as you let Sammy move your hands. The foam spreads across your cheeks. The scent is all too similar to the lingering smell Simon leaves behind in a room whenever he walks past you.
"Not so rough, Sammy," Simon gently admonishes his son from the side.
Sammy leans back into the warm water, letting himself sink down, and small ripples lap against your chest.
You scrape together the foam left on your hands and tap Sammy on the nose. A smudge of foam remains. "Bad barber. Doesn't even finish the job."
"What’s a barber?" Sammy asks, though he’s more focused on holding his hand out to his dad again for more shaving foam. The bathwater is already getting cloudy.
"Someone who trims and shaves their customers' beards," you answer, though you aren't entirely sure if Sammy is still listening.
"Huh?! Dad does that himself." Sammy rubs the fresh glob of shaving foam between his fingers. "Daddy, are you a barber?"
"I’m not, buddy." Simon fends off the little hand trying to smear foam onto his face, too. "Besides, I don't need a shave yet."
Sammy sticks out his lower lip in a pout. His gaze lands on you. "Are you a barber, Mommy?"
If you weren't already sitting down, you would have toppled right over.
Mommy. Mommy? Mommy?!
"Uhm... I... uh..." you stammer several times, your eyes wide with shock. Your gaze darts everywhere before finally landing on Simon, who says nothing to correct his son.
This time, he doesn't return your look, busy washing the last traces of foam from his hands in the bathwater.
"Uh—" you start again. "I'm not."
Oh God—wait, is Sammy getting this right? Or does he think you just rejected the title of 'Mommy'? Did you just turn down a five-year-old?
"W-well—uhm... not a barber," you correct yourself—quite unnecessarily.
Sammy giggles. "Well, you don't have a beard, do you? Of course you can't shave anyone."
You nod without looking at either of them. "Exactly," you reply quietly, still baffled.
Silence settles in. You wash the foam from your face.
"That's enough for today, Sammy. Wash your hair, then off to bed," Simon declares, setting the bottle aside.
"Nooo," Sammy whines, but he loses the argument against Simon pretty quickly.
The child turns his back toward you. "You do it."
He leaves you no choice. You shift on your knees. Your wet T-shirt clings to your body, restricting your movement as you reach for the showerhead and turn the water back on.
Simon reaches into the water and pulls the plug. The water begins to drain slowly.
Once you decide the water temperature from the showerhead is just right for washing Sammy's hair, you place your hand against Sammy’s forehead to shield his eyes from the water. "Tilt your head back, please."
Sammy exaggerates the motion, throwing himself backward right against you.
"Oh!" escapes your lips in alarm, and you drop the showerhead to catch Sammy.
"Sam." Simon’s deep voice immediately fills the room with a warning tone, cutting short Sammy’s laughter and squirming. "Don't hurt her."
You quickly suppress your rapidly pounding heart and focus on rinsing the shampoo out of the now-still child’s hair.
Simon holds out a towel for his son as he stands up the moment you finish rinsing his hair. He wraps him in the towel and carefully lifts him out of the tub.
Then, you stand up as well. Your T-shirt is so thoroughly soaked that it hangs heavy against your body. The water isn't just dripping from you; it runs down your skin in steady streams.
"We'll be in Sammy's room; you can get changed in here," Simon informs you. "The towel is over there." He nods his head toward the small cabinet beside the bathtub, where the towel is lying.
"Thanks," you whisper, offering him a faint smile.
Sammy nestles against Simon’s shoulder, half-asleep within a matter of seconds.
Simon turns toward the door, opens it, and steps out. He turns around again in the hallway to close the door behind him.
You notice the look he casts your way. How his gaze briefly slides down your body. And lingers there for far too long—only breaking away when the door finally shut.
A/N: This is actually inspired by every hybrid ghost fic out there. I just thought, what if tf 141 are vampires in the military, not hybrids? Well, here is my thought to it.
Words: 6.8 k (This got out of hand lol sorry)
Triggers: P in V, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, pet names (many, sorry), drug use (Viagra, Addyi) and probably incorrect description of the effects sorry, dark content
The news that you'll be accompanying Task Force 141 on the next mission sends shivers down your spine. Knowing you're assigned to Ghost makes you want to write your last will.
They don't expect you to come back. Why would they? Ghost's human blood reserves have never returned alive. Rumor has it he's usually given more than one human blood reserve because at least one always dies.
This is confirmed when, at the end of the Task Force 141 mission briefing, you're sent into the room with three other people. The other's blood donors are already there. A woman for Soap, a man for Gaz, and a man for Captain Price.
A woman to your left is standing upright, her hands behind her back, as if she is a soldier herself. She doesn't show any fear. The man next to her is doing the same. You don't understand how they manage to hide their fear until you notice the order in which you're standing.
"We thank you for your service," Price begins. You've long since stopped listening. You're standing at the front—you're Ghost's first human blood reserve. The two people behind you are just your backup.
It's said that Ghost uses his blood donors three times. No one has ever survived the third time. Your room has already been given to someone else, your life insurance policy cashed in, and your death certificate is already prepared at your notary.
Price explains all this while trying hard to make eye contact with you. He ultimately blames it on the fact that it's a "high-risk mission." You don't believe a word of it and don't return his gaze.
Instead, your fear-filled eyes meet those of the man who is supposed to mean your death. Ghost's dark eyes are already fixed on you. Intense and definitely hungry. Your heart rate immediately increases, and small wrinkles form around his eyes, as if he's grinning beneath the terrifying mask.
When the mission briefing ends, you're the first to leave the room. You can't escape; it's already too late. And the employment contract you signed contains a clear clause that makes it impossible to terminate it mid-year.
Instead, you're using the little time before your deployment starts to make preparations. You will survive Ghost. That's your final goal before your military contract expires at the end of the year.
---<>---
They call it "the feast" when they return to the safe house for the first time, where you, as their blood reserves, are kept for the duration of their deployment. Everyone has their own room. You're mostly in Ghost's room, barely moving. Your replacements spend their time in the run-down living room. Their jokes don't make it through the walls for you to hear, but you're not in the mood for laughing anyway.
So far, the plan is for Task Force 141 to return to the safe house once a week to satisfy their blood hunger. Your daily routine consists of drinking a lot, eating iron-rich food, and experiencing several nervous breakdowns.
That Ghost will eventually appear in the doorway of your room is expected, yet it still startles you when he does.
You swallow hard. Your heart rate automatically increases, and Ghost takes another step into the room, closing the door behind him. "This heartbeat isn't exactly helping my self-control, honey."
You back away as he approaches. "Relax," he murmurs.
Controlling your breathing is virtually impossible, and instead of calming your heartbeat, your limbs only began to tremble. Your head felt far too light compared to the sensation in your legs. Your circulation nearly stopped with fear.
"Calm down. You'll pass out before I've even started." He's mocking you. You can hear it in Ghost's voice.
Not a word escapes your lips. Instead, you slump down on the bed behind you. With trembling fingers, you pull up your sleeve and offer your arm to the soldier.
He makes a sound that reflects either disappointment or outrage. "No fight at all?"
You look away, your arm still raised, speechless.
"Such a good girl," Ghost purrs, kneeling before you. He takes your arm and holds it in a surprisingly gentle grip. With his free hand, he pulls his mask up a little, exposing his mouth. The sharp fangs flash between his lips as he opens them slightly.
Every muscle in your body tenses as he guides your arm to his face. His mouth rests on your pulse point at your wrist. You can feel his lips against your skin and squeeze your eyes shut, as if that might lessen the pain that follows as his sharp fangs sink into your skin.
A whimper escapes your throat. At first, you feel only pressure, then the tearing of your skin and the sharp fangs sliding beneath it. The pain intensifies into an almost unbearable sting. Instinctively, you try to pull your arm away, but Ghost's grip tightens around your wrist, causing the first tears to stream down your face.
His teeth disappear after a short time, replaced by his tongue licking the open wound from which your blood is flowing. You lose all sense of time. He must have been kneeling there in front of you for quite a while. When he finally releases you, you're so dizzy you can barely see.
All feeling has deserted your body, and you're unsure how you're even managing to sit upright.
You register that Ghost is moving around the room. He takes your arm again when he stops in front of you. You want to scream, to pull away, to stop him from touching you again, but your body is in shock and won't allow any movement.
You don't feel pain again, but instead a bandage being wrapped around your wrist. With enough pressure to prevent further blood loss from the open wound. "Still there, bunny?"
No reaction, just your arm falling from his hand when he lets go. Your eyes roll back, and then your body topples backward. The mattress cushions your fall.
---<>---
Even days later, you're still struggling with the blood loss.
It's time to start your life support measures. One out of every three times Ghost has used you as live food. Only two left.
Your packed backpack doesn't contain the items you're supposed to carry as a walking blood supply. Instead, it's filled with ways to prevent Ghost from killing you in a blood haze next time.
Task Force 141's arrival is announced over the radio this time. Minor injuries among the soldiers, so you're to prepare for a larger blood donation. You do—in your own way.
When Ghost enters the safe house, everything smells of death. He immediately notices it and sniffs. "Did anyone die?" he asks no one in particular. His two backup blood supplies are sitting at a table, shrugging their shoulders, unconcerned.
"It can't be mine. I can hear Bonnie's heartbeat," Soap replies and heads straight upstairs to his room.
"The smell is coming from upstairs, so it's yours or Capt's," Gaz explains, turning the corner to the only room on the ground floor.
Ghost knows Price is the last person who would kill his blood supply. An annoyed breath escapes Ghost, and he follows Soap upstairs. As Gaz said, the smell gets worse and more intense the closer he gets to his door. But there's a heartbeat. Much too fast to belong to someone dead.
When Ghost opens the door, he wants to turn right around and go back out. But his eyes stay fixed on you. You're standing in a corner of the room. A sheet of plastic is spread out beneath you to protect the floor from the blood that's covering you. A dead man's blood—from head to toe. You left only one arm clean; the one without a bandage.
You look like you're the one coming from a battlefield, not him. Thick drops trickle down your body, over your top and shorts, down your bare legs. The blood is old enough to look brown, slightly clotted, and—that smell...
"Hell, girl." Ghost slams the door behind him, the rage in his eyes unmistakable.
You say nothing—why would you? Your presence speaks volumes. You simply raise your clean arm, almost as if you're offering yourself willingly this time. Your heartbeat is still fast, but calmer than last time.
Ghost's hunger outweights the aversion to the smell of old blood, which overpowers the sweet scent of your living body.
With a few steps, Ghost is at your side, roughly grabbing your arm. He's not as gentle as last time, sinking his teeth into your skin the second his mask is pulled up.
You're prepared for the pain this time, yet a pained sound escapes your mouth. Ghost drinks quickly. This time, the pain doesn't come from his teeth, but from the sucking on your skin. You can practically feel the blood being drained from your veins.
Just as dizziness begins to set in, Ghost abruptly releases you. He goes straight to the door, taking deeper breaths as he moves further away. "Not again," he warns, and then leaves the room.
And you celebrate your success. You're still alive.
---<>---
The third time follows. You're even more nervous this time, but better prepared. With something actively keeping him at bay.
He enters the room, relieved not to have been greeted by the acrid smell of death in the doorway. But then he sees what you're wearing. Silver armor. You look like a knight, only your head and neck are bare. Everything else is covered in plates of silver with crosses welded onto them.
"Are you kidding me?!" Ghost growls. The door slams even harder behind him this time as he enters the room.
The missions are getting tougher, his healing powers weakened by the meager amount of blood he consumes. Missions are always a diet for him anyway. And you're only provoking him and his control even more.
You say nothing. As always. But you tilt your head to the side, offering him your neck. And this time, Ghost can detect your scent and the pulse in your carotid artery. His teeth immediately sink into his lower lip, even though he'd just been debating whether to use one of his spare human blood reserves today.
With a few steps, he's at your side, but there's no surface he can touch without getting burned. He bends his head down, his lips lingering at ear level. "You think this will save you." His words are barely a whisper, and beneath his armor, the hairs on your skin stand on end. "It won't."
Then his teeth are at your neck, digging in deep, his jaws linger longer than necessary. This time, the pain is entirely deliberate; Ghost bites harder and harder. Your shoulders tense up, the armor against your body clanking.
You raise your hands to push him away, but then stop for two reasons. First, if you push him away, his firm bite on your neck will likely tear out far too much flesh, and you'll bleed to death. Second, you're not strong enough to push him away anyway.
So you decide to use your words. "Please..." You don't know exactly what you're asking him for. That he'll stop? That he won't kill you? Or perhaps that if he does kill you, he'll do it quickly?
His teeth pull from your skin, his tongue licks the bloody wound, then his lips briefly leave your body. "Bunny can talk," he says mockingly. You can hear the grin in his voice. "Please what?"
"Please..." you start again, swallowing against the pain in your throat. "...don't hurt me." It's the only thing you can ask him for.
"Oh, sweetheart, so soft and scared." Again his tongue licks your throat, catching every drop that flows in a small river from the two open wounds left by his canines. "Take off the armor," he demands then.
You shake your head. Your throat feels constricted. You can't say anything more to him.
Ghost lowers his head back to your throat and his open mouth over the bleeding wounds. Like before, he sucks at the spot, almost greedily. His hands rise frequently, trying to grab a hold of you, but always end up pulling back. Every now and then, his skin hisses where it touches you. His fingers against the armor on your arms, the side of his jaw against the silver on your shoulder, or his chin touching the edge of your chest armor. Yet he doesn't stop.
He's so close, you can hear him swallow. And you feel his breath brushing your neck. What you hadn't considered is that your head is completely unprotected. Ghost's hand finds the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back further. Your neck is now even more exposed, and he doesn't waste a second shifting his teeth to another spot, biting down hard, further increasing the blood flow.
Your skin is warmed by your own blood, which flows down your neck and throat. You whimper and whine like an injured animal.
Because of the angle at which he holds your head, you can barely breathe properly. And now, in addition to the blood loss, comes the oxygen deprivation, which instantly causes you to collapse.
Ghost doesn't catch you. But he doesn't take any more blood from you either. He just looks down at you as you gasp for air, clutching your bleeding neck. The silver armor reflects his silhouette. "Your tricks will run out eventually. And when that happens, I'll be there to take everything you've denied me."
With that, he leaves.
---<>---
You've broken the record. You've survived Ghost three times.
Standing in the doorway to his room are the two people who are supposed to replace you after your death, staring at you in utter surprise.
"You're still alive," the man says dryly.
The woman examines the bandages on your body. A thick one around your neck, one on one wrist, and a plaster on the other. You're pale, but alive enough to play blood donor once more. "That'll do for today."
"Who's next?" They're not having the conversation with you, but about you. The fate of the next living meal is sealed with a game of rock, paper, scissors. Next will be the woman, who now wears a sour expression and gives the man the cold shoulder as she leaves.
The man's gaze meets yours again. You're sitting at the foot of the bed—your body pitifully slumped and exhausted. "Nice to have known you. You were very brave," he tells you. You don't reply, but lower your gaze to the floor. The man closes the door behind him as he leaves.
You open your hand. Two different pills stare back at you. You swallow them without another thought and then, with great difficulty, peel yourself out of your clothes as the pills slowly take effect.
Task Force 141 is on their way back. Soap's living blood bank informed you an hour ago—the only one who actually talks to you once the soldiers are gone. The only one who convinced you to actually make your last attempt at survival and not give up. She winked at you when you finally agreed and took the pills out of your backpack, along with the lingerie set you're now wearing.
You hear the front door open and the quiet voices as the soldiers head off to their blood banks. Then Ghost's footsteps in the hallway. And finally, the door to your room opens.
You don't dare look up. He would see your dilated pupils and the flush on your cheeks, caused by the heat coursing through your body. You're already feeling dizzy, so you avoid getting up and stay put on the corner of the bed. You're not sure if the wet patch between your legs is from the hot flashes or the intense arousal. But you know the headache and fatigue are signs the pills are taking effect.
The door closes quietly. "That trick... I like it," Ghost murmurs. He approaches you, more slowly. His eyes take in your barely covered body. And then you look up, meeting his gaze.
Your lips are slightly parted, as if you were about to say something, but you immediately forget it at the sight of him. Your pupils are so dilated your eyes look almost completely black. The whole room smells of your sweet blood and the unmistakable scent of desire.
"Beautiful parting gift, bunny." His hand finds your jaw. Fingertips trace your face, lifting your chin a little higher. The wound on your neck should be hurting, but you don't make a sound.
Your fingers tremble as you slowly lift them and remove the bandage from your neck. Of course you're cooperating. You have been the whole time.
You tilt your head to the side as Ghost's hand falls from your face, offering him the uninjured side of your neck.
"Such a good girl," Ghost praises you. "So good."
He kneels in front of you, getting down to face level. "I'll do this slowly and painlessly, okay, birdie?" In response, you simply close your eyes and await the final bite.
It comes after a few moments. Ghost's hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place. Then his mouth is on your throat, his teeth scraping at your skin. "You smell heavenly," he whispers against your skin. Then comes the bite.
It doesn't hurt this time. Just like he promised. His teeth slowly break through your skin and withdraw instantly as the blood begins to flow.
Your skin feels even more sensitive from the pills. The sound creeping from your throat is a full moan. Your fingers dig so tightly into the sheets beneath you that your knuckles turn white. Your chest curves forward further, tilting your head to the side to give Ghost better access. "Jesus, babe," Ghost breathes against your neck and starts to drink more. Each time he sucks on your throat or traces his tongue over the wound, your vocal cords vibrate with a new moan.
Ghost can smell how wet you're getting. He can practically hear the hormones coursing through your blood. Your heart is racing, but this time not with fear, but with arousal.
His free hand moves to your thigh, pulling your leg to the side, and he shifts his kneeling position from beside you to in between your legs. Your thighs are now pressed against his sides, one on each side. You try to squeeze your legs together to create friction, but Ghost's body is in the way.
Ghost's lips pull away from your neck. He licks a few drops of blood from his lips and swallows. He looks at you intently, and you wonder if the pills will finally take effect and save you, or if you'll be lying dead on the bed in the next hour, your corpse likely dragged out of the house by Price and set on fire.
It takes exactly two heartbeats before Ghost's gaze darkens. "What have you done?"
The dizziness intensifies, as does your desire, as your gaze slowly travels down his body to the clearly visible bulge in his tactical pants—definitely affected by the pills; the effects he's also absorbed through your blood.
It takes you several attempts to answer, your voice breaking with a low moan. "Viagra and Addyi," you explain honestly. In your state, a lie isn't even possible.
Ghost snorts. "You only had to ask, bunny" His hands find your thighs and he pulls you closer to the foot of the bed until you can barely sit on it. "Now we have to deal with what you've done."
You close your eyes again and let your head fall back. His hands on the bare skin of your thighs are almost enough to bring you to your climax. And Ghost can clearly smell it. "Fuck, baby. With that trick, you've sealed your own fate."
His lips find the skin on your breast not covered by the lace bra. The skin is immediately sliced open by his teeth.
Blood trickles from the scratch, down between your breasts, across your stomach, and into the thin panties.
He's no longer focused on your blood. Instead, he's sucking on every inch of skin he can get hold of. You can only respond with a shamefully loud moan. Your trick is working, but the price is high.
Your hands leave their place on the edge of the bed and find Ghost's body instead. The hard muscles beneath your fingers and the cold skin extinguish any remaining semblance of common sense. You find the rolled-up balaclava and reach under the fabric. With one swift movement, you lift it over his face until it's completely removed and you can let it fall to the floor. He looks at you. Not angry or furious, but not with understanding either. "Dangerous, sweetheart," he warns, but it's too late. You see every detail of his face and every tense muscle.
And then, without hesitation, you press your lips to his. His teeth immediately catch on your lips, and you bleed into the kiss. Ghost responds instantly, harder, more demanding. He forces your mouth open, shoves his tongue inside, licks your lips and the bleeding spots, while his hands tighten around your thighs, pulling you so close that you're no longer sitting on the end of the bed, but completely in his grasp. You wrap your legs around his hips to keep from falling backward, and your hands dig into his shoulders.
Then Ghost stands up, with you in his arms, pressed tightly against him. You don't break the kiss or his tight grip. Your arms wrap around his neck, preventing him from pulling away. He takes a few steps, places his hands on your ass and back, and then leans forward. You remain pressed against him until your back hits the mattress. Only then do Ghost's hands release you, and you allow it.
Ghost follows you onto the bed, not directly above you, but along your legs. He leans forward, presses a kiss to your thigh, and bites down hard. You hiss in pain, but at the same time, your back arches with pleasure coursing through your body.
You barely feel the blood loss. Ghost drinks in large gulps, almost without stopping. Only the scent of your far too close pussy makes him pause. Instead, he presses several kisses to your skin, up your thigh, and then a kiss to your clothed center. "Ghost," you moan at the contact of his lips with your middle.
Your fingers grasp his hair and grip the back of his head, pinning it in place. "Oh, sweetheart, don't worry, I'm not leaving. You deserve this."
His fingers reach for your panties and pull them down in an excruciatingly slow movement. Just enough to expose your pussy without him having to get up from his position between your legs. And then, without warning, he licks from your entrance all the way up to your clit, collecting the traces of your slick on his tongue. "Fuck, this is better than your blood, darling," he raves, pressing his lips to your clitoris and sucking hard. You almost scream. The increased blood flow from the pills makes your entire genitals way too sensitive.
You're already way too close to an orgasm, and Ghost hasn't even really started yet. "Oh God, Ghost, I-I..." you begin, your voice trembling.
"Mmm, bunny. Come for me. We have all night for more." His breath brushes against your wet center and, after his words, immediately returns to where you need him most. His tongue finds your entrance, licking several times at a spot you didn't know was that sensitive. You come with a loud, high-pitched moan on his tongue, and a growl escapes Ghost's throat, as if someone was trying to take food away from a hungry animal.
He doesn't give you a second to recover from your first orgasm. His tongue rubs against your clit. Your muscles tremble, and with each movement, you involuntarily slide a little further up the bed. "Where are you going?" Ghost asks, grabbing your hips and pulling you back towards him with a jerk.
"Wait... please." Your voice is just a faint whisper, a pathetic attempt to get a moment to let your body adjust to the heightened sensitivity.
"What should I wait for? For the pills to wear off? Sweetheart, that'll take a few more hours," he teases. One of his hands leaves your hips and brushes against your skin until his fingers are between your legs. He inserts a finger inside you, slowly and deliberately. "Like this?" he asks provocatively.
You moan uncontrollably as he presses his finger against your G-spot. He rubs and presses the area repeatedly. His eyes never leave your face. He watches as your hands clutch the sheets beneath you for support and how your chest rises and falls rapidly in short, sharp breaths.
"Beautiful." His sweet words reach right to your throbbing core. Your muscles tense, the knot in your lower abdomen tightens with every movement of his digit. His code name slips from your lips, like a prayer. And then the knot breaks, white arousal rushes through your body in liberating waves.
Ghost doesn't remove his finger from your pussy; instead, he pushes a second finger in until he's knuckle-deep inside you. You gasp so sharply, as if you've been shot, not having the best sex of your life.
"Too–ah!" The movement of Ghost's fingers as he slides in and out makes you shudder and interrupts your sentence. "Too much!" Now you deliberately try to flee from him, but Ghost won't let you. He only stops the movement of his fingers when he pushes them back inside you to the hilt.
"That's what you wanted, bunny, isn't it? For me to be busy with something other than biting you." He growls each word in a voice that's too rough.
You swallow. Even without the movement of his fingers, your pussy throbs with the aftereffects of your second orgasm. The muscles are so engorged with blood and all the nerve endings so sensitive that it hurts.
You shake your head, but without the strength to start an argument. "I just wanted to live," you confess. Deep laughter follows from Ghost. He doesn't give you a real answer. His mouth returns to your pussy, over your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in circular motions. Your back arches, and you moan in a sound that could have been a whimper.
Then his fingers begin to move again—in and out. First slowly and aimlessly, then deep, his fingertips pressing against your walls each time he withdraws.
"Oh-oh God. Ghost, I-I can't!" you try, but this time your climax comes so quickly that your statement is instantly proven a lie.
Your sight completely deserts you. Your eyes roll back, leaving only the whites visible. Your back muscles protest. Everything hurts, every cell feels like it's on fire. You're sure your leg muscles are about to cramp completely.
"Such a good girl," Ghost compliments you. "All for me." He finally pulls away and completely removes your half-pushed-down panties from your legs.
You immediately squeeze your thighs together, unconsciously, as protection against anything that might come next. Ghost clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Baby, we're just getting started." With rough hands, he grabs your knees and pushes them apart again. Then he positions himself between your thighs.
Every spot he bit is still bleeding, and small red streams seep from the wounds onto the sheets beneath you. Your skin glistens with a delicate layer of sweat. Your cheeks are flushed, evidence of the life still within you.
Ghost crawls over you until his face is leveled with yours. The moisture of your arousal glistens on his chin. He grins down at you—the kind of grin that brings a wicked glint to his eyes. His tongue traces his lips, and then he lowers himself, pressing his lips to yours.
You taste your own arousal on his lips. It eliminates the entire taste of blood, which was still very noticeable on Ghost's tongue during your first kiss. Ghost pulls away after only a short time, kisses his way down your neck to the side he used to drink a week ago, and bites down again. Your hip flinches at the sensation of pain. Ghost immediately responds by pressing his pelvis against yours, practically pinning you to the mattress. He sucks and drinks without shame, without thought.
You're dizzy, you haven't been able to see properly since your third orgasm anyway, and the nerves in your body are so hypersensitive that you don't even notice the numbness. "You're making me addicted," Ghost confesses, perhaps revealing his greatest weakness.
You can't answer, at least not with words. But your hands reach for his body. You run your fingernails down his back, pulling his shirt further and further up until you can feel his cold skin beneath your hands.
"For someone who says you can't anymore, you're pretty eager." There's a hint of amusement in his voice. He sits up and removes his shirt in one fluid motion. It lands somewhere on the floor; you don't track where. Your attention is on his toned chest.
You bite your broken lower lip, a trickle of blood starts flowing again, and Ghost's eyes focus on it. Then you answer slowly and hesitantly. "I... take it back."
"Of course, Princess." Ghost's lips curl into a crooked grin. His hands find his pants, undoing the button and the zipper. He pulls them down just enough for his dick to spring free. It springs hard against his lower abdomen. The veins are clearly visible, the tip a dark red. A drop is already running down his length.
You swallow. Like everything about him, his dick is enormous. But your mind won't let you worry about it.
You reach for his dick, and even without moving your hand, a deep rumble escapes Ghost's throat. He's so sensitive from the passive effect of the Viagra that he could come at the slightest touch.
He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. "Don't spoil the fun, sweetheart." Was it a warning? Or a promise? You don't know, but you listen to him.
Ghost lowers himself onto you again, positioning himself between your legs, which you open even wider for him. "Such a good little thing, you listen even without instructions. So good for me." By now you're sure that Ghost's praise isn't just for you, but also to ground himself – to remind himself that you're cooperating with him and that he doesn't need to force control over you.
You lick your lips, unaware that you're still bleeding. The taste of iron makes you grunt in distaste. Ghost laughs. "Not to your liking, huh? Let me do this." He leans towards you, licking your chin, where a drop of blood has already trickled down, all the way to your lips. He sucks on your lower lip, reigniting your moans, which had subsided in the meantime of him removing his clothes.
He supports himself with one hand beside you, positioning his tip at your entrance with the other. You're wet enough for him to slide in easily. But he doesn't. Instead, he rubs his dick a few times between your folds, up to your clit, and back down again. You're already trembling and moaning as if your fourth orgasm is about to wash over you.
"Not yet, bunny," Ghost whispers in your ear as he leans down towards you. The muscles in his arm and his abs tremble from the tension he maintains to avoid crushing you. Or from the control he maintains.
You nod, a sign that you understand.
"Fuck. Of course you're listening, baby." He doesn't let his satisfaction with your cooperation go unnoticed. He rewards you by entering you. Slowly, but with a fluid motion.
You let your head fall back and close your eyes. The moan from your throat is the hottest thing Ghost has ever heard. His face immediately lands in the crook of your neck, and he licks and sucks at your skin. This time, he doesn't let his teeth sink into your already damaged and broken skin. He only licks up the remaining blood that still seeps from the wounds and clings to your skin.
The muscles of your pussy clench around his dick, perhaps in an attempt to adjust to his size, or probably in an attempt to push him out from the overstimulation.
In a slow rhythm, Ghost moves his hips back. Every inch that his tip slides along your wall almost throws you over the edge again. "Ah, Ghost!" escapes your lips, though you don't want to say it aloud. It comes out anyway. "I can't take it much longer," you confess.
Ghost slides back inside you until his dick is fully submerged once more. He presses directly against you A-spot, and your body tenses with stimulation.
"O-oh yes!" Your breath mingles with your words, and you're unsure whether you're still speaking or just moaning. You press your hips against his, managing to push the head of his dick against that spot again.
Your heart nearly leaps from your chest as Ghost grabs your hip with one hand, pushes you down, and presses his hips against yours in small but powerful movements. He doesn't slide in and out; he just presses his dick into that one spot that makes you see stars. "Come for me, baby, we've still got a few hours for more."
With the speed at which he works your sweet spot, you instantly waver on the brink of ecstasy. Your fourth orgasm is so intense that your muscles tighten around Ghost's dick, and he reaches his own climax with the sheer force of the sensation.
But the Viagra keeps his dick erect. Even though Ghost's nerve endings are just as overstimulated as yours, he moves on to the next movement. He helps you through the afterglow of your orgasm by withdrawing his dick until only the head remains inside you, then he slides back in over your G-spot.
The sounds you make are sounds of victory to Ghost. He pushes his sperm and your fluids back inside you with every movement. Your entire body trembles beneath him. He knows that for you, as a simple human being, there's a limit. Especially with the medication you've taken and the side effects that can be unpleasant for a woman's body. His movements become correspondingly slow and careful.
"You're so good to me, my sweet girl." Ghost lowers his head onto your shoulder, and you use his closeness to slide your hands down the back of his neck. "Mine," he repeats.
This time, it takes longer for both of you to reach climax. The overstimulation, the frayed nerve endings, and clearly your exhaustion slow everything down. Ghost comes first, but he doesn't stop. He maintains his pace, with a halting rhythm. With one hand, he finds your clit and circles the nerves with his fingertips. You whimper more than you moan. Everything is too much; every sensation in your body is numb, and every circle of his index finger hurts, as if someone was holding a stun gun between your legs.
"Almost there, sweetheart. Just one more time." Ghost tries to encourage you. Tears stream from your tightly squeezed eyes. Your grip on Ghost's neck is so tight, as if he's the only thing keeping you in the world of the living. It's paradoxical—he's the very thing that should have killed you.
You reach your climax with a soft sob. Ghost stills, his head dropping in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, listening to your slowing heartbeat. His doesn't move. Doesn't bite.
He stays like that for a few seconds. When he pulls out of you, your juices trickle down your thighs. Before he pulls away completely, his lips brush yours, slow almost absent, but deliberate. He picks up your panties from the floor and pulls them back up your legs.
You're certain you've lost all ability to move. Exhaustion washes over you so quickly that falling asleep just moments after Ghost pulls you from the wet patch on the bed feels more like passing out.
---<>---
You're still alive. In more pain than you expected, but your heart is still beating in your chest, and your newly set record for staying alive has risen once again.
No one speaks to you when Task Force 141 heads off on to their next mission. But the air is thick with the knowledge that everyone heard what you and Ghost were up to. Soap's Bonnie winked at you in the hallway. You had to lean against the wall just to make it to the bathroom on your own.
Even days later, you're still restricted. And that's exactly what will later be your death sentence.
Enemy soldiers storm the safe house. You have no weapons; none of you, as living blood banks, have any training or combat experience. You are completely at the mercy of the enemy.
When two soldiers burst into your room, you barely stand a chance. You manage to take a few steps before two bullets hit you. One in your lower abdomen, the other pierces your right lung.
You lie on the ground for a while, breathing heavily. One hand on your stomach, the other on your chest. Your sense of time fades, your eyes close a few times, but you haven't given up the fight.
This isn't how you want to die. If you could still choose, you would have preferred to die at Ghost's hands. But you can't anymore.
Ghost can already smell your blood from afar. No one responds to Price's message that the mission is being aborted and Task Force 141 is heading back early. There are no lights on in the safe house. Not like usual when they return from a mission.
"Something's wrong," Soap mutters, but Ghost has already broken into a sprint. He practically slams the door off its hinges and runs past the bodies in the living room without even glancing at them. If he still had a heart, it would have burst from his chest as he stumbles through the door into your room. There you lie, half-dead. Your breathing is far too loud, and with each exhale, blood drips from your mouth.
"Bunny." Ghost whispers. You turn your head toward him, your eyes wide open.
"N-n-no." gurgles from your throat. "A-a-amb-b-bush..." Your information comes too late. The enemies are throwing molotov cocktails through the shattered windows. The entire safe house is engulfed in flames. The thin walls are riddled with machine gun fire. Bullets strike Ghost, piercing skin, flesh, and muscle unprotected by his vest.
You can only watch as he falls to the ground, the fire creeping closer and closer to his body. With your last ounce of strength, you drag yourself across the floor. Your lungs give out. You barely get any oxygen, and your body begins to shut down.
When you're close enough to Ghost, you extend your wrist and press it against his lips. You have enough of your own blood on your hands to instantly smear the red fluid onto his lips, awakening his instinct. The sharp fangs emerge, and you press your wrist against the tips. The skin tears—more messily than Ghost would have done, but it's enough to draw the last amount of blood from your body into his mouth. He swallows reflexively. With each swallow, his wounds slowly heal.
You close your eyes in relief. It's time to let go. You can't endure any more pain.
You feel another grip on your wrist. A mouth desiring your blood. Sharp fangs raking against your skin. And then a completely different sensation.
A bite. But not one that drains your blood. One that pumps something into your body.
Poison flows through your veins. Hot and burning, like a corrosive liquid, incinerating you from the inside out. A pain so profound you're incapable of any reaction.
"Come on." His voice is distant. "I can hear your heartbeat. It's not too late." There's a strange echo in his voice.
The heat around you becomes unbearable. Is this what being burned alive feels like?
The darkness you're in is terrifying. You desperately want to cling to Ghost's voice, but there's nothing. Silence.
He's just sitting beside your body, in an empty, cold warehouse, far from the place where you saved his pathetic, undeserved life—waiting for your last heartbeat.
And when it comes, you finally open your eyes—blood red, with fangs sinking into your lower lip.
The air around you is dry. Next to you sits the child who got Sammy into this situation in the first place, avoiding your gaze. His mother stands at the hospital reception desk, arguing about why Sam is being treated before her son.
The door that Sammy disappeared behind with a doctor has been closed for 10 minutes. You're still holding the X-ray the doctor showed you to explain that Sammy's arm needs a cast.
You're just wondering which laws you could use to sue the kid next to you when your phone rings. "Hello."
"I'll be back in a few hours. Evacuation has been initiated," Ghost informs you. A helicopter can be heard in the background.
You listen to his explanation silently, mostly focused on how to explain the situation to him. "Sammy's in the hospital."
Barely a heartbeat passes before Ghost's next words come out. "How bad?" The serious tone of his voice immediately makes you nervous.
"Uh... broken elbow. He had a car accident... w-well, with a go-kart—at kindergarten. He's getting a cast right now."
The helicopter in the background gets louder. Ghost's voice becomes harder to hear, and you squint your eyes as if that would help you hear better. "Is Sammy coping?"
"No, not really." You take a deep breath, almost like Sammy did when he heard the news from the doctor. "He's not allowed on the bouncy castle until the cast comes off in three weeks."
"If that's his biggest worry, he seems to be doing fine," Ghost murmurs, the worry less evident in his voice.
"Mhm," you grumble in agreement. "I had to promise him I'd go to three different ice cream shops after, as compensation for him not being able to use 'Bouncy' anymore."
"You're too easily manipulated," Ghost remarks drily.
"One of my bad habits," you admit sheepishly. Then you quickly change the subject to avoid further acknowledging your weaknesses. "By the way, I cleaned your house and did your shopping so you can spend more time with Sammy when you get back."
"Didn't ask for that." A pause follows, that makes you regret your eagerness. "...Thanks."
"Have a safe trip home, sir." You quickly end the call, too embarrassed to continue talking.
---
The driveway isn't empty. That's the first thing you notice when you return with Sammy from the ice cream shops and a stop at a movie theatre. The sun is setting, and the houses cast long shadows across the properties.
Sammy has fallen asleep in the back seat after the long day, and you pick him up to carry him from your parked car to the house next door. There's a slight tremor in your fingers as you ring the doorbell.
The door opens. And then he's there. Tall. Bulky. Dangerous. Too much of everything. A presence that practically screams control, strength, and experience.
His body fills the entire doorway. His hair is still wet and lies across his forehead. Drops trickle down his temple, along his sharp jaw, and then down his neck. Your eyes follow the drop for far too long.
You blink and immediately feel the heat in your cheeks. "Hi." Your voice is barely more than a whisper.
"Finally, a face to go with that voice." His voice is even more intimidating in person. Deeper, closer, too real.
He takes a step forward, raises his hands, and for a second you think he's going to hug you, so you adjust your grip on Sammy, practically squeezing him into Simon's grasp, like handing over a package.
You end the conversation instantly, no room for any further discussion. "G-good night, sir." You turn and leave before you can make it worse.
Ghost just stands there, holding his son firmly, watching you go. As you walk down the driveway—almost tripping over your own feet—you don't look back once.
What was that?!
---
The doorbell rings. You finish typing out the last line of code, letting the program run before setting your laptop aside. Hesitantly, you approach your front door. You're not expecting a package or a visitor. For a few more seconds, you simply stand there, hoping that whoever rang the bell has long since left.
Your heart almost stops when you open the door and he's standing there. His mere presence almost makes you want to retreat back inside, but you stand your ground and force a polite smile. "C-can I help you?"
Ghost raises his hand. His movements are slow, as if he's trying not to frighten an injured animal. "I got your mail." A single letter lies in his hand. Clearly junk mail—some expired coupon from a nearby restaurant where you once ordered food for Sammy.
You take the flyer. "Um... thanks."
A pause follows. Too quiet, too long, and charged with something that almost made you want to slam the door. "Anything else...?"
"I still need your information." His gaze is too intense, yet barely interpretable. You try to look everywhere but into his eyes.
"I-information?" you ask, confused. Was he going to report you? Had you done something wrong? Was it about Sammy?
"Yes, your bank details. So I can transfer your salary." Ghost explains in a calm tone, causing his voice to drop another octave. You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine.
"Oh... y-yes, of course. Uh... let me just write it down. Wait." You leave the front door open as you disappear back into your house and jot down your bank details on a piece of paper.
When you return, Ghost is standing with his back to the door. He only turns back to you when you get his attention with a "Here, sir." and hand him the slip of paper.
He reaches for the small note. His large hand almost instantly encircles the entire note, and his fingers brush against yours for a split second. It's too brief to pull away on your own, but too long not to feel his warmth.
"You'll have the money in a few days," he tells you, and it sounds suspiciously like a goodbye. He already turns slightly away, but his eyes remain fixed on you.
You nod. "It isn't necessary, but thank you, sir." Slowly, you take a step back and reach for the front door. Should you wish him a good day now? Or a good week, in case you don't see each other again?
"Simon." His voice pulls you from your thoughts.
"What?"
"You can call me Simon." He repeats.
"Oh. Yes, sir—uhm... I mean, Simon. Sorry." Oh God, do you have to offer him your name now, too? He already knows your name, doesn't he? He checked your file; he should know your name.
Simon watches you. How your cheeks flush the more you think. And how your lower lip nervously catches between your teeth, the thin skin chapped and red in places. "Don't apologize so much."
You nod quickly. "Yes, sir. Uhm, Simon. I'm sorry. Oh... I didn't mean to apologize again, I'm sorry. Oh, it happened again. I'm sorry. Oh no. I can't stop, I'm so sorry. Oh God."
Simon's lips curl into a grin. Without his mask, he can't hide it as well as he did from his team when he spoke to you on the phone over the past few months. "Not God. Simon is fine."
The sun is already rising when you finally manage to get Sammy to sleep after hours of back rubs. A while ago, thick tears were streaming down his cheeks, and the living room was filled with heartbreaking sobs.
You're just closing your eyes when the phone rings. You push yourself up from your half-lying position on the couch next to Sammy and take the phone, intending to move to another room and let Sammy sleep peacefully.
Your voice is heavy with tiredness. "Hey."
Ghost immediately notices the difference in your voice and the way you speak. "What's wrong?" Neither of you needs to introduce yourselves anymore; you recognize each other's voices instantly.
"Sammy's finally asleep," you mumble, not really an explanation. You lean back against the wall in the hallway and close your eyes, tilting your head back slightly to rest it against the wall.
"Long night?" Ghost is lying in the safe house on a dirty carpet that serves as a makeshift mattress. He has one arm behind his head, his eyes scanning the stains on the cracked ceiling.
You hum in reply. "Mhm." Then you slide down the wall until you're sitting, your body already half asleep again.
"More information, please," Ghost demands dryly.
You make an almost pained noise and force your eyes open again with lazy blinks to stay awake. "Tuna had emergency surgery last night. Swallowed a Lego block. It broke Sammy's heart. He was crying until just now." You barely manage to suppress a yawn.
"Is Tuna okay?" Ghost asks again, a hint of concern in his voice that you usually only hear when he asks about Sam.
You nod, even though he can't see you. "Are you nodding or have you fallen asleep?"
"Mhm..." you confirm again with just a hum. Every word drains what little energy you have left.
"Go to sleep," Ghost commands. "That's an order."
"Okay." The yawn can no longer be suppressed. The spot on the floor becomes more comfortable with every second, and you're almost asleep, your thoughts little more than a soft hum in the background. And like a reflex, the words you usually use to say goodbye to your loved ones slip from your lips. "Love you."
There's dead silence on the line. You can hear his breathing.
All the tiredness vanishes from your body as you realize what you've said. "O-oh- N-no! I didn't mean to say that out loud—I-I mean, I didn't mean to say that at all!"
Your eyes are wide open and your heart is racing as if you've just run a marathon. You try to save the situation, even though it only makes things worse. "Y-you'll never hear that again— w-well... from me, I mean. Y-you're probably lovely... T-this wasn't meant to be an attack o-on you—or your love life... T-those words a-are meant only for Sammy—and your partner- obviously." Your cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Ghost listens to your stammering words, amused. "Didn't even have to ask you out on a date to get the L-word. Cute."
You want the ground to swallow you whole.
~~~
One mistake, one thing you meant too well, and now half the neighborhood is in your backyard. Children are shrieking and laughing, parents are trying to engage you in conversation, which you're barely managing to fend off, and someone has even brought their grill and is handing out burgers of every kind.
When the phone rings, you're more than relieved. You ask a woman to watch Sammy and move a few steps away from the gathering mass of people. The loud sounds of children playing are still audible.
"Sir," you answer, taking a deep, almost dramatic breath. "I made a mistake."
"What happened?" Ghost imagines all sorts of scenarios, but none of them fit the background noise he can hear through the line. Among them is Sam, laughing joyfully.
"Sammy was so sad after Tuna's surgery. He packed away all his toys, and I didn't know what to do, so I bought a bouncy castle..." you explain far too quickly, a whine in your voice.
"A small one or a big one?" Ghost asks, struggling not to laugh. Otherwise, the stitches of the fresh stab wound on his stomach might come undone.
"A big one," you reply.
"Sammy will never come home again." His tone is slightly mocking.
"There are—" You cut yourself off and look around. Too many people who could hear you, so you lower your voice. "People." you finish.
"With an invitation?" Ghost knows the answer to his own question.
"No. Half the neighborhood..." you turn away so no one can see your words or mouth movements. "has invited themselves. Someone's bringing their sun loungers right now. I'll never get rid of them. Oh God... what do I do now?"
"Just throw them out," Ghost replies bluntly.
You shake your head and stammer, "I-I can't anymore. I-I may or may not have said it would be okay if they want to join."
"Why?" Ghost asks, confused.
"I-I'm not good at saying no, okay? I-it puts me under pressure." Your cheeks flush red, and you use your free hand to cover your face.
Ghost breathes heavily as he leans further back against the wall, the stitches tightening and tugging at the stab wound. "If they're not gone by next week, I'm coming with a tank."
"W-w-what?!"
That finally makes him laugh. "Relax. I was joking." (Not really.)
You swallow hard. "So, you're coming back next week, sir?"
There's a moment of silence on the line. Then a calm "Yes" from Ghost.
"I'm happy to hear that." You force yourself to say it, but your heart seems to skip a few beats. "I-I mean, we—Sammy and I... and your family."
"Sounds dangerously close to a second confession. I'm not going to get the L-word again, am I?" The smile in his voice is unmistakable.
"Oh God, no! Never again." Your cheeks flush even redder, and you lower your head to hide from the people around you.
His phone is clutched tightly in your hand. You followed the soldier's instructions and went back to his home with his son, Sam, after hacking the security systems to open the doors. Almost a week has passed since then. You're practically living in a stranger's house. With a stranger's child...
"It's me." A deep voice comes from the other end of the line. No name, no identity. Your heart pounds twice as fast.
"W-who?"
For a second, Ghost wonders if you're serious. "Simon Riley," he gives his full name.
You breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh... Hello, sir."
"Is Sam nearby?" Ghost has no interest in speaking with you. His time for the call is already limited.
"Uhm, y-yes. Wait." As you walk from the open kitchen through the living room and then up the stairs to Sam's room, Ghost can hear you bumping into walls and doorframes and stumbling twice on the stairs. A pained groan escapes your lips every now and then. He understands why they keep you working from home.
"Hey... uhm Sam." The five-year-old looks up from his perch on the toy car rug in front of his bed and drops the toy car. "The lieutenant—I mean... your dad... wants to talk to you." Your brain switches too quickly between military ranks and civilian language.
You hand the phone to the child and wait a moment. Ghost explains the situation to his child with as much empathy as he can muster. Tears stream down Sam's cheeks. Up until now, you've only explained to Sam that his mom has an important appointment and that's why you have to look after him. Now he's confronted with the truth.
Sam throws the phone and runs out of the room. You pick it up again and hold it to your ear, already expecting the soldier to have hung up. The line is completely silent.
"I can hear you breathing." His voice startles you so much that a high-pitched squeak escapes your throat.
"Oh... r-right. You're still on the line."
Ghost has to force himself to stay calm. He takes a breath. "Calm Sam down. Distract him if you can."
You nod, until you realize the man on the other end of the line can't see you. "Y-yeah, sure. I'll... show him chess or something."
For a few seconds, there's dead silence on the line. Ghost puts a hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. He forces his breathing to calm down. "He's five."
"I... uhm..." You scramble for options. You've never looked after a child alone before. And you already find interactions with adults difficult, how are you supposed to deal with a child? "I'll just Google 'How to calm a child'."
At the next thought, your heart stops. "Oh God... if someone checks my search history—" Your eyes widen. "That sounds like kidnapping. I can't go to jail! Who will feed my tortoise then?!"
A sound escapes Ghost's throat. He's not sure if it's a grumble or a growl. "I'll pay you officially to look out for my child. No one will arrest you for that."
What has he gotten himself into?
~~~
Days pass. The phone remains silent. You and Sam have established a solid routine. You're lucky that Simon is a paranoid control freak. You quickly figure out where to drop Sam off at kindergarten, where important documents are, and what appointments are coming up. Everything else works surprisingly well—for you.
Then the phone rings again. "H-Hello?"
"Simon Riley." Ghost decides to give his full name right away before he gives you a minor heart attack. He's learned from the last conversation.
"Sir!" Your lips curl into a smile. "I distracted him," you announce proudly. "We took my tortoise for a walk. Sam and Tuna are inseparable now. Practically best friends."
Ghost blinks a few times. He wasn't expecting so much information and such fluent sentences. "That's... good," he manages. And he really shouldn't care, but the name is so absurd, he just has to ask. "Your tortoise is called Tuna?"
"Oh... yeah. She doesn't listen to that, though. But it was important to me that she had a name. Tortoises live too long to just leave them nameless."
Ghost bites the inside of his cheek. You're weird in every way. But somehow it's amusing enough to seem innocent. "How's Sam?" he finally forces himself to steer the conversation to the important part.
"He'll be talking to you again soon... I think," you reply, this time in a quieter, gentler voice. All the enthusiasm from before has vanished.
Ghost breathes a tiny sigh of relief. "I'm giving him as much time as he needs."
You nervously lower your head, even though Ghost isn't actually in front of you, whose gaze you need to avoid. His words hit too close. And your brain can't formulate a response to emotional topics.
Silence spreads. Not just on the line, but throughout the entire house. Until you catch a faint smell of burning in the air. "Oh shit!" The words leave your mouth reflexively. You jump up and rush to the oven.
Ghost hears the clinking and banging of baking trays. "Are you cooking?"
It takes you a moment to answer. "Uhm... yes." And then your information dump starts again, like a waterfall of words that can hardly be stopped once it begins. "It's a quarter to one here, and I just picked Sam up from kindergarten."
"I know what time it is on your end." This time, Ghost doesn't bother hiding the faint grin.
The sweet potato fries have turned a bit black, but you decide they're still edible enough. You wedged the phone between your shoulder and ear as you tip the fries from the tray into a bowl. Sam's already reaching for one, giggling about the color. "Uh... the sweet potato fries have turned... slightly aggressive."
From the other end comes an amused, "Don't forget to turn off the oven."
A/N: This is inspired by Grace from RE9. Just finished the game play and thought her personality in combination with ghost would defenetly do things to this stone cold man.
So there you are. The child is asleep on the sofa behind you. It's the middle of the night, and the child's mother still hasn't contacted you. Did she just drop dead?
You've only been living in the house next door for a few days, and the neighbors are already taking advantage of you as their nanny. That's what happens when you can't speak up or say no fast enough.
That's enough, you decide, and open your laptop. You're one of the best hackers in the British Army. You can hack any system, track anyone, get any information. Always.
Hacking the security system of the house next door is easy enough. You tap through different camera angles, searching for any sign of life from that woman, the mother of that child. The house is clean, almost too clean. It feels empty. And somehow... not. And then you find the note on the kitchen island. Luckily, the cameras zoom in good enough to read it—a farewell letter. The woman next door didn't just leave her boyfriend... she also left her child behind. The one who's now sleeping on your sofa.
She even wrote it like that in her letter. The child's with the new neighbor. She seems competent. You snort derisively. Then your gaze lingers on the name. The letter is addressed to a "Simon." And the mailbox of the house next door bears the last name "Riley." Enough information for you to track down his father. Time to send the child home.
~~~
Ghost is in the middle of an operation. Three months in, three more to go. Task Force 141 is infiltrating a house. They're securing it, room by room. First silence. Then chaos. Enemies open fire on the soldiers; protecting what's inside.
And just then, Ghost's radio crackles to life. "HQ to Ghost."
A growl escapes his throat, and he ducks behind a wall for cover. His hand presses the radio button. "Not now."
"It's important, Lieutenant. It's about your son. We're transferring the caller to your radio." Without Ghost's approval, there's a crackle on the line, then the static is replaced by soft breathing.
"I have your son."
Your voice is gentle and calm—until you realize how your words sound. "I-I mean—your son was left with me... W-well, your girlfriend left him with me. She never came back." You quickly try to correct yourself so you don't sound like a kidnapper.
"Is he okay?" Ghost's voice is deep and husky, a little raspy. In the background, you can hear gunshots and screams.
You look over your shoulder. At the child and the television, which is still on. "Y-yes. Yes, he fell asleep on my sofa watching Spongebob. Uhm..." You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I-I think your girlfriend left. You. And your son. She left a note in the kitchen."
His grip tightens around the rifle. "How do you know that?"
Ghost's voice makes you tremble. You can practically hear his anger in his tone. Even though you don't know him and can't see him, you know the man behind the voice is threatening and intimidating.
You start pacing nervously in the living room. "I hacked into your security system... I had to check if your girlfriend was... dead or something. She's not. I'm sorry." Several seconds pass as you process your words, then you gasp in shock. "Oh—well—I-I mean, sorry about the hacking... I don't wish your girlfriend dead or anything." Mentally, you bang your head against the nearest wall.
Ghost signals to Soap to provide cover so he can change position. You disable his radio, preventing him from communicating with his team. The way you keep stumbling over your words make him question everything. That's the only reason he doesn't cut your call. "Sure." His terse reply sounds disinterested. "How could you hack my security systems?" He has the best of the best and a guarantee that they can't be hacked from the outside. Ghost's suspicion grows that you're holding his son hostage.
"Uh... I work for the army... just like you," you inform him clippedly. "Technical department. Specializing in hacking and tracking people."
Ghost secures the next room, shoots an enemy soldier, and nods to Soap. He releases his heavy weapon with one hand and demands the sergeant to hand over his radio. "Then you won't have a problem with me checking your file," he replies.
"I expected that... sir." You give him your name and the name of your unit. Ghost relays your information back to HQ over soaps radio and waits for confirmation. HQ confirms your name, age, rank, specialization, and that you work from home due to granted privileges. Then HQ confirms your address. The house, right next to his.
"You're clean." Ghost hands Soap his radio back and moves on.
"Um... what happens to your son now?" you ask the intimidating soldier.
"You're working from home." Not a question—a statement.
"Yes?"
Ghost has no time and no solutions. "How much do you want me to pay you to look after my son?"
That's not the solution you were hoping for by contacting him. Panic grips you, tightening your throat. "O-oh—no. I don't know if this is such a good idea... I mean—" Words tumble from your mouth again. Your gaze returned to the child, who has no idea that his own mother has abandoned him. "Who's going to explain to him that his mother isn't coming back?"
Ghost takes a deep breath. His jaw tightens under the mask. "I'll do it the next time I can call. Think of something in the meantime. So, how much are you charging?" He has no time for discussion.
You hesitate for a few seconds. And once again, you're letting yourself be taken advantage of far too easily for the sake of strangers. "Um... maybe 50?"
"Okay. 50 an hour." Ghost doesn't care how much you charge; the important thing is that his child is safe for the next three months. "You'll get the money when I get back."
Your eyes widen, and even though he can't see you, he hears the shock in your voice. "An hour?! I-I meant per day... or per week. I don't know."
He doesn't address your difficulty in accepting anything. "If you can hack into the security system, you can get the door open. Help yourself. Money's in the safe. If Sam needs something, take what you need. The code is stored in the system. You can access it yourself. I have to go now." The connection was immediately cut, according to him.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
"What is Ivanov planning to do now?" Ghost asked as he followed Angel. She secured the street before continuing on and climbing through one of the broken windows into one of the many abandoned houses. "Right now? Killing you. But don't worry Ghost, you seem to have a really good guardian angel."
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Angel panted heavily as her knees slipped over the stones and her entire upper body landed on the cold stone. She stretched her arms forward and grabbed the falling person. Her chest was already hanging over the edge of the building, her hair falling over her face when the person's hand grabbed her and the weight pulled her down a little further. "Ah. God, you're heavy." She breathed heavily and struggled with her other hand until she could grab his wrist with both hands.
Max had already shot the enemy. The body was right next to Angel, not making her position particularly comfortable. The soldier dangled from Angel's hands. His brown eyes bore into hers as his fingers wrapped around her arm. He still held his gun with his other hand.
"Max!" Angel shouted as she slid a little further towards the abyss. "Help would be nice."
Another hand appeared next to Angel. Max's large hand had easily grabbed Ghost and pulled him back onto the roof. Angel sat up, breathing heavily, holding her sore shoulder.
"I feel like saving you is my new full-time job." A crooked grin hung on Angel's lips as she studied Ghost. It was strange that Max was a bit taller than Ghost, because she had already noticed how small she actually was next to Ghost.
The rescued man looked at the body on the ground, his eyes then traveled from Angel's legs to her face. Angel could feel his hot gaze on her body. Ghost still wore Sem's mask, so she could follow every glance he toke.
Angel hummed as she pursed her lips and then extended her arm to point at Max. "Ghost, this is Max." She introduced the two men.
Max also wore a mask. Angel wondered if Ghost wore a mask for the same reason as Max, but she had to put her curiosity aside for now. "Max, you know what to do. Meet me at the truck."
"Copy that!" Max replied. His thick accent and deep voice only made him even scarier. He swung himself from the roof of the building, landed on the fire escape and then disappeared through a window into the building's interior.
"Why?" Ghost's sharp voice cut through the air and caused her attention to wander back to the soldier, where it didn't stay for very long. She picked up her sniper rifle that was previously hanging around her back and put it back on her shoulder to secure the environment.
"Why I have to keep saving you? I have no idea." She breathed through her lips that were twisted into a grin.
Ghost didn't seem to find this funny at all because he grabbed her and dragged her to the ladder where Max had previously disappeared from. Angel knew that he had questions and would rather clarify them in safety. But the time wasn't really right.
"Get down there." Ghost pointed to the ladder. She only listened to him since there was no other way down from the roof unless you wanted to jump to your certain death.
Ghost himself had forgone the ladder and jumped from the roof onto the fire escape, just like Max did. He was now standing below her and securing the area with his own rifle. When Angel arrived at his level, he went further down the swing staircase on the wall of the house.
He had his hand around Angel's upper arm as if she was his prisoner. It made Angel's eyebrows furrow in irritation. "I won't come with you if that's what you were planning on doing now."
Ghost grumbled in annoyance and used the nearest alley to push Angel against the wall of a building. "Why are you here?" Ghost now asked. He didn't threaten her with his gun 'cause it was loaded. The possibility of the gun going off and killing the redhead quicker than Ghost could have got his answers was to high.
His hand on her shoulder was firm but not enough to really hurt her. "I'm trying to save you. You and your whole team, actually." Angel whispered to suppress her anger. Screaming would only have drawn unnecessary attention. "You're making this a little harder for me than it needs to be." She sought his gaze.
His brown eyes were as cool as his voice. "Why saving us? I know Ivanov himself is no longer here, but we can at least take out one of his outposts." Ghost explained, making her shake her head.
Her gaze became soft, almost pained. "The more of his soldiers you take out, the more people he will kidnap and forcibly turn into one of his henchmen. He no longer needs the base here. And you won't find any information here either."
Ghost let go of her and turned away from her. "We arranged the mission at short notice to not give Ivanov much of a head start. Looks like it didn't worked out."
Angel pushed her hair out of her face. "Of course not. He is too well informed about your moves." She studied Ghost for just a second before pulling her handgun from the holster on her leg. "We have to move now. We're running out of time."
"What is Ivanov planning to do now?" Ghost asked as he followed Angel.
She secured the street before continuing on and climbing through one of the broken windows into one of the many abandoned houses. "Right now? Killing you. But don't worry Ghost, you seem to have a really good guardian angel." She would have loved to see Ghost's face when she looked at him again. But he always radiated the same monotonous aura.
The redhead went up the stairs and opened a door to a bedroom. She pushed the curtain aside and looked outside to secure the streets again. It didn't seem to be many of Ivanov's soldiers around, nor did she see any of Ghost's teammates. "Did you go to my grave, jet?" She asked without looking at Ghost again.
"Yes, I received your information." Ghost replied lowly with a warm rasp in his voice. She ignored the goosebumps that spread across her skin.
Angel pushed the curtain all the way to the side and opened the window. She swung one leg out before turning to Ghost and placing her index finger over her lips. Then she climbed out of the window onto the roof of the garage. She continued crouching until she reached the edge where she looked down and stuck her weapon back in its holster. Instead, she pushed up her pant leg and pulled out the knife that was attached to her leg. Once again she looked back at Ghost, who had followed her onto the roof and was now looking down at the enemy.
Angel braced herself on the edge of the roof with one hand, then jumped. In the short free fall, she swung the knife and rammed it into the enemy's unprotected area between his jaw and neck. She bent her knees slightly to cushion the fall, then tore the knife back from his neck and a fountain of blood gushed from the open wound. The enemy fell to his knees in a matter of seconds while holding his neck. Angel took advantage of the soldier's panic to steal his radio and clipped it on her belt.
Ghost was still on the roof. His gun was in his hand and he secured the road for Angel. Only when the enemy fell to the ground with a thud did his eyes settle on Angel and the corpse. She ran the blood-stained blade over sleeve without breaking eye contact with the man. "Would you like me to help you down?" She asked teasingly with a slight smirk.
The soldier ignored her sarcasm and effortlessly jumped off the roof like it was nothing. It left Angel briefly staring in admiration, which was quickly interrupted by the enemy's radio. The sounds were faint, but Angel could still hear the russian message. "We have to move on." She told Ghost now tensely. She followed the road a little further until she reached a car dealership. The door opened without any problems and Angel walked purposefully to the reception desk to take a handful of car keys from one of the drawers.
"Does anyone else know about my letters?" Angel asked casually as she walked between the cars, trying to find the cars that matched the keys in her hand.
"No, no one but your father." Ghost said.
"Okay." Angel breathed, opening a car door as it unlocked. She knelt on the seat and put the key in the ignition. But instead of starting the car, she stood up again and left the car door open. She did exactly the same thing with the other cars that the remaining keys matched. "You came here in a helicopter, right?"
It surprised Angel that Ghost didn't question her actions or stop her in any way. He was always a few steps away from her and made the environment safe for her. She wondered which of the two was really a guardian angel.
"Positive." He confirmed briefly.
She held out the last key to him. "Tell your team that the attack is starting from the east. Ivanov's people will try to encircle you. They come with tanks. And they won't shy away from destroying every single building until there's nothing left of this ghost town. The rest of the soldiers who are already holding position here are already retracting to give the tanks a clear shot. Your pilot won't get here in time to collect you. Take the cars and move out." She explained. "Max and I will be gone before you. So don't try to follow us."
His fingers brushed against her skin as he took the keys and then looked at the car. However, his gaze quickly landed on Angel again, which made her cheeks turn slightly red.
"Still questions?" She asked, tilting her head so her hair covered her cheeks.
"Does Ivanov know you're here?" His question made Angel giggle briefly.
"Of course not, what do you think?"
Ghost's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was thinking. "How did you escape?"
She licked her lips. "That's a story for another time. Short Version, Max was assigned to the mission here and so this was the perfect opportunity to finally disappear with him." She brushed her hair out of her face again. "I have to go now. Keep looking for the traitor. If you don't find him, at least find out who you can really trust. In our situation, that's worth a lot." She tried to give Ghost a small smile, meant to symbolize a farewell, but with his intense stare she only managed to pull her lip between her teeth.
"Where are you going now?" Ghost asked further. His rifle dangerously ready in his hands.
The girl shrugged her shoulders, knowing exactly what would happen next. "First I have to hide before I can rise from the dead. But you don't have to miss me, I'll see you again."
"Why do you say that like you see me but I don't see you?" His words were phrased less like a question and more like a statement, like a revelation that he had realized that she had a plan.
This time a grin spread across Angel's face. "Depends on whether you recognize me or not." She walked slowly towards Ghost as not to startle him. "If things go wrong, I will know one way or another. If you or someone innocent is in danger, I will be there to stop it. I promise." Quickly, she blew a kiss on his cloth-covered lips and then disappeared between the cars and left the area.
○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○
A mask covered her face. His scent was still in the soft yet rough material. It made it easier for her to concentrate.
The weapon in her hand was warm and light. The woman it was aimed at had her hands tied to a radiator and her mouth taped shut. Tears streamed down her face, which left Angel cold.
A key was pushed into the front door lock. There was a click as the door burst open and just a moment later she was standing in the living room with her own gun, the barrel pointed at Angel. "Who are you?"
"For now you can call me Angel. But in the end my current name doesn't matter. Sooner or later it will change again." A crazed smile appeared on Angel's face.
"What do you want from me?" The woman's eyes move to the hostage. There were a lot of emotions in them that she tried to hide, but Angel could see it clearly. It was exactly what Angel wanted.
"You always ask the right questions, Kate." The grin on Angel's face disappeared. "I need your help."
"With what?" Kate's voice was hard but there was a tremble in her question. The uncertainty and fear that normally Angel should have felt.
Angels thought for a moment before looking at Kate more closely. She must have just gotten back from work because her hair was still tied up in a tight braid and she looked like she hadn't slept in several days. "I need a new identity."
Kate looked at Angel confused. "And how exactly should I be able to help you with that?"
"I have to become someone who can reach him." Angel raised her free hand and pointed to her mask. "The task force. Ghost."
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
"She's a strong girl." He couldn't say more because, as mentioned before, he didn't knew Angel very well.
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 7
He was in the middle of the cemetery. Ghost impatiently pulled the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He couldn't believe it himself that he had actually listened to Angel.
The balaclava covered his face, the rest of his clothing consisted of simple dark blue jeans and a gray t-shirt over which he wore a black leather jacket.
Ghost didn't wanted to be too noticeable and wear his uniform or anything else that would have drawn attention to the SAS. It could still all have been an ambush.
He looked at the watch on his wrist for the third time. He had been standing in front of the grave for 20 minutes and not a soul was to be seen anywhere, besides from the cemetery keeper who sweeped the orange leaves from the paths.
Since her grave was in a military cemetery, he needed to searched every gravestone for her name for an hour before he even found the right one. Her gravestone was the only one not decorated, which Ghost found odd. He had placed a bouquet of red chrysanthemums on her cross. The red color looked like a puddle of blood next to the white cross. It made Ghost's brow furrow, almost in pain.
The cold autumn air blew through the few trees and the setting sun slowly pushed its way between the dark clouds, coloring the sky in a delicate pink-orange color. If Ghost hadn't been so tensed, he would have enjoyed the quiet evening and the singing of the birds. But every cell in his body was on high alert.
The gun between his skin and his waistband pressed comfortably into his back. A knife was strapped to his right leg and hidden under his jeans. And there were brass knuckles in his jacket pocket, just in case.
"Lovely girl." Spoke someone behind Ghost. He looked up from the headstone to the man with the rake in his hand. "Came here every day that she had off and visited her boyfriend."
Ghost raised his eyebrows in confusion. The cemetery keeper certainly couldn't see the facial expressions through the mask, but the man still pointed to the cross behind Y/N's grave.
"You knew her?" Ghost now asked. He hadn't looked further into Angel's lovers so he was quite puzzled by the fact.
The man nodded. "Only by sight. But she was a lovely soul. It's almost strange to see the cemetery without Y/N. It seems like yesterday when she was still sitting over there and decorating the grave with wreaths of flowers." He leaned on his rake and shifted his glasses back and forth. "Oh, my eyes are bad. What was her date of death again?"
Within seconds, Ghost's boredom was replaced by a heavy dose of adrenaline. He eyed the man, looking for weapons or any other kind of danger. Finding nothing on the man, he looked around the cemetery. He saw neither cameras nor other abnormalities.
For the fourth time, Ghost lifted his wrist and stared at his watch. Only hesitantly did he raise his eyes again to the strange man who was definitely not the cemetery keeper. "Today. 18:56."
The color drained from the man's face. He was speechless for a few seconds, then the rake fell from his hands and made a dull noise on the lawn. "Come." He then said and went ahead.
A feeling settled in Ghost's stomach which he otherwise only got on missions. The willingness to kill, the adrenaline, the tense muscles. The gun at his back was drawn reflexively and rested in Ghost's hand as if they were it's home.
Ghost followed the stranger to a small garden shed that was locked with several padlocks. With two keys from his large keychain and two other locks with a number code, the door was opened and the man entered the garden house first. Ghost took another look across the graveyard. The red flowers stood out the most. Then he stepped into the shed.
The door slammed shut behind Ghost. But before the man could level a silenced handgun at Ghost's head, Ghost had the man nailed to the door and disarmed. His own gun and the man's were on the floor by now.
"Who are you and how do you know Y/N?!" the man growled.
"I would like to know that from you." replied Ghost. His voice was surprisingly calm.
"None of your business!" The man snapped, making Ghost roll his eyes. With one hand he grabbed the man's arm and pulled him away from the door before twisting his arm behind his back, to the limit of his muscles and tendons. With the other hand he grabbed the man's neck and pushed him to the ground faster than the man could react. He had placed his knee on the man's lower back so that he could no longer get up. Ghost made sure that the two weapons were out of range.
"You are a soldier." The man grunted and hissed as Ghost bent his arm a little more. "Okay, okay! I'm her father! Now let go of me!"
Ghost didn't even thought about it and leaned on the man with even more weight. "Prove it." he growled.
A gasp left the man's throat. "Shit, how am I supposed to do that?!" In answer to his question, Ghost tightened his grip on the man's neck. "You met her, right? That's why you knew about the grave and the date of her death. Then you know what she looks like and what really happened. Ask me something only someone who knows her can answer."
"Tattoo." Ghost muttered bluntly. Things like eye color or hair color, even her height were on her record. Anyone could have had access to her old files and knew simple things. The most recent thing about Angel since her disappearance was her tattoo.
"Uhm, tattoo of a ring on her ring finger. From that bastard. I don't know what it looks like but she mentioned on the letter." He answered.
"How could she contact you?" Ghost growled now, too upset that Angel had put up with contacting her father instead of the military or anyone who could have stopped Ivanov.
"Let go of me and I'll explain everything."
Ghost only reluctantly let go of the man. He picked up his gun and tucked it back into his waistband, but he keeped the man's gun in his hand. As Y/N's father reached out his hand to retrieve the gun, Ghost ignored it and took a good look at the room for the first time. It was a normal garden house. Brooms, shovels, tools and much more were stowed away in cupboards. There was only a locker, blocked with a padlock.
With a sigh, the man had refrained from trying to get his gun back and was now about to open the locker with another key from the keychain. It squeaked briefly when he opened the door. A light was on with a switch inside, illuminating the few letters and pictures. 3 files were stacked on the floor, open envelopes were lying on top of them.
"At first I didn't know what the letters meant." The man explained. He took some loose slips of paper from the locker and handed them to Ghost.
The soldier took the letters with one hand. On one piece of paper there were only horizontal lines, on another the lines were all perpendicular. They weren't words, but then again, they shouldn't be roman numerals either.
"I didn't know who the letters were from either, because they all came from Switzerland." Y/N's Dad took two more slips of paper out of the locker and stacked them on top of each other. Then he held the paper up to the light of the lamp. The horizontal and perpendicular lines on the two papers merged and formed letters. The letters in turn did not form whole sentences because words were missing in between. "Each 4 letters make a message. I only found out who they were from a few months ago."
"What is she writing?" Ghost asked coldly. Angel had told him he would get all his answers. Did she mean the letters?
"Here, I wrote down all the letters separately to be able to decode all the messages." Angel's father pulled one of the files out of the locker and pulled out a small notebook from between some photos. "It's all about where Ivanov is based. He commutes between 5 places. 3 in Russia. 2 in Iran, at his weapons dealers. She shared what kind of people he looks for and what his tactics are to get recruits. In the last letter I think she tried to explain what Ivanov's next plan was but I didn't get the letters until after the bombing thing had already happened and the military got back on his trail. My daughter wrote right in the letter that Ivanov had a plan and no matter what he did next, it was a trap."
Ghost's hand clenched into a fist and the paper in his hand crumpled. "And why is she writing to a useless civilian and not the military?"
Angel's father crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not a civilian. I'm an Ex-Swat Sniper. How do you think my daughter got into the job direction?" A laugh escaped him, which Ghost choked off with his next question. "Why ex-member?"
The man inhaled loudly. "My mental resilience was no longer sufficient after my daughter died too."
Ghost had read Y/N's file closely after he was back in England. It had been almost the first thing he had done, which is why he knew that her mother was already dead.
According to Angel's files, she only went to school until she was 16, then when her mother died, she decided to pursue a military career. After basic military training, she joined the SRS almost immediately.
Then on her eighth overseas assignment, she disappeared and was declared dead.
"And what should an Ex-Swat Sniper do instead of the military to help her?" Ghost asked next, raising an eyebrow.
Angel's father put the letters back in the locker. "That's the thing. She didn't want any help because whoever came to her would have died. She just wanted to let me know what happened and said in case she couldn't take care of Ivanov herself, that someone outside needed all the information to continue her work." The tears in his eyes were hard to miss.
Anger was still raging inside of Ghost. "Who had Angel sent the letters to in Switzerland?"
Y/N's father wrinkled his nose. "Her name isn't Angel." He turned back to the locker with an angry look on his face. "Did that bastard Ivanov named her Angel?"
Ghost was at a loss for words, but on the other hand he was never a man of many words. "Allegedly."
The man shook himself in disgust, then pulled one of the other files out of the closet. "The letters had a long line of post offices before they even got to the family in Switzerland. After a lot of research I found out that it was Elias Schneider's family, one of the soldiers with whom my daughter disappeared with."
Ghost didn't hesitated to take the files out of the mans hand and he cleared out the rest of the contents of the locker. "On behalf of the Special Forces, I'm taking charge of these things."
"Who do you think you are?!" Angel's father growled and tried to stop Ghost from taking the content from inside the locker. "You're killing her! Didn't you hear me?!"
Ghost growled back, almost like an angry fight between two dominant wolves. "Sitting here and wait could kill hundreds, thousands of people." He had put the loose letters and photos in a file and then tucked the files under his arm. "And I'll take that with me for now." The mans gun was still in Ghost's hand. He would eventually give the gun back to the man. But he did not needed an angry father with a gun right now, let alone a bullet in the back of the head.
The man stumbled to get to the door in front of Ghost and held it shut with one hand. It was a pathetic attempt to stop the muscular soldier. "At least tell me if she's okay."
Ghost blew out his breath in exasperation. "She is alive."
Now it was Angel's father again who rolled his eyes. "I know that very well from the letters. I mean... is she still herself?" He spoke hesitantly, as if he really didn't wanted to hear the answer.
"Can't tell, I didn't know her before." Ghost answered monotonously, but he could see through the man's eyes how broken he was. So Ghost took a deep breath to rein his tough personality. "She's a strong girl." He couldn't say more because, as mentioned before, he didn't knew Angel very well.
In the end Ghost didn't care what happened to Angel after all. He had the files and information he needed to continue working on the mission.
If Angel was lucky enough, she would still be alive when he went out again. And Ghost promised Simon that if he saw her again, he would save Angel.
But promises are just empty words, which in the end were always dependent on the situation.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
"I'm assuming you're good at shooting." Ghost's muscles were tense as he looked at her. His gaze burned her skin. He hesitated for a moment before pulling his gun out of the holster and counting the remaining bullets. "I don't shoot at innocent people."
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 6
They sat together in silence all night. None of them closed their eyes, no matter how tired they were.
Ghost hadn't put his sunglasses on again. Instead, the glasses were in one of the empty pockets of his vest, which was strapped back around his body.
Angel would have loved to stare at his well-built upper body all night long. As soon as she let her mind wander, his body constantly appeared in front of her inner eye. And even though she didn't know his face, he was the most attractive man she had seen in three years.
At some point she brought the suitcase that she had gotten from Flora to Ghost. "Here. In case things get heated." There were weapons in the suitcase. They were all silver and each had a second magazine. Instead of giving Angel one of the weapons, Ghost kept them all himself.
They didn't spoke a word after that. They were too focused on the sounds around them. The fire in the fireplace was now out because the room was warm enough.
Angel wondered how the big soldier had lasted so long in his uniform and the masses of muscle. She wanted to take off her clothes to cool down. On the other hand, she didn't wanted to sit somewhere els to be further away from Ghost.
It would have been a lie if she said she didn't felt safer next to him.
As the first light shone through the windows, Zakir's footsteps could be clearly heard from above. He walked back and forth between rooms several times. Then it was quiet again for a while.
Zakir's noises were like the opening of a conversation, as Ghost studied Angel's face before muttering the first words. "What's the plan?"
She didn't knew herself, which is why she swallowed hard. “We have to wait until it’s safe.”
Now he turned completely to her. Her small form was ridiculous next to his large body. "And then what?" His voice was deep and rough because he hadn't spoken all night.
Angel found it hard to hold his cold gaze. She wished he still had his glasses on. "Like I said, I'll get Max and you go to my grave."
"What am I supposed to explain to my general when I get back? That my wounds magically stitched themselves up? Or that a woman made of skin and bones-" he looked at her puny figure. "-knocked me out before I could take her back to base as a witness?" Angel could hear how annoyed he was.
"How about the true story, up to the point where Nika dies. You killed him and took me hostage. So the story I'll tell Ivanov and the one that his informant might tell Ivanov will match. And then I escaped and you returned to base. Ghost, please don't put our lives in any more danger than they already are."
"It would be better if you came with me." He said as if he really wanted to have the last word in the discussion. But Angel couldn't help him any further. His rescue was already a flaw in her original plan. He now had the choice to be part of her plan or to betray her like someone had done before.
Footsteps on the stairs finally made Angel stand up. Zakir went into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine. "You look like shit, Angel."
"Good morning to you too, Doc." She replied with a playful eye roll.
Zakir placed three cups on the dining table. “Does your friend drink coffee too?”
Angel looked questioningly at Ghost, who had gotten up as well and was standing in a corner again as if Zakir was going to attack him with a baseball bat at any second. "Looks like he needs something stronger. Do you have vodka?"
Zakir grinned. "Unfortunately not." He poured the fresh coffee into the cups. Angel then took two of the cups and brought one to Ghost, who didn't rebel as she handed him the warm liquid with a slight smile. Then she sat on the kitchen table. She warmed her hands on the cup.
"My son is coming over today. He's bringing gas for the car. I hope it's okay that he knows about you." Zakir then confessed into the silent room.
Angel sat on the kitchen table and blew her hot drink. "You shouldn't drag him into this." She was now indebted to a lot of people. But she had promised herself that she would eventually pay everyone back for the help she got.
And as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "That'll probably be him." Zakir said, but it gave Angel a strange feeling. She put her cup down where she had been sitting before and looked at Ghost, who was already holding his gun in his hand, the cup sat ontop of the mantelshelf of the fireplace. His posture was as tense as her own. She was relieved when Ghost left his corner and stood next to her.
Zakir opened the door. "Sem. Nice to see you." The father hugged his son and then let him into the house. "Angel, Ghost, this is Semyon, my son."
The blonde-haired man smiled and raised his hand in greeting. "So you're the infamous Angel. The old man told me a few things. Only for my safety, of course." Sem explained, giving Angel a too-wide smile as he held out his hand to her.
A strange humming noise escaped Angel's throat. Ghost still held his gun. He had straightened up further as he took a step forward, causing Sem to look at Ghost and withdraw his hand.
It wasn't that Angel didn't trust Zakir, but the last time someone talked about her behind her back, Y/N had died and Angel had to rise from the ashes.
"Cool mask, bro." Semyon clicked his tongue and then showed his white teeth in a wide grin. "I wore something similar to play paintball back then. It is attached to my rearview mirror of my car as a souvenir." Ghost didn't react to the young man, aside from tightening his grip on the gun.
"Stop joking, Sem. Better take care of Angel's car." Zakir rolled his eyes but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
His son breathed a small "Fine." before he then took the key from Zakir and went out the front door again.
"Sorry for his behavior. He's trying to lighten the mood a bit, but his humor is weird." Zakir tried to explain, but his sense of humor wasn't really what worried Angel.
"How much does he know?" Angel asked with a cold look in her eyes.
Shrugging his shoulders, Zakir put his cup to his lips and took a sip. "Having secrets is sometimes more dangerous than simply telling the truth. In order for Sem to be protected from Ivanov, he first had to know about him. And in order to even explain how I was able to escape from Ivanov, I had to tell him about you. I'm sorry, Angel, but everyone protects their family in a different way."
The red haired woman nodded dully. "It's okay, it was just..." she searched for the right words. "-unexpectedly."
After the incident, Angel didn't felt like drinking coffee anymore and Ghost didn't seemed to let his gun out of his hands either, even though Sem hadn't been there for a while and they were sitting at the table with Zakir.
"Sem has got a special radio. He can block certain channels and only send out signals where it is supposed to reach. We should be able to reach the base more quickly without waiting until Ivanov has given up hope of finding you. If they come to pick up Ghost, there's an abandoned parking garage an hour away from here. A helicopter could land there without attracting immediate attention." Zakir pointed to a map he had spread out on the table. Since Ghost and Angel were both sitting on the same side of the table, Zakir turned the map towards them after circling an area in red.
Angel looked at Ghost who briefly studied the map and then returned his attention to the entire room. "That should work. How long does your unit take to get here after you contacted them?" She then asked him.
Ghost's dark brown eyes settled on Angel. "A few hours, if there are no complications due to air strikes."
Angel shook her head. "Ivanov won't expect us to leave the country. He's probably still waiting for a deal for my trade." The soldier didn't seemed happy with the answer.
"Are you going with him?" Zakir asked. Worry lines lingered on his forehead as he studied Angel.
She nervously rubbed her tattoo until the skin turned red. "You know I have to go back."
Zakir's shoulders droped in disappointment. "I know, I was hoping you'd change your mind." He took a deep breath.
Angel's heart sank into her stomach at the thought of returning back to Ivanov. "It has to be believable if I go back. I need something to prove that I was a hostage."
Zakir sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "What do you mean? You don't have enough blood on you to pass as a hostage yet?"
Silently, Angel bit the inside of her cheek. She felt Ghost's piercing gaze on her skin. "There has to be more." She replied quietly.
The doctor pushed back in his chair. "Angel-" he replied sternly. It was almost a warning. However, there were no further words from him and he just shook his head.
"It makes sense. His gunshot wound could have been from me. If I tell Ivanov that I tought I killed him and the informant tells that Ghost survived his injury, our stories match and are realistic at the same time." Angel explained. "I just need something to prove that I really was a hostage."
Angel watched as Zakir opposed the plan with every cell in his body. He looked at Ghost. “Could this work out?”
The soldier thought quietly for a while. "It's our best chance." The tall man murmured back, causing Zakir to rub his hands over his face and then sigh in surrender.
"All right. Fine." He replied through gritted teeth. "You're killing me, kid."
Angel gave him a sad smile at the nickname. She reached for his hand across the table and squeezed it lightly. "I know."
Angel quickly withdrew her hand as the front door opened and Sem rushed in with a large radio. "Surprise!" He placed the radio on the kitchen counter and pulled the toaster out of the socket to plug in the device.
Zakir and Sem fiddled with the radio for a while. Ghost was still sitting at the table with Angel. They were silent most of the time and the young woman thought for a while about what she could do to demonstrate a more plausible hostage. She relied on a clean bullet wound. It was the only wound that resulted from one of Ghost's weapons. But a second idea popped into her head.
"Why?" He asked. His voice was as cold as his eyes.
"I need something personal from you to prove that you really were my captor." She said quietly. At first she thought her voice would be lost in the static of the radio, but he looked at her with a hard look.
Angel broke eye contact as quickly as it was made. "I just think that it would be proof that we didn't work together. If I had something of yours that you would never have given away voluntarily, your team won't notice that you're lying. We could also find out how close the spy is to you at the same time." She pushed her explanation out from unter her breath and rubbed her tattoo again as if it would make it disappear.
Their brief conversation died out, only the noise and arguing of the Korovin men echoed through the room as they tried to get the device to work.
She knew that Ghost hadn't taken his eyes off her yet. She nervously sucked the soft flesh of her lower lip between her teeth.
"My mask." He said at some point and Angel looked up in surprise. There was a popping sound as her lip slipped out of her mouth.
"Huh?" A sound of confusion escaped her throat before she could stop it. Her big eyes examined his balaclava. The white paint in the shape of a skull was peeling off in some places.
"I'll give you my mask. They wouldn't expect it." His deep voice vibrated in Angel's ears. She assumed he wouldn't give up his identity easily, which was confirmed when he made no move to remove his mask.
“Sem, you were talking about the mask in your car earlier, right?” Angel asked as her eyes slowly left Ghost's and swung to the man being addressed.
He turned his attention to Angel and nodded. "Yes, my paintball mask."
The young woman had to force a friendly smile onto her lips. "Can I see it?"
Sem fished his car keys out of his pocket. "Sure, wait a minute." It didn't took long before Sem was back with his mask.
Angel took it. Conceptually, it was almost like Ghost's mask. The main material was a black balaclava, but instead of a skull print like Ghost had, there was a plastic skull sewn onto the material. She ran her finger over the cold, soft plastic. With her touch, the plastic adjusted to her body temperature almost immediately. She looked at Sem with a half-smile. “Can I keep it?”
"Go ahead." Sem replied politely. "I don't need them anymore anyway." There was a slightly annoyed expression on his face as Angel passed the mask to Ghost.
The soldier changed his mask in the bathroom and when he came out of the bathroom, Angel's breath caught in her throat. "Oh..." She breathed. "Looks like the mask was made for you."
"It looked ridiculous on Sem. Seems like the mask was always meant for a higher purpose." Zakir laughed as Sem rolled his eyes with an annoyed snort.
"The radio works now." Sem pointed at the device and then crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the fridge.
Ghost contacted his base in England and requested a rescue team. He announced that his entire team was dead and he was the only survivor who hadn't made it back to the agreed pickup point in time. Since they wanted to send a helicopter from Germany rather than a plane, Ghost was able to provide the coordinates for the abandoned parking garage.
After a quick farewell to Flora and Sem, Ghost and Angel stood at the refueled car. Zakir's face was lined with worry, as he passed the map to Angel.
"Where do you think it should be?" Angel asked the doctor, who then shook his head again.
"Don't get a plug shot, then you'll die on the way back. The shoulder would be okay, but the chance of permanent nerve damage is high. You shouldn't hit the subclavian artery either, otherwise you'll bleed to death." Zakir sounded like he was trying to talk Angel out of the idea, but she knew that Ivanov would do much worse to her if he found out what really happened. "Just be careful. Angel isn't immortal either."
Instead of saying more, the girl pulled him into a goodbye hug before getting into the car and leaving the property with Ghost.
The journey only took an hour, just like Zakir had said. Angel left the car at the entrance to the parking garage. The street was just as dilapidated as the old parking garage. There used to be a shopping center next to the parking garage, but it was torn down and since then there has only been an empty fenced-in area next to the parking garage. There was a poster hanging on a piece of the fence with the plans for a new shopping center, but there were no construction vehicles in the empty space, and it didn't looked like the poster would ever become reality.
"Here we are." Angel muttered as she looked up at the parking garage. It only had three floors, but it was large. The roof should be big enough for the helicopter. Despite Angel getting out of the car, she stayed her ground not to go with Ghost. "I should be gone before your team gets here."
"Please come with me." Ghost said. She noticed that his instruction was expressed as a plea.
"We've already had that conversation. I don't like repeating myself." Angel spoke as she opened the car door again, but this time she took a pen from the side compartment. She turned the car's side mirror so that she could see herself and took off her leather jacket. She pushed the top aside and inspected her shoulder before sighing and circling a spot on her skin with the pen. "I'm assuming you're good at shooting."
Ghost's muscles were tensed as he looked at her. His gaze burned her skin. He hesitated for a moment before pulling his gun out of the holster and counting the remaining bullets. "I don't shoot at innocent people."
"I'm not innocent. Please, Ghost, let me stop what makes us guilty in the first place." She had placed her hands together in a begging gesture. "I can't do this without your help."
And the shot came much faster than Angel had expected.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
Ghost stretched his index finger to her collarbone. He didn't wanted to touch her, but his finger ran over her skin just seconds after the thought.
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
He could feel her nervousness across the room. Now that all she could do was wait. She was like a mouse under his gaze, though she couldn't see through his sunglasses if he was looking at her or not. When he sat down next to her on the couch, she got up and went to the pot on the stove to spoon the soup onto a plate. She had brought him one of the plates with the reason that he should have food in his stomach for the medication she had selected for him. When he only accepted her kind gesture critically, she took the suitcase that had been standing next to the sofa and inspected the contents at the kitchen table.
He was strict with her, he knew that. She'd done more for him than some of his teammates would ever have done, but helpfulness was a form of manipulation he couldn't risk.
When Zakir came back he had joined Angel at the table. Since the open space wasn't particularly large and the sofa had its back almost directly to the dining table Angel was leaning against, Ghost could hear almost the entire conversation. Zakir told her that the car was in the garage for the time being and was temporarily hidden from prying eyes, but warned her that there was almost no gas left and she wouldn't be able to go back without contacting someone else.
If only she knew she wasn't going back to being a wife for now, Ghost thought, shoving the last spoonful of soup into his mouth while Angel wasn't sitting next to him. He pulled the mask back over his mouth, once again hiding his face.
"How long will you stay?" Zakir asked and a tense breath left Angel's lips. Ghost couldn't see her expression as his back was to her.
"Only as long as you would risk it for us." Was Angel's reply and Ghost wondered how much longer he should wait to contact his captain.
Zakir thought for a while. "Ivanov will be stubborn. After all, his angel is missing. Your friend there will be in trouble not only because he escaped, but mainly because it seems like he's taken you hostage."
"I know." Angel sighed. "I need a maximum of 3 days." She sounded like she was begging for those 3 days. Ghost wondered how she would look begging and almost turned around.
Zakir's voice grew quieter. "I hope you don't go back to him again, Y/N. You managed to escape, stay here until he loses track of you and you can be free."
"Yeah, i know." Whispered Angel. It was so delicate and quiet that Ghost almost didn't hear it over the crackling of the fire.
"Upstairs is the surveillance system for the property. I'll be keeping an eye on everything through the night, but as long as no one's been following you it should be safe for the next few days. I'm up the stairs, the door to the right if you're looking for me. You're free to roam around, but I recommend you sleep. You've got a rocky road ahead of you." Explained Zakir. Then Ghost could hear the creaking of the wooden stairs as the man disappeared to the upper floor.
Angel went back to Ghost and pointed to the things she had previously dug out of the backpack and placed on the side table next to the sofa. "You should take care of your wounds again, Ghost. Especially the one on your leg. The sooner we treat the injured muscle, the less damage you will suffer from it."
Ghost didn't answer her. It wasn't that he didn't wanted to, he wanted to see her reaction. How quickly her nice side could change. After all, she was a soldier once and they would never have had such a soft side as Angel made it out to be.
Instead of getting unpleasant, she had grabbed some medication from the small pile on the side table and held it out to him. "It's for the pain if it gets too bad. You should wait a while before taking any though. At least until I get another diagnosis. But you can take this one, it's anti-inflammatories. One pill every 8 hours."
He took the two packages from her. He almost felt like he was with a real doctor. But she hadn't done more, not even the diagnosis that she had previously announced. She had taken a box of plasters herself and stood by the mirror that was hanging on the wall next to the front door. She took a plaster and stuck it over the laceration on her forehead.
Ghost watched as she inspected her dark circles under her eyes and then pulled the hair tie out of her hair to tie a new braid with all the escaped hair stuck back in. For the first time he eyed her properly.
She was young, so young. Her blue eyes looked almost black in the reflection of the mirror. She was thin and small and delicate. Her skin was covered with freckles. The darker spots were visible not only on her nose, but also on her arms up to her shoulder blades. Her black top was still slightly damp and clung tightly to her skin. Ghost could see almost every curve in her body and he understood why Ivanov wanted her.
Did her new name came from her looks?
Reluctantly, his eyes left the young woman and landed back on the medication in his hand. He got up slowly and walked to the dining table on which the water bottle was standing. His leg hurted when he walked. He had almost no adrenaline in his blood, unlike on missions where he was constantly on adrenaline and the pain was numb.
He swallowed the pill as Angel had told him to, then went back to the side table where the rest of the things were sitting. Angel had picked out various bandages and bottles that Ghost had made acquaintance with on a number of occasions, but was not particularly good at handling.
The soldier grabbed his glasses and removed them from his face. After that came the first layer of his uniform, his vest. The clips on the edge were quickly undone and the vest slipped off his shoulders, followed by the jacket. He put everything on the sofa. When he was down to his t-shirt, he grabbed the collar at the back of his neck and pulled the rest of the fabric over his head as well. Everything was covered in blood, most of it was his own.
Ghost removed the plaster from his arm. The gunshot wound was carefully stitched and cleaned. He figured the wound was probably getting better care than from the fierce field doctor, Dr. Reaser, who accompanied the SAS on missions.
Then he removed the patch on his stomach. The spot was provided with many more stitches. However, nothing was bleeding there either, or was bloodshot. The big bruises on his ribs from the punches Nika had given him looked far more dangerous than the small seam on his hip.
"Do you-" Started Angel and Ghost lifted his gaze. The redhead had taken a few steps towards him. She still kept her distance from him. "Do you have broken ribs?" She asked. There was something like concern in her eyes. Her gaze was focused on his torso. Ghost, on the other hand, only noticed the extreme size difference between Angel and himself.
"May I?" she asked cautiously, pointing to his chest. Ghost's silence didn't deter her from walking closer to him and putting a hand on his ribs. "Are you having trouble breathing?" She asked, to which Ghost just shook his head. Angel had looked up at him for the first time to study his silent gesture. Her skin was much whiter, almost porcelain colored, without the dark lenses of his sunglasses, and the blue of her eyes was much more brighter.
She ran her fingertips over his ribs. Her touch was cautious. "It just had to be a bad bruise. At most a sprained rib. Let me know if the pain gets worse."
"Why are you so worried about my condition?" Ghost needed more answers.
Angel lifted her left shoulder to her ear in an appraising gesture. "I guess I'm doing it more for me than for you. I couldn't stand to see another broken soul caused by Ivanov, when it's too late to save them... Ever since I got this tattoo-" she raised her hand with the tattooed ring on it. "-every human being killed by Ivanov died because I haven't stopped him. Every day there's more blood on my hands." She looked into his eyes as if seeking a spark of sympathy in them. But Ghost forbade any reaction to her explanation.
"Why didn't you contact us? We could have found him and stopped him." Ghost accused her and her eyebrows drew together.
She took a few steps away from him as if she couldn't bear to be near him. "Have you ever been taken hostage, Ghost?" The question surprised Ghost. He was already in bad situations where he was surrounded by enemies and he only got out of it fighting. But he was never really taken hostage.
Angel seemed to read Ghost's mind as she raised her hand in a pointing gesture as if to say, "See, you have no idea what my situation is like." It was true, he didn't know.
"I want you to do something for me when you get back to England." She now said emphatically. She didn't gave Ghost time to reply. "Find my grave. Put some flowers down. And when someone speaks to you, reply with the current date and time."
"Why should I do that?" Ghost didn't know if it was a trap. Whether Ivanov's real attack began when he was back at England. Or if Angel's behaviour was part of Ivanov's manipulation techniques. "Why don't you do it?"
"I can't. I have to get Max out." she explained. Then she sighed and went to Ghost. She put her hand on his forearm and her eyes bored into his. "I beg you, Ghost. You are my only hope; you are my only salvation." He saw in her eyes how broken she was: how she wanted to kneel down in front of him just to ask him for the favor. "You'll get all your answers, I promise." She said now and exerted a light pressure on his arm before her fingertips detached from his skin.
Ghost seriously considered whether he should comply with her request or even answer at all, but she straightened her shoulders and the sad glint in her eyes faded. She changed the subject so quickly that Ghost felt momentarily dizzy. "Let me see your leg again. If everything is okay there too, I'll leave you alone."
As if in a trance, he sat down on the sofa. He was able to push his trouser leg up to the stab wound after removing the old bandage so that he didn't have to take off his pants completely. Angel knelt in front of him and carefully put her hand on his leg for support. With the other she felt his leg up and down to see if he still felt everything and he suffered no nerve damage.
Ghost watched her sit between his legs. She didn't looked at him, but she stretched across his left thigh to get to the bandage on the side table. He saw her cleavage as she knelt in front of him. A chain hung around her neck, the pendant disappearing between her breasts and under her top. She had several birthmarks on her delicate skin, but mostly scars. Two large scars each under her collarbones. One left, the other right. Another scar ran from her wrist to her elbow. The last scar Ghost noticed was on her forehead, just above her eyebrow. It was a distinct indentation in the skin, about an inch long. It had to be where the crowbar hit her.
"Where did you get the scars from?" His voice seemed to startle her, or it was his question that made her shrug tensely.
She clipped the new bandage together and then looked up at him. She didn't left her place between his legs. "Which?" She asked.
Ghost stretched his index finger to her collarbone. He didn't wanted to touch her, but his finger ran over her skin just seconds after the thought. "This."
Angel inhaled audibly. "Manipulation doesn't work without torture. At least not the kind that Ivanov uses."
"How long?" Ghost wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer.
Angel shrugged again. "The others lasted 3 weeks, Max and I were worked on by Ivanov's henchmen for 29 days." Her hand went to where Ghost had touched the scar. "I know what their methods are. That's why I can't leave Max behind. They would let him go through hell again. And he won't make it again."
This time she straightened up and looked down at Ghost. He had to lean his back against the back of the sofa to avoid being at eye level with her chest. "I know you'll most likely want to take me back to your base. But I'm asking you not to tell anyone about me. If the spy at the SAS finds out that I helped you, they'll kill me before I can get Max out and surely they'll take you back to make you on of their brainwashed soldiers. And that is worse than being killed."
Her jeans were wrapped tightly around her legs. She was far too skinny for someone with military training. Her muscles weren't particularly developed, but then again, there wasn't much fat on her either. Ivanov probably starved her into a model figure. Ghost's eyes continued to travel up her body until he was back at her face. She had seen his wandering eyes carefully, after all he was no longer wearing his glasses. She put her hands on her hips, waiting for his next words. "How do you know I'm not the traitor?"
She bit her bottom lip in thought for a few seconds before a smile spread across her lips that she tried to hold back. "Ghost." She said his call sign. Her voice was soft. "How do you know I don't work for Ivanov?" She voiced the question Ghost had been asking himself all along.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
Angel seemed to read Ghost's mind as she raised her hand in a pointing gesture as if to say, "See, you have no idea what my situation is like." It was true, he didn't know.
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
The car rocked back and forth as she drove over rocks and sticks. The path in front of her hadn't been used for a long time and they were now so far into the forest that she was afraid of not finding her way back.
Ghost next to her had his hand on his patched up wound on his side. Angel suspected that his injuries were aching from the turbulence from the uneven ground.
It was pitch black around them. The light of the moon was obscured by thick clouds and the headlight was swallowed by the dense trees around them. The compass was no longer needed since the last crossing and Angel only drove after directions she memorized a long time ago. When the path leveled out to a pebble covered floor, Angel knew she had reached her destination.
After the next bend their way was blocked by a gate. Angel stopped the car and put the handbrake on. She took the car out of gear but kept the car engine running so that the headlights stayed on. She opened her door and got out of the car.
At the gate was a small box, which she opened to reveal a touchpad. Angel knew the numeric code she had to enter there like the back of her hand. She had often dreamed of these numbers. Her finger typed in the 17-digit code and with a click the lock of the gate jumped open. With little effort she managed to push the gate open.
Angel knew that opening the door would set off an alarm and alert the person she was going to visit. Worry settled in her stomach; the fear of putting even more people at risk. But she knew she was doing the right thing by rescuing the soldier.
After another short journey, which was very silent, she reached her destination. A small wooden house stood hidden between thick trees with dense branches. Light shone faintly through the windows. Angel could clearly see that each windowpane had been darkened with black adhesive sheeting. The light made Angel sigh in relief.
This time she switched off the engine when she stopped the car and the darkness encased the property like a protective wall. "Welcome to our destination." She said and looked at Ghost. His posture was difficult to read. She only saw that he was constantly on alert and ready to fight.
They got out of the car. Ghost was surprisingly cooperative and followed her, which Angel wouldn't have expected of him. He stayed behind her at all times, with the intention of knocking her out if she made a wrong move.
She took a few steps to the front door and reached for the doorbell. The wooden door yanked open before her finger could even touch the bell. A shotgun was shoved in her face and Angel raised her arms as she took several steps back. She thought she would stumble into Ghost's chest, but her back only made contact with the cold air and large raindrops.
She heard another gun click next to her as Ghost changed position from behind her to standing in front of her. "No, no, no, don't!" She had stretched out her hand to Ghost and motioned frantically for him to put down his gun. Of course he didn't listened to her.
"Who are you?! And how did you find us?" The woman holding the shotgun had long silver hair. Her body was wrapped in a robe. Her legs were in pajama bottoms and her feet were only wrapped in thick socks. A sign that she had been asleep a few minutes ago.
"I'm Angel. I'm looking for Dr. Zakir Korovin." She said quickly and was about to answer the next question. A hand then rested on the woman's shoulder and she looked back.
"It's okay, love." The named man stuck his head out of the door. He had to bend his neck to even look past Ghost and make eye contact with Angel. "Nice to see you Angel." She nodded to him in reply. "Who is your companion?"
The young woman pushed past Ghost. His gun was still aimed at the strangers. "He's from my unit back then. Ivanov wanted to do the same thing to him as he did to me." She explained shortly.
Zakir then pulled his wife aside and opened the door wider. "Come inside, it's cold. Love, could you light the fire again. And a soup for our guests would be nice."
The silver-haired woman had left the gun behind the door and went to follow her instructions. Angel had looked back at Ghost, who had lowered his gun but still held it in his hand. He silently followed her as she passed Zakir. Her wet hair stuck to her equally wet leather jacket and she only felt how cold her skin had become when she was standing in the warm house.
"I'm sorry for the sudden appear. I hope I don't put you and your family in danger." Her guilt was almost unbearable as she slipped her leather jacket off her body and hung it on the coat hook.
"Don't apologize. I owe you more than a life is worth." He pointed to the sofa, which wasn't far away. On the left was an open kitchen where Zakir's wife prepared the food. The sofa was in the middle of the room and on the right wall was a large fireplace, in which the fire was slowly growing again. There wasn't much space. A staircase next to the kitchen led to another floor and a door next to the staircase led to another room.
"How can I help you?" Zakir asked when Angel settled herself on the sofa. Ghost was still standing at the front door, fully dressed, gun in hand and eyes everywhere. Angel eyed him for a moment, as if that would be answer enough to Zakirs question.
"He'll have to disappear for a while so they lose his track. You know, they're monitoring every radio in the area. We can't communicate outside at the moment." Angel explained rather briefly. She hoped Ghost noticed how careful she was with his information and how little she revealed to Zakir. She also tried to protect Zakir and his family if anything could lead back to them. "The gate is still open." She then told Zakir.
He nodded. "Don't worry, I'll close it and hide the car." With that he had put on a jacket and slipped into his shoes. Angel handed him the car keys. "Flora will take care of you." He had gone to his wife and turned her to kiss her on the forehead. The slight smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eyes revealed how much she loved her husband.
As Zakir walked past Ghost and locked the front door behind him, Ghost seemed confident enough to put his gun back in the holster on his vest. He had quickly bridged the few meters to the sofa where Angel was sitting. However, he remained standing with his back to the fireplace and continued to watch the room.
Angel had noticed Ghost's slight limping through his injured leg. "Flora, does Zakir still have some of his equipment?" Angel asked over her shoulder. The woman put down her wooden spoon and put a lid on the pot of warmed soup. "Of course. Are you injured?" She asked. This time there was concern in her voice. There was no sign of the strong, scary woman with the shotgun. Angel's nod was enough answer for her and she went up the stairs.
The redhead turned to Ghost. She licked her dry lower lip as she studied his posture. "Would you mind to remove your uniform so I can double-check your injuries? I don't want it to get infected."
He turned his head to her. She could only guess what was on his mind when he didn't answered her. But she knew better than to force him into something, even if it was for his own good. She was a stranger to him, the environment was not safe in his eyes and she was almost sure that a plan had already been set up in his head for when he could contact his base again.
Flora came back down the stairs and handed Angel a black backpack and a suitcase. Angel put the suitcase down next to the sofa and kept the backpack on her lap to search through the contents. "Thanks Flora."
"Food will be ready soon. I'll set the table for you. If you want to eat, you're welcome to help yourself. The bathroom is through the door by the stairs. Unfortunately, there isn't a second bedroom, but I hope the sofa is good enough." Flora explained. There was a tired look in her eyes.
"It's more than enough. Thank you." Angel gave her a grateful smile over her shoulder. As she had said, Flora put plates, spoons, glasses and a few bottles of water on the table. She turned off the stove and pushed the pot off the hot stove.
"I'll go back upstairs." Flora informed the two guests. However, she stopped at the stairs and looked at Angel. "Thank you for bringing my husband back to me. We will help where we can." Angel gave her a reassuring smile.
"Who are they?" Ghost's deep voice in the silence was unexpected. He spoke softly but his emphasis was sharp.
Angel's eyes darted from the backpack to Ghost's sunglasses. She made out small raindrops on the tinted glases. His hands were crossed behind his back and he was standing in an upright stance. With his height and broad muscles, he seemed much larger, stronger and more dangerous in this position.
"Dr. Korovin was the doctor I learned from to get into the position as the doctor I am now. Ivanov had blackmailed Zakir into being his doctor back then. He only got out of his position because I became the new doctor and he faked parkinson. He's sort of retired now and went into hiding as soon as he got out. He left directions on a memo to this house for me, which I memorized and then destroyed. Zakir knew about my plan to flee from Ivanov at some point and had offered protection if that happened at some point. Well, I had to redeem the offer for something else." She shrugged and turned her attention back to the backpack on her lap. Ghost said nothing more and a rather awkward silence spread around them.
Angel wondered if he believed her story and if he trusted her at least a little bit. It didn't seem so. He was cold and distant with her, just as tense and ready to kill. Angel knew the behavior from the SRR, from the soldiers from the SAS with whom she had fleeting contact with back then. But with Ghost she felt like she was the enemy and that made her nervous. It even made her doubt if she could ever live a normal life again.
She wondered if her spontaneous plan to save him, if everything she was risking for him, was really worth it.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
He had decided to take her to the base though and she would had be informed about everything there.
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 1
Chapter 3
Ghost could have sworn he was dead. He had shot one of the enemies, everything that came after that had disappeared into the depths of his memory.
His head was against something hard and his neck ached from stiffness. He could feel a pulling pain in his hand. His index finger traced the spot. He felt a needle under his skin and he opened his eyes. Through the sunglasses he could see almost nothing. It was pitch black and the only thing he recognized was the street, in the shine of the headlights. His eyes darted to his side. Angel was driving. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other holding a compass. Her forefinger tapped the golden material of the compass to the rhythm of the soft radio music. A lovely hum sounded from her throat. Her eyes were fixed on the road, but Ghost recognized the tiredness in them.
"Who are you?" Again he asked the question that was bothering him the whole time. His voice was rough, deep and demanding.
The redhead looked over at him, ignoring his question again. "You're awake. How are you?" Then her eyes settled on the road again. Ghost's eyes followed the tube on his hand to the almost empty blood bag. She had kept her word. A growl left his throat, which came close to an answer.
"How did I get here?" The next question she ignored.
"You ask a lot of questions for someone who just barely escaped death." She gave him a quick smile at his dark gaze and then continued. "I took you to the car after you shot Ruvim. I thought you remembered but..." She pressed her lips together and let her sentence end with the onset of silence. "You saved my life. I haven't been able to thank you yet." She looked at him again as she broke the silence again. "Thank you, soldier."
Ghost rubbed his neck to relax the muscles there. His conscience and his mind fought to cooperate with her. It could all have been a trap. In turn, his gun was back in the holster on his vest and the seat belt was buckled around his body. She was honest with him. Why his life mattered to her was still a mystery to him. Ghost knew he had to pull himself together to get information out of her.
"Ghost." He murmured in reply.
Angel looked at him in surprise. "Your name?" He then noded. "It suits you." She closed the compass and placed it in the car's center console tray. "We should be there in a good hour."
"How long have we been on the road?" He was surprised that she actually started answering him directly. "Probably five hours. You woke up briefly in between, but weren't really responsive. I gave you morphine for the pain and then you slept for another 3 ½ hours."
Ghost nodded silently. She cared too much about his well-being. What she needed from him seemed like a big deal. "And where are we going exactly?"
She scratched her eyebrow. On her finger was not a ring, as Ghost had expected, but a black tattoo of a ring, immortalized just below the knuckle of her ring finger. Enough space to cut the finger of, if the marriage would end.
Her index finger brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I know someone who can keep us hidden for a while before your unit can pick you up. It's not secure enough right now. You can't contact your team via radio. They are monitoring all channels at the moment." Without looking from the road, she nodded towards his walkie-talkie.
"Why are you leaving your husband to save me?" He asked. He pulled the needle of the cannula out of his skin and took the blood bag from the holder. He threw the stuff in the back seat and reclined his seat so that he no longer had to sit up straight and relaxed his muscles in his back and stomach. His wounds still hurted.
"Husband." The word left her mouth with a sarcastic laugh. "I was just lucky that he found me attractive enough to not kill me." She had now also placed her free hand on the wheel and gripped the leather so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I'd rather be dead than by his side one day longer."
He didn't understood her statement. If she'd rather be dead, she wouldn't have bothered to save him and escape from there. Ghost knew there was more to her story. "Who are you?" Was his final question.
Her shoulders were tensely pulled up. She drew a deep breath into her lungs and let it out with a hoarse sigh. "My name is Y/N. I officially died on September 16th, 3 years ago. I served in the SRR, the special forces unit that replaced the 14 Intelligence Company. My job back then was to monitor and gather information from the loyalists and terrorists for the SAS. We were after someone named Ivanov and his terrorist group. And even though we were only observing, everything went wrong. I suspect that a traitor was and clearly still is in our ranks. I had to save you because your unit carries on my mission."
Ghost almost gasped when he looked at her closely. A few weeks ago, he'd held the folder containing the information her team had gathered. His captain had told the story of the fallen soldiers and how Ivanov had gone into hiding for 3 years afterwards.
"Who is your husband?" Ghost couldn't leave the question unsaid. The subject clearly made Angel uncomfortable. Every time the word husband was spoken, she would shiver and goosebumps would spread down her arms.
"His name is Stepan, Stepan Ivanov. You should know everything about him if you had read the order files." Ghost could see in her eyes how much she would have liked to change the subject. The terrorist group leader's wife sat next to him. Several possibilities played out in his head and how he could still complete his mission.
His heart pumped uncharacteristically fast in his chest as he contemplated placing his gun on her head and forcing her to turn. Her story didn't made enough sense for him to be believable and he needed a lot more information from her.
There were almost only fir trees around them, which indicated that they were in a forest. Fog had formed on the road and raindrops fell on the windshield.
"A lot to process, huh?" She joked with a touch of amusement in her voice. With her right index finger she turned on the windshield wipers as the rain got heavier.
"What exactly happened?" Her lip disappeared between her teeth as if giving herself more time to reply. Despite the darkness of his sunglasses, Ghost saw the darker shade of red that formed on the sensitive skin she chewed on.
"I remember we were in a safe house, monitoring a suspected weapon exchange from Ivanov's Group. Far enough away from where he was, but close enough to ascertain what he was doing and what his next steps were. Planning the intervention for the SAS soldier's that were with us at that time. Our Captain, Captain Rider, was the first to notice something was wrong. It was only a few minutes before our safe house was overrun by Ivanov's men. There were no casualties at the time." Her eyes shone sadly and a tremor had formed in her voice. Her chest was tense, her every breath could be heard clearly. "I was knocked unconscious with a crowbar. When I woke up, I was alone. But it wasn't long before I could hear the screams of my team. They were trying to break them, to brainwash them. Those who couldn't be manipulated were killed. It was just me and Max left."
She pulled the rolled-up sleeves of her jacket back down so that her goosebumps were no longer visible and Ghost's eyes wandered back to her lips. "Have they manipulated you?"
She quickly shook her head. "No. They tried, but I was smart enough to fake a successful brainwashing when I realized that Ivanov was more merciful to me than to the others. It was different with Max. He wasn't the same for a long time."
"Who is Max?" Ghost had read the name Y/N aka Clockwork several times, but he couldn't remember someone named Max.
"Elias Schneider aka Maximum." Explained Angel. She picked up her compass again as they came to a halt at an intersection. She turned right and threw the golden object back into the center console. "But now I have a question." she said looking back at him. "What else was reported to you before we were declared dead?"
Ghost was reluctant to tell her about the files. Even tho a lot of information she stated were kind of similar to the mission files he had read.
His hand had found his weapon again. Angel could have taken over the identity of a fallen soldier and acted on Ivanov's behalf. He couldn't trust her at all. "If you worked for the SRR, why do you know so much about medicine?"
His counter question seemed to be enough of an answer for her, because she looked back at the street and nodded in surrender. "I'll put it this way, it's easy to get in, but it's bloody hard to get out. It took a lot more trust to do that than I had at that time. And what better way to earn trust than to save someone's life? I did a crash course in medicine and was allowed to work with their doctor at the time. And as a doctor, I was finally allowed to move out with the soldiers. I was held back until their fight was over and then rescued everyone who was injured. Particularly since Ivanov needed recruits." She licked her lips as she turned the car's vent a little warmer. "I had long searched the opportunity to run away on missions. But I would have left Max behind and the opportunity to find whoever was responsible for the suffering of my team and future soldiers."
"Who do you think would be the traitor? What's in it for them?" Ghost wanted to know next, but Angel just shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know yet. And I only had limited resources to investigate. But whoever it was then, it was with you this time too. Ivanov moved his camp 3 weeks before you came."
Ghost's hand clenched into a fist. He lost his entire team because there was a snitch in the SAS. He didn't wanted to admit it, but Angel's story made a lot more sense than it did a few minutes ago. And with the realization that she was telling him the truth for the most part, he also found that he was building more trust in her.
"What did he do to get the SAS on his trail again?" she asked looking over at him for a moment. He rested his hands on his knees as her gaze settled on his fists.
Ghost considered how good it would be to tell her about his mission, or anything about his unit. He had decided to take her to the base though and she would had be informed about everything there. "Planned terrorist attack. He hid a bomb, but we found it in time and defused it. His patterns were clearly recognizable."
Angel shook her head and Ghost narrowed his eyes at her. "No, he set you on his trail on purpose." She rubbed a hand over her forehead. Ghost could see dark circles under her eyes and wondered how long she had been awake.
"What?" Ghost tried to keep the horror out of his voice and related his question for what Ivanov set them up.
The redhead pressed her lips together before answering. "A few months ago he spoke of a big plan, but the lack of recruits. He needs fighters; he needs strong soldiers."
"Bloody hell?!" He growled through clenched teeth.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
She bit her lips nervously. Her hand was resting on his muscular thigh as she leaned over him and grabbed the seat belt.
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon), multiple chapters
Opening
Chapter 2
Her hands were warm with blood. Her heart ran a marathon in her chest. The adrenaline was running high in her veins, so she had no problem ignoring the gun aimed at her.
She removed the radio from her pants and dropped it on the floor. Then she crushed it with one foot until it was useless. "Can you stand up?" she asked the injured soldier casually. She understood his skepticism even better than he could have imagined. Much was at stake, for her and for him.
When he didn't responded, she looked back at him. The barrel of the gun was the first thing she saw, then his covered face. She rolled her eyes and raised her arms in a sign of surrender. "We're running out of time."
"Which side are you on?" She could hear the distrust in his rough voice. Angel could imagine that he was tough and now that he was halfway alive he wouldn't hesitate to kill the rest of those present, including her.
"I'm on my side. Your decision whether it's that of the enemy or one you want to cooperate with.” Red-smeared hands still raised, she stood in front of him. Giving him the choice of killing her or coming with her. Ghost slowly droped the gun and Angel nodded. "Okay. We have two ways of getting out of here. One, you take me hostage and steal the car that's outside guarded by two enemys. Downside, they might shoot me just like Nika would have done, claiming I was killed by you. Two, we'll kill them and I'll give you a blood transfusion to get you back on your feet."
"Option two sounds good." he muttered and secured his gun. Angel rummaged in the bag on the floor and pulled out an empty syringe.
"Shit. No adrenaline left. Sorry, soldier, you have to get through this." She then offered her hand again to help Ghost up. He let her pull him to his feet.
It looked like he was going to fall right back over and into her arms, but instead his large hand grabbed her upper arm and pulled her closer to him, kind of stabilizing himself in the process. He pressed his gun against her chest. "No dirty games."
She knew that he was superior to her even in his critical condition. So she nodded quickly. His fingers let go of her upper arm only hesitantly and even when she was a few meters away from him again, she still felt his grip on her skin.
He stayed behind Angel, who motioned for him to be quiet. She carefully opened the door and walked out of the room into the hallway. She assumed that nobody was in the house anymore. Even so, her steps were soft and her movements cautious as she reached the stairs and descended the steps.
Ghost followed her like a shadow. She hardly noticed his presence. Only when she stopped at a door, she felt his vest on her back. Sometimes she saw his arm out of the corner of her eye, leaning against a wall to relieve his sore leg when she stopped or slowed down.
They stepped over corpses. Some were from Nika's team, but most were SAS soldiers. She looked back at the soldier with wide eyes. She saw a lot of dead bodies in her life, but seeing the soldiers brought back memories that haunted her dreams every night. "Are you keeping up?" He gave her no answer at all.
Angel reached for the knife on her waistband, confirming it was still there. "Wait here." With careful steps she had turned a corner and opened the front door. Through a small gap she looked where the two men were who should wait for her and Nika. One of them was in the passenger seat of the car, with lowered window and his elbow rested on the door frame. Ruvim, on the other hand, was standing outside. He had his large MK in his hands and observed the area, as well as the window to the room in which Nika's body was.
Angel looked back behind her for a second. The SAS soldier had listened to her and stayed put.
"We need help with the recruit." She said as she yanked open the door and took several steps outside. Ruvim aimed at her. "And why didn't Nika give any instructions but send you?"
Angel's hands went up. The blood had dried by now, but she hoped she had staged it enough to make her lie believable. "He's injured and the recruit has his gear. Nika sent me out to get help." She drew her eyebrows together in a fearful expression. Ruvim lowered the gun but still looked at her with skepticism, causing Angel to look paranoid at the door behind him. "If Nika couldn't stop him, he'll be out of the house any minute." Angel managed to shed a few tears. "Please, Ruvim, I don't want to die yet."
"Okay, okay. Get in the car. Demid will stay with you. I'll see what's going on." Ruvim started to move. He quietly opened the door, he had his gun ready and the safety of.
Angel knew she only had seconds to help the SAS trooper. She had targeted him and exposed him to danger. She quickly approached the car. Demid had rolled up the window pane and got out. He held the car door open for her. She peered once more at the front door, which slammed shut, and then sank her knife into her comrade's chest. She had pressed her hand over his mouth to silence any noise. As his body fell over, she tried to support his weight and kept the impact as quiet as possible.
Next she ran after Ruvim. She still held the knife tightly in her hand. The man, her target, stood on the corner of the room where she had left the soldier alone. When Ruvim heard her footsteps, he turned and swung his weapon's buttstock. Angel's knife reached his upper arm and sank between the muscles and tendons, then the force of the blow to the forehead threw her to the ground. She felt the throbbing pain and the cracked skin from which blood immediately dripped.
Ruvim had put his weapon back on his shoulder and aimed at her. A shot rang out. Angel trembled in anticipation. However, the bullet was not aimed at her.
Her comrade's skull had been pierced with a bullet. There was a bloody hole in his forehead and his eyes rolled sideways. He fell forward, straight onto Angel. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs and she gasped. Ruvim's face was pressed into her chest, only smearing her more with blood. She wasn't sure if some of her ribs were broken and she couldn't tell what part of her chest hurted the most.
She kicked the corpse away and then stared at the spot where the shot came from. In front of her stood Ghost. His gun was aimed at her, but he lowered it and then leaned against the doorframe. His legs were shaking.
"Shit, you gonna pass out." Angel got up and rushed to him. She put his arm around her shoulder and her arm around his back. His weight on her shoulders was pushing her muscles to the limit.
She dragged the big man with her. She had placed her other arm on his chest to prevent him from falling forward. Even tho, she was sure that if he fell, he would have dragged her to the ground with him. Angel feltl his struggle to stay conscious. His gun was still in his hand. One wrong move from her and she would end up like Ruvim.
The front door was still open. Angel didn't bother closing it as they stepped out. "Can you get into the car yourself?" She asked. Her voice squeezed out of her throat, her breathing heavy. "Because I don't think I can get you in there."
A hum left his chest. It vibrated through his whole body and she swallowed nervously. Angel stiffly opened the door for Ghost and let him prop himself up on her shoulder until he had both legs in the car and settled into the seat. She ignored the seat belt as she closed the door and jogged to the trunk.
In a separate box were 2 blood reserves and morphine. With quick movements, the cannula and the tube were connected to the blood reserve and she ran back to the passenger door. The SAS soldier's head and shoulder rested against the window. As soon as Angel would open the door, he would fall against her with his full weight.
Angel got in the other side of the car. The center line of the car separated her from the man. With one leg she knelt on her seat and then climbed between Ghost's legs. She attached the blood reserve to the handle above the door.
"Hey, you can't fall asleep now!" There was more fear in her voice than she cared to admit. She carefully took his face in her hands and lifted the glasses slightly. His eyes were closed and his head swayed limply with every movement Angel made. With her left hand she lifted the balaclava by the edge of the collar and then placed her index and middle fingers on his neck. The throbbing beneath her fingers made her sigh in relief.
She quickly disinfected the blood infusion needle and the skin on his palm. She pushed the needle into his skin and secured the tube with a band-aid. The blood flowed into his veins through the tube.
She bit her lips nervously. Her hand was resting on his muscular thigh as she leaned over him and grabbed the seat belt. She made sure the strap didn't crush the blood reserve tube and that his arm was comfortable before clipping the harness into the buckle. Then she leaned his head back against the window pane, again making sure he didn't accidentally loosen the blood bag from its holder. Next she took the gun out of his limp fingers and tucked it away in the holster of his vest.
Angel climbed back into the driver's seat and started the engine. With a quick movement of her hand, she checked the watch on her wrist. Cursing, she stepped on the gas pedal and hoped to have enough head start.
Summary: When simon's mission went terrible wrong, she was there to save him. So far only her call sign was angel, but maybe she was his angel nonetheless.
"My name is Y/N. I officially died on September 16th, 3 years ago."
Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of torture, manipulation, brainwash, weapons, kidnapping, swearing, smut (kind of) in later chapters, mention of medical stuff that may not be true or accurate 'cause f*** those topics aren't easy in my own language htf should i know this in english, description of a reader that may not be like you imagined reader, still use of Y/N, clearly female reader, perhaps bad english, third person view (switching from reader to Simon - for a little... spice), multiple chapters
A/N: The pictures are all from pinterest, btw. English is not my first language (i had to translate a lot with google, sorry.) plus it's my first time posting on tumblr. So, i hope you enjoy. Thanks and "Hals- und Beinbruch".
Chapter 1
Black dots danced in his vision. His ears were ringing and it was hard for him to focus on the man in front of him. A knife was lodged in his right thigh and a bullet in his left arm. He also had a gunshot wound between the pelvis and ribs.
The green cargo pants were now dyed red and stuck to his skin, as was his shirt. He could feel the blood slowly running down his eyelid from the cut over his eyebrow.
The man's russian accent echoed in his head until he could understand the words and his mind processed them.
"You're still alive." Were his words, followed by a mocking laugh. The man walked a few steps around the room. He still had the handgun in his hand, but was no longer aiming it at the injured person. "We could use someone like you."
Ghost didn't knew exactly what he meant by those words. He was as good as dead and yet that cunt didn't finished it.
"With a little brainwash, you'd be one of our best men... if you survive this. What do you think about that?" He looked down at Ghost as if he was a child.
"Fuck off." Ghost hissed his reply between clenched teeth, which was followed by a less-amused grunt from his opponent. The only weapons Ghost still carried were a pair of knives and a smoke grenade. The walkie talkie was silent, meaning his team was dead. He pressed his hand a little harder to his side to stop the bleeding.
"I love to see people suffer." The man pointed the gun at Ghost again. Ghost didn't care if he shot him now. He couldn't save himself from the situation anymore. "That's why you're my new-"
The words were interrupted by the small radio on his waistband. "Everything secured. None of the soldiers are alive anymore."
The man growled and tore his walkie talkie out of the belt holder. "I've got another one here. Send Angel so he survives the ride back. Third floor."
There was silence for a moment, as if the man was gathering his thoughts. "Where was I?" He asked himself. Then the smile appeared on his face again. "Oh yeah, you... you're going to wish you were dead when I'm done with you."
Ghost's vision blurred again. With every passing minute it was getting harder for him to keep his eyes open. The only thing on his mind was the failed mission and that this would be the end of him. The man was still talking to himself, made some promises that the soldier didn't listended to.
The door opened and the man was instantly silent. The first thing Ghost saw was a red leather jacket. The silhouette stepped closer into the room, paying no further attention to the other man. The person's face only became visible to Ghost when she stood directly in front of him and looked down at him.
Brown-red hair was tied back into a ponytail and a walkie talkie was attached to her belt like the one the man was wearing. She eyed him with her dark blue eyes as he leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out and one hand on the floor in a failed attempt to grab his gun that was lying a few meters away from him.
There was no weapon visible on her slim body and she showed no signs of a fight either. She held a bag in her hand which she placed on the ground right next to his feet.
She carefully stepped around the British SAS soldier and knelt beside him. There was no strength left in Ghost to fight her as she grabbed his upper arm and looked at the gunshot wound. Her touch was gentle and careful, her gaze focused but cold. For a few seconds her eyes met his, but he was sure that she couldn't see much of his eyes through the sunglasses he was wearing. His balaclava covered the rest of his face.
Her fingers grabbed the bag she had brought and pulled it closer to her. With quick hand movements, the zipper was opened and she pulled a pair of scissors from a side pocket. Carefully, she slipped one of the blades between the skin and the fabric of his clothing, then cut a square around the bullet wound. When the fabric was removed from his arm, she pulled a first-aid kit from her bag. She opened the shrink-wrapped gloves, put them on and continued to work sterilely. Next she reached for the disinfectant.
Silently she searched for his gaze as if to warn him of the burning pain. Ghost watched every little movement she made. Still, it puzzled him that she was this courteous with her enemy. The young woman went on with her work. The hot, tingling pain of the disinfectant was a nice pain for Ghost to sink into. His nerves were on edge, his senses dulled. He hardly felt how she had taken a pair of tweezers and carefully removed the bullet from his arm. The wound was sewn up and disinfected again, with just as quick and skillful hands. Finally, she bandaged his wound.
Concern was in her eyes as her gaze slid down his body. Every look burned his skin and he would like to imagine her patching him up to save him. It was clear to him that she wasn't doing that.
"The fuck takes you so long, Angel?!" The nameless man screamed across the room, sending Ghost throbbing pain through his head.
Angel's fingers were cold even through the gloves as she wrapped them around his wrist and gently pushed them off his gunshot wound. She didn't even glanced at the other man in the room. Her attention was only on Ghost.
She didn't answered him what enraged the man only more.
Static noise filled the room, before he could vent his frustration on them. "We're on our way back. Everything's settled here. Nika, are you taking Angel with you?" Their colleages reported to both of them.
Angel's breathing was ragged as she carefully worked on the gunshot wound. Step by step exactly the same as on his arm.
"We'll follow. Get a cell ready, we have a new recruit." The man, Nika, confirmed the question over the radio.
"Rodger. Demid and Ruvim are waiting by the car just in case you need backup." Shortly after, Ghost could hear the engines of the cars outside starting up. "Understood." Said Nika through the walkie-talkie. He then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the opposite wall.
Angel looked over her shoulder as she finished the gunshot wound and made eye contact with Nika for the first time. He had a sickly smile on his lips, his eyes traveled over her body. Like a predator, he held her captive with his gaze, tried to show dominance. It turned Ghost's stomach. He couldn't see the expression on her face, but she sat up and formed a defensive stance, as if ready to jump up and run.
Ghost thought about reaching out to her and pressing one of his knives to her throat. He could take her hostage, demand what he came for, and still successfully complete the mission.
Angel's head turned back to Ghost. She searched his eyes, saw only her reflection in his sunglases and then looked at his uninjured leg which she was kneeling beside. She swung her leg over his and sat on his thigh. Her knee brushed his crotch, the other was pressed against his thigh beside him.
Her fingers grabbed his sunglasses and removed them from his face. She held his face in her hands and studied his face closely. Her thumbs traced his cheekbones and jawline, as well as his nose, checking for broken bones. When she was satisfied, she pulled the balaclava up a bit to look at his cut and carefully removed the blood around his eye with a cotton pad. She put a band-aid over the laceration and then slipped his sunglasses back on his face.
Ghost almost thought he saw nervousness in her eyes. It could have been because of Nika's observing gaze, or because she was so close to one of her enemies. But as naturally as she was handling him, it couldn't be option two.
Ghost knew that the only wound left on him was the knife in his leg, but she stayed on his leg, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other had found the SAS imprint on his uniform and was tracing the letters. Her head turned to Nika, who had one hand in his pocket and his cell phone in the other. Ghost couldn't tell if he didn't want to see her sitting on Ghost's lap or if he was just bored.
Angel's hand reached into one of Ghost's pockets and pulled out one of his knives. Her movement was quick as she slipped the knife between the waistband of her pants. She gave Ghost a nod as if to reassure him that she would not use the weapon against him. However, it put Ghost on alert and he almost pushed her off if she hadn't got up herself.
She took the bag, walked to the other side of Ghost and knelt down next to him again. She removed a piece of his pants with the scissors, working as if nothing had happened. Her eyes scanned the room once more and she moved away once more to remove a drawer from a dresser. She carelessly dumped the contents on the floor and then went back to her previous place on the floor next to him. She placed the drawer next to Ghost's foot and left it there for now.
What Nika didn't realize was that she picked up Ghost's gun while walking. The weapon was now lying next to her knee, out of Nika's line of sight. Ghost could have grabbed the gun and taken them both down without much effort. How far he would have gotten with his blood loss was the other question.
Angel carefully removed the knife from his leg and immediately proceeded to completely clean and sew up the wound. As a final step, she lifted Ghost's leg and slid the drawer under his foot, so she could easily wrap the bandage around his leg and finish her work. As she removed the drawer and carefully placed his leg on the floor, she placed the gun under his thigh and then slipped the gloves off her hands.
"Complete?" Nika asked and put his phone back in his pocket. The young woman gave him a nod. "It took long enough." he complained. Angel's hand rested on her waistband as she saw the man grab his gun and walk toward Ghost.
Her bag was long forgotten as she stood in front of Ghost and blocked the way. All wheels turned in Ghost's head to understand the situation. Why should she protect him?
"Back off, princess." Nika ordered her.
"You have no orders to give here." It was the first time Ghost heard her voice. She was quiet but dangerous, like sweet poison. "Should you dare to interrupt my work again, I will personally see to it that you die of your next injury, no matter how close you are to my husband."
A mocking laugh escaped Nika's throat. "No one is here to witness your death. I could shoot you and say it was him." Carelessly, he pointed his gun at Ghost and then aimed it at Angel. "So get out of my way."
It was quiet for a few seconds as Angel stood stubbornly in front of Nika. Ghost's hand had found his gun and he was just waiting for the right moment to kill them both. He didn't trust Angel, especially after she mentioned her husband and incidentally told Ghost how much of an enemy she was.
Angel slowly turned to the side and made room for Nika to continue walking towards Ghost. Every muscle in Ghost's body tensed. The wounds gave out a yielding pain as the sutures tightened. His index finger was already on the trigger.
With a skilled movement, Angel had pulled the knife out of its hiding place and rammed it into Nika's neck from behind. He tried to turn around and fight back when she pulled the knife out of his flesh again and sliced his throat. The blood spattered onto her face and across her red leather jacket. Nika had clutched his neck with wide eyes, but no sound left his slashed throat. The man gurgled, skin already pale and dripping with blood. He droped to the floor, no strength left to fight the bloodloss. His lungs filled with blood and he choked 'till his hands fell limply next to his body.
Angel kneeled down to check if he was really dead, then she wiped the knife on his clothes to remove the blood, so she could tuck it back between her waistband. A tensed breath escaped her throat, then she looked at Ghost.
His gun was aimed at her and yet she stood up and held out her hand to him. "Come on, we don't have much time."
"Who are you?" His deep voice was menacing and demanding. He saw the goosebumps forming on her arms where the fabric of the leather jacket was pushed up.
Angel bit her lip and pulled her hand back. There was a serious expression on her face. "I'm your only chance to get out of here alive."
