obsessed with how you write ghost omfg. could i request a silly smut fic? (not actually silly i just can’t be serious)
ghost x medic reader (gn/fem aligned?), mutual pining. ghost gets a minor injury on his thigh and medic reader helps him out but he can’t stop thinking about how soft and small their hands were so he goes and…helps himself afterwards. you can take it wherever you want from there
Oh absolutely 😈 thank you for the ask 🤍
Wounded
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Doctor!Reader
Synopsis: Ghost shows gratitude for your help with his injury.
Warnings: SMUT. Cursing, mentions of medical procedures, a bit of gore, oral sex (F! Receiving), p-in-v sex, unsafe/unprotected sex (contraceptives mentioned), cumming inside.
He'd sauntered in, a limp to his walk, though still carrying his weight as if he wasn't leaving drops of blood over the floor behind him.
He would've gone unnoticed around the busy hospital, had it not been for his giant body looming at your door. Your head turned to see the armoured man.
You'd seen him before, as a patient, and on base, usually alone. He had a silent disposition and commanded authority with his presence alone. He was always stoic, even more so with the mask over his face. You'd learned to read his body language; the stiffness in his muscles anytime he came across your office. He'd shift his weight every so often, and always looked you in the eye.
You would've been intimidated, had you not already known him from the unplanned visits he made to your office when he'd add another injury to the ever-growing list.
You were attracted to him, in a way that made you nervous. You made sure sure it didn't affect your work, avoiding the temptation even though he always dragged himself to your door, bleeding out, asking for your help. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold out, despite the nagging voice in your head repeating that it was wrong, an abuse of your position.
"Lieutenant," You greeted him from your desk, turning your body to face him.
"Need a tune-up, Doc," He grumbled.
Your eyes scanned his body for any discernible injuries, finally falling to an open, weeping gash just above his knee. His fatigues were stained red, the pink flesh of his muscle visible.
"Take a seat," You nodded to the examination table.
Standing from your chair, Ghost's gaze wandered from the wall to your frame, his eyes trailing down the curve of your hips, to the undeniably arousing view of your ass as you bent over.
He had taken a liking to you. He liked seeing you. You always had something to say, always took his mind off the chaos for a moment when you talked to him. He liked the conversation, and would only ever have you fix his wounds.
You had a gentle touch, soft and warm, but confident. You'd patched him up more times than he could count; bullet wounds, nasty cuts he got from fieldwork, even the reckless injuries you scolded him for.
He favoured you, your work, found your bluntness invigorating. He felt like you saw him, understood him. Maybe it was your degree in psychology, but he liked to think you purposely studied him to know him.
He was drawn to you, your warmth, your empathy, your smell, and the way your scrubs fit wasn't a bad sight for an injured soldier, either.
"It's above your knee?" You asked, sliding gloves over your hands.
He nodded.
"You'll have to take them off," You said, your eyes falling to his pants.
You held your breath, waiting expectantly for adamant denial or a piercing glare. Ghost always took your orders in stride; you knew what you were doing, but asking him to strip in front of you was something you anticipated he'd protest.
He paused for a movement, before standing to his feet, undoing his belt and dropping his fatigues down his legs.
His thighs spread over the table as he made himself comfortable, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his uninjured leg.
You swallowed. Surprised, but not unaffected by the sight before you. You tried not to stare at his naked thighs, or the prominent bulge in his briefs. You blinked a few times, clearing the depraved thoughts from your mind. He was still your patient- you were a doctor.
You flushed the wound, cleaned the area gently, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you. Grabbing your suture material and needle drivers, you paused before beginning.
"I know you've done this before, but let me know if you need a breather."
He merely nodded, watching you pull the subcuticular layers of his skin back together. Your eyes were focused solely on your work, ignoring the hyper-awareness of how close your bodies were, how you could hear his soft breaths, feel the impressive muscles of his thighs that flexed with every movement.
Not a single utterance of protest came from him, even when the needle pierced his skin and tugged it closed.
His eyes shut- even through the latex he could feel the warmth of your hands, your delicate but skilled fingers prodding and pulling at his flesh. Your voice pulled him from his stupor, his eyes finding yours.
"How did this one happen?" You asked, your eyes lifting to his.
You swallowed again. His eyes were glued to yours, narrowed. You had a nagging feeling he could see right through you- the way your breathing picked up, your jugular pounded against the soft skin of your throat. He could probably smell the arousal seeping from your pores.
"Throwin' knives," He said, now peering down at your hands.
Your palm rested on his thigh as you inspected your sutures.
He took note of just how small your hand was, compared to the muscle of his thigh. How good it felt against him, and what else he could imagine those hands doing; wrapped around his cock, your light touch urging him to his climax, the sweet, relaxing voice of yours whispering in his ear.
"You should be more careful," Your brows furrowed.
"Should be," He nodded. "If I were, don't think I'd ever see you."
"Is that a bad thing?" You smiled, finishing the last knot.
When he didn't answer, his eyes firmly looking you over, testing your boundaries, you sat back on the stool, collecting yourself, clearing your throat. It wouldn't just be harmless flirting, not if he made it into something.
"You can get dressed."
You watched from the corner of your eye while washing your hands as he pulled his fatigues back over his legs.
"Cheers, Doc," He said, giving you one last look before he left.
—
He leaned back against the headboard, his hand tucked into the waistband of his pants.
He sucked in a sharp breath as he took hold of his cock, teasing strokes as he imagined your eyes, the soft curves of your face, and those scrubs you wore that he ached to tear off. You'd lean over him, use those gentle hands to stroke up and down, letting spit drip from your puffy lips to the head of his cock.
His head fell back, knees bending as he settled into position, his eyes rolling back into his head as his testes tightened.
"Fuckin' hell," He grunted, his body twitching as he moved faster.
Behind his eyes he could see you whispering in his ear, begging for his cock, undressing yourself for him, letting him kiss and touch every part of you.
He liked to think you'd be soaked, silky liquid dousing his cock, only getting wetter with every passing moment while he fucked you.
He wondered if you always smelled so fucking good, not a perfume, just you. He could almost smell it now, seeping into his senses until the warmth in his gut nearly burned.
"That's it," He grunted again, a bit louder this time but he hardly notice. "That's fuckin' it."
He'd nearly made it, so close to relief when there was a knock at his door.
He growled in frustration, removing his hand before making his way to the door. Throwing his mask on, he yanked it open.
You stood behind it, your eyes moving to his when he appeared before you.
"Lieutenant," You smiled. "You forgot these," You said, shaking a bottle of pain medication.
He chuckled- it was almost like he'd willed you to his room, or maybe you knew just how badly he wanted you.
"Thanks," He said, taking the bottle from you to set it aside.
"Stitches holding up okay?" You asked.
He nodded. "Why you askin'?"
"Sounded like some pretty rigorous exercise going on in there," You teased, a small smile overtaking your lips.
You couldn't help yourself, couldn't hold back from falling into his well-lain trap. You'd brought yourself to his door, this time- it was real.
His face would've gone crimson, he would've bashfully tried to explain himself- but that wasn't the kind of man he was. Especially not when the object of his desire was at his door, alone, flush-faced and doe-eyed.
"You spyin' on me?"
It was your turn to be put on the spot. Redness creeping over your neck and cheeks at the way his eyes stared you up and down, his body leaning against the doorframe.
"No," You shook your head. "I don't usually make house calls," You said, stepping a bit closer, your face level with his chest. Your head tipped up, unafraid of the abyss in his eyes. "But, I made an exception for you."
"'M flattered, Doc. You joinin' me, or still on office hours?" His smug smile was blatant- you wouldn't give in so easily.
"Off the clock," You answered, stepping inside the threshold, past him. "I can leave, if you're busy."
"I always got time for you, sweetheart," He tilted his head, watching the bashful smile lift your lips.
He stalked closer, shutting the door behind him slowly, cautiously.
He could read you well, especially with the lustful glaze over your eyes. You were begging him to call your bluff.
His chest bumped against your back, and you could hear his quiet breaths in your ear. You held your oblivious disposition, even as his hand slid around your waist, an unexpectedly light touch, fingertips grazing your stomach.
"Be glad to make your trip worthwhile."
Your eyes blinked lazily, turning your head to find his chest. You felt a flutter in your womb, your panties already wet with arousal.
His fingers slid down your stomach to graze your pelvis, reaching further, putting pressure against the seam of your pants, teasing you. It made you flinch, even minimal contact had you on edge, anticipating what he would do next.
"That'd be nice of you."
"Think you deserve better than nice."
You bit your cheek, watching as he tugged your scrubs down, following his lead as he turned you to back you against the wall. Your chest was rising and falling hurriedly, your hands connecting to the crown of his head as he slid down to his knee.
He hooked his fingers under his mask, lifting it to his nose bridge. Coarse hands ran up your calf, lifting your thigh to his shoulder.
"Lieutenant," You warned, shaken from the haze of arousal clouding your judgement. "Watch your leg."
"Stop talkin' Doc," He shot back, his eyes on you as he moved closer, resting his hands around your thighs. "You ain't workin' anymore," He said; low, unthreatening.
Your jaw dropped when his lips connected to your hip bone, moving further down to press slow, sensuous kisses to the velvety skin of your inner thighs and pubic bone.
He pressed his face into the crest of your thighs, parting you with his tongue, gliding between to caress your clit with a gentle touch.
Your knees trembled, threatening to give out when his pressure increased, but he held you firmly in his grip, denying any attempts to shy from his tongue.
His lips around your clit made your head fall against the wall, a quiet moan escaping from the depths of your lungs, your fingers dug into his scalp.
You were drenched; saliva and liquid arousal running between your thighs, Ghost slurping softly at every escaping drop, lapping his tongue over the sensitive organ to make your body shake.
"Shit," You whispered, a strangled sound leaving your lips between gasps for air.
He ignored the pain in his thigh- likely his stitches stretching the connected skin, but his mind was far too invested in your moans and whimpers, the way you tasted.
His fingers dug into your skin, a phantom of pain, disguised by the pleasure he showered you with. He couldn't help but grasp at your body, determined to make the most of being on his knees for you.
From below, he lifted his eyes to watch you come undone; your head tilted back, mouth open with soft pants, eyes opening and fluttering closed.
Your own fingers dug into the balaclava over his head, inadvertently pulling him into your pussy, asking for more, begging for relief.
You were so close, your pussy fluttering with desperation, your hips grinding harshly against his face, hitting his nose with every thrust. He moaned against you, determined to have you cum on his lips.
You did, pulling roughly on the fabric of his mask, squeezing your thighs together, your breathing stopping for a moment before you came-to.
Your eyes opened, finding his, watching you, studying you.
When he stood to his feet, his lips and nose glistening, he wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling your lips to his. You had to stand on your toes to reach him, desperately chasing his lips as he stepped backwards, heading toward his bed.
His tongue met yours, soft caresses turning harsh and uncaring within a few moments, his hand still fanning the expanse of your neck.
Your hand on his chest gently ushered him to the mattress, climbing over him as he laid down.
"You should really be more mindful of my handiwork," You sighed, your hand pressing against his chest.
"Thought I told you to stop talkin'."
You grinned, suppressing a laugh.
"At least let me ease the burden," You replied, an amused smile on your face as your hand rubbed over the obvious bulge in his fatigues.
His head fell back, sucking in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. He'd been so pent up, so frustrated since leaving your office that your hands over his groin nearly made him explode.
Pulling his zipper open, you dragged them down, enough to glide your fingers over his cock with a teasing approach.
His eyes drifted shut, pleasure coursing through him at the feeling he'd imagined so many times before. It was better- much better than the version he created in his head.
Here, he could let his hand rest on your hip, didn't have to imagine what you looked like beneath the scrubs as you peeled them from your body. Best of all, your smell was invigorating, and real.
Your hands were much softer than his, smaller, too, but it mattered very little as you stroked up and down, your eyes trained on his reactions. His lips were parted, chest heaving with every breath, thighs flexing against you.
His hips twitched, furrowed brows staring you down as he fought the urge to take over, settling for praising your methodical touch.
"Fuck sake," He growled, lifting you closer, your slick pussy grinding against his cock.
"You alright?" You asked, suddenly worried you'd hurt his injury.
"More than alright. Keep goin', sweetheart."
You smiled softly, grinding your hips against him, watching his head fall back.
"Christ, I need to be inside you," He sounded desperate, still chewing his teeth.
"Sure you can handle it?" It was a genuine question, spurred by your concern for his injuries.
"Don't care much for coddlin'," He said. "Sit on my cock already."
He didn't wait long for your answer, helping you forward.
Goosebumps rose from your skin as you obliged his order, situating his cock to penetrate you slowly, stretching your pussy further than you were sure it had ever been before.
Your lips fell open in a guttural moan, and his hands rose to your waist, fingertips digging into your soft flesh.
The first few strides were utterly fucking delicious; mixed pain and pleasure, his eyes expressing euphoria at the feeling of your warm, soaked pussy wrapped around him.
"That's good," He nodded, frantic with pleasure. "Fuck, that's good."
He gritted his teeth when you rose slightly, sliding back down his length to adjust yourself. Your hands planted on his chest, squeezing into his muscle with sharp nails.
"Ghost," You murmured, your mind focusing on just how deep he was inside you.
Your eyes narrowed at him, and he reached your clit, his fingers rubbing circles over it. He sat up a bit more, his unoccupied hand gripping your hip, grinding you back and forth over his cock. His lips attached to yours, making you lean forward on his lap, your hips still rolling against his.
His tongue slid inside your mouth, not wasting time with pleasantries, swallowing every harsh breath, every whimper from your mouth.
He paused, groaning into your lips, biting at the swell of your bottom lip, before pulling away to hold himself up on one hand.
He looked up at you, fingers still massaging your clit in relentless circles that matched the pace of your hips, then dropped his gaze to watch your pussy swallow his cock with agonizing greed.
You were nearly cumming again- disbelief etched into your face with your brows dipping, satisfied moans echoing in the room, your pace sporadic and sloppy.
"You're stranglin' my fuckin' cock," He grunted, now sitting up, his hand reaching to grab your ass. "Cum on it," He whispered, his lips finding purchase on the expanse of your throat.
His foul words sent a shiver of arousal up your spine, exhaling a shallow breath through pursed lips. You laced your fingers together at the back of his neck, pulling your chest closer to his. You could look down at him, see his dark and claiming eyes poring into yours.
"Almost," You whined. "Almost there."
He didn't relent, one hand pulling at the flesh of your ass and thighs, the other in a flurry of motion across your clit. His lips laid claim to your neck and chest, teasing licks at your nipples that dragged you closer to your orgasm.
A crescendo of pleasure surged through you, warmth flooding your entire body, a loud moan escaping shamelessly. Your body hardened, hips faltering as you clenched down around him, your hands gripping his shoulders.
"Fuckin' hell," He growled, holding onto you with a fierce strength as your head bowed, and your body relaxed.
You recovered in time to find his muscles bulging, on edge, a single movement away from releasing inside you. Watching your climax had his cock twitching.
"That's it-," He moaned quietly, covered by deep breaths. "Better move, sweetheart."
"I'm on contraception," You uttered, finding the remaining strength to continue.
"I like when you talk medical." He was nearly out of breath while holding back from burying his cum inside you.
He grinned, smug and teasing, before you lifted up ever so slightly, gliding back down his cock to meet his pelvis. The change in method made him lurch forward, both hands helping to lift you up and down his cock, soft grunts and praise falling from him while you bounced on his cock.
"Jesus Doc," He mumbled, his eyes glued to your breasts. He was hesitant while reaching up to palm the malleable flesh, but did anyways, unable to resist.
He then moulded his hands to fit in your waist, his eyes shifting to yours, then he buried his face against your throat, able to inhale the scent of your shampoo, the pheromones on your slick skin. It drove him over the edge, releasing his cum deep inside you without warning.
You felt the change, his fingers a bit more rough with your flesh, his arms holding you down on his cock. He grunted a few times, leaving breathy moans against your neck.
His cock still buried deep inside you made your pussy flinch, in turn causing him to twitch, eliciting a soft groan in your ear.
It was still for a moment, the both of you regaining your wind, taking time to appreciate the after-effects.
Once settled, you dressed yourself and looked at the naked man strewn out on the bed with his arms beneath his head. His wound was bloody, your sutures having torn from his skin.
"I told you you had to be careful," You scolded, moving closer to inspect it.
You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕
Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD
(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)
Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.
---
“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.
Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.
“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”
“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.
Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.
The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.
“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”
“Real walk in the park,” he replies.
“Literally,” you say brightly.
His grunt isn’t very amused.
The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.
For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.
Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.
You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.
Of course, he points it out.
“Got lost, did we?”
You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”
“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”
“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”
“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.
You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.
Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.
“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”
“You can just say ‘yes’.”
You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.
The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.
That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.
Nada.
“Shit,” you mutter.
“What’s shit?”
“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.
He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”
“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.
Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”
“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”
“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.
“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.
It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.
To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.
“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.
“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.
Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.
“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”
“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.
Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.
Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.
Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”
“What?”
“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”
You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.
Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.
Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.
“You good?”
You nod.
“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.
You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”
“Good enough.”
He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.
“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.
“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.
“How do I what?”
“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.
“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.
You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.
You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.
“Sh-shit,” you say.
“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”
“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.
He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.
“S’it locked?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”
Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.
Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.
Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.
Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.
“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”
You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.
“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.
“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”
You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.
Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.
But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.
“Need help?” Ghost asks.
You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.
He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.
“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).
He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”
You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.
You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.
This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.
The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.
Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.
And Ghost is—
Fuck.
If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.
“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.
You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.
He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.
If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.
“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.
“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”
You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.
With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.
“Turn around,” he says.
You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.
“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”
“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.
“Ever?”
“Affirmative.”
You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.
He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.
But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.
You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”
You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.
“You ever do this in survival training?”
You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”
He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”
You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”
“Hypothermia prevention.”
You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”
He doesn’t say a word.
Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.
You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.
He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.
“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.
“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.
He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.
As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.
“What does?” you ask.
“Hm?”
“What sounds better?”
He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”
Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.
Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.
At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.
But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.
Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.
So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.
You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.
Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”
Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”
“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”
Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.
“What’s this one?”
You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”
Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”
His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”
“When?”
“2012.”
“How long were you in the hospital?”
“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”
You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.
Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.
“Appendectomy?” he guesses.
You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”
“How did you ever survive?”
“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.
You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.
His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”
You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.
You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”
He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.
You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”
Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.
“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.
You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.
“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”
And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.
His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.
If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.
Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.
Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.
You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.
He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.
Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”
“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.
His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”
“Oh. Easy fix.”
Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”
“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.
Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.
You feel him look at you. “Can I?”
No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”
One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”
“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.
But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.
He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.
His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.
“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.
You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”
“Please what?”
You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”
“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.
“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”
“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.
The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.
“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.
Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.
You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.
Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.
And you are not one to ignore a command.
You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.
You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.
“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.
He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.
“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.
And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.
You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.
It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.
Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.
He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”
You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”
“You can, yeah.”
“What about the—”
It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.
You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.
“You can look,” he says.
It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.
Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.
He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.
“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.
He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”
You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.
Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”
“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.
“Sounds good when you say it.”
You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.
Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.
You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”
“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”
“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.
“That’s what you call it?”
Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.
“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.
Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.
He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.
Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”
The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.
You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.
“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.
You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.
There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.
His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.
“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”
“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”
In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”
And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.
You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.
Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.
You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.
“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”
You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”
He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. “My job kind of gets in the way.”
“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”
You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”
His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.
---
Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.
“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.
“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”
“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”
“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”
“Rog’. Keep me posted.”
“Will do, sir.”
An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.
“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”
His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”
You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.
Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”
reminder, most of my stories are 18+ - keep in mind when reading.
note: im utterly in love with this man and down terribly for him.
simon 'ghost' riley x reader ; simon riley x reader ; simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader ; jealous!ghost x reader ; ghost x reader ; possesive!ghost x reader.
characters mentioned: simon 'ghost riley, john 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick
warnings: smut, smut, smut, strong language and alcohol consumption.
THIS A 18+ BLOG, IF I SOMEHOW FIND OUT UR A MINOR INTERACTING W MY PAGE - I WILL BLOCK.
masterlist
after a long day of planning, the group agreed to out for drinks in order to let loose before wheels up in a couple of days. soap and gaz were excited as they kept saying drinks were on them and to not worry about paying.
you were in your room before the night began, trying to plan your outfit for the night. you heard a light knock on your door, "come in!" you told them.
you looked over to see ghost walking, "Simon," a smile appeared on your face.
"hey, love," he responded.
love.
you loved the nickname coming from him.
you were never the girl to care about nicknames in fact your sort of preferred to not have them in a relationship but my god does his accent make everything better.
you noticed he wasn't dressed in civvy clothes, "why aren't you dressed for tonight?" you asked him.
ghost was sitting on the edge of your bed, "I rather not go out tonight, just going to stay in with price to talk about what's upcomin'."
you rolled your eyes at him, "come on... come out with soap, gaz and I. it'll be fun." you looked at him.
"you know I prefer to stay in if I could." he responded. you walked over to ghost and sat on his lap.
"you don't wanna have fun with me?" you jokingly asked. ghosts hands slid down to rest at your hips, "I know other ways we could have fun, love." he told you.
butterflies fluttered within you, you began to slowly grind against him. a little moan escaped your lips when you began to speak, "we can have some fun right now," you lightly pushed simon down to lay on your bed, "but only if you agree to go out with me tonight."
"you really goin' to do this?" he asked you.
you nodded as you bit down on your lip whistle still moving your hips against ghosts lap. "please?" you asked nicely.
"fuckin' hell, how could I ever say no to that?" ghost grunted.
you giggled with excitement when he agreed, you began to take off your shirt to reveal your breast.
"did you plan this out?" ghost asked you as he sat up to start kissing you all over.
another thing to add to the list of things you love is that ghost practically worshipped your body. he was never the type to just dive into sex without showing you how much he loved all of you.
he wanted all of you to show how much he loves every bit.
you couldnt respond as he started kissing you and slowly moved to your neck. you loved having your neck kissed especially when he had one hand playing with one of your nipples. "fuck," you breathed out.
ghost took that as que to work his way down to your breast, his tongue working your nipple as he cupped it and began sucking. he nibbled on it slightly because he knew you loved it.
"simon..." you moaned in his ear.
"I love when you say my name like that love, do you like what I'm doing to you?" he asked cockily. of course he knew that you loved it but he also loved hearing you struggle with your words.
you nodded eagerly, "mhmm," was all you managed to get out.
ghost stopped kissing your body, "use your words, baby." he said.
you were upset that he stopped kissing you all over, "yes, I do. please, don't stop." you begged him.
a cocky, smug smile appeared on his face once you begged for me. ghost began again working his way from top to bottom, "for a second, I thought you were the one in charge tonight."
"shut up." you told him.
you wanted to be in charge but every time you easily melted under his touch.
it was rare that you were able to have full control. every once in a while ghost would encourage you to try to take the reigns for the night but you loved being worshipped by the man you love most that you just want him to do it.
ghost never complained.
he liked seeing you try to be the boss and found it cute when you would ask him to praise you instead.
“take your shirt off,” you told him. ghost did as you told to reveal his body. hes well in shape, you found his body beautiful with his scars that spread across his body. each time you traced your fingers on the scars, not to make ghost more aware of them but show him how much you loved him and them.
you began kissing each scar - his breath hitching with each kiss, getting lower to reach the top of his pants. You started unbuttoning his pants as ghost sat back and watched you.
You can see how hard he is under his briefs, “I wanna make you cum in my mouth first.”
Ghost threw his head back at your words, “first?” he asked you.
“Mhm,” you hummed, “We’ll be a little late, it’s okay.” you laughed.
you began removing his briefs and to reveal his hard cock. simon was above average in length, it wasn’t really surprising with how he was built and how he carried himself.
“Fuckin’ hell love, just suck it already.” simon pleaded. he was impatient and it amused you, instead of sucking him like he asked, you began stroking him.
simons hips bucked as your hands made contact, you looked up at him and seen him staring at you - watching every move. you flicked your tongue on the tip, the most sensitive part. “do you like when I do this?” you asked him as you began sucking him off.
“I love it, you look so beautiful taking me.” simon let out a moan as he felt the back of your throat. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. his beautiful girl was able to take all of him and he loved the sight of it, “that’s my girl.” he praised you.
“how am I already so fuckin close already? You just started.” simon cursed at himself, “I want to feel you, love.”
you stopped yourself, “you wanna fuck me?” You teasingly asked him.
simon grabbed you and laid you down on the bed. He removed your pants, “I want all of you.” He reminded you.
a smile spread on your face at his words, his head disappeared to between your thighs. he started kissing each leg slowly as he made his way to your wet clit.
“youre so fucking wet from just sucking me off,” he told you. ghosts fingers found their way to your clit, he began rubbing it slowly.
a slightly loud moan left your lips.
“that’s a good girl,” he said, “you’re so fucking pretty when you’re under me.” simon watched you for a bit as you squirmed under his touch before his tongue eventually replaced his fingers.
“dont stop,” you moaned as you grabbed a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer so he knew to keep going.
“you taste as good as always sweetheart, you want to taste yourself?” he asked as he brought his fingers up.
you didn’t answer before you began sucking on his fingers, “that’s my pretty girl… you taste good, don’t you?”
you nodded at his words, “please make me cum.” you asked.
simon returned to rubbing your clit, “im gonna put it in, alright?” he let you know ahead of time. you’ve been with simon for a while and knew how he felt every single time but needed to prepared yourself as he was bigger than average.
simon grabbed one of your hands and rubbed his thumb softly across before letting his other hand guide the way into you.
“ah!” you lightly yelped, “fuck.”
simon stopped and looked at you, “let me know when to stop baby.” he reassured you.
“keep going, it feels good.” you told him, you loved the way you felt around him no matter if there was a slight bit of pain in the start.
he always let you know if you needed to speak up or if he was hurting you then to let him know. he had no problem taking his time with making you feel good. he was the best lover you ever had.
simon slowly slid all the way in, “you’re so fucking tight sweetheart, holy shit.” he cursed.
all you could do was moan in response as he started fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. this man knew you so well that it always blew your mind.
“fuck, simon. that feels-“ you tried to speak but couldn’t finish as a moan escape your mouth instead of words.
“can’t finish your words?” he asked amused.
you nodded your head no at him and focused on the pleasure he was giving you. simon began kissing you while still fucking you and rubbing your clit.
yours and simons body both glistened with sweat as you both move in sync with each other. your moans filled the room, the sound he loves most coming out of you.
“I’m so close baby, fuckin’ hell.” simon breathed into your ear. he was never the type to moan, he was more of a grunting type but a few moans were able to escape his lips once in a while.
you grabbed simons face, “cum in me,” you told him. both faces filled with sweat as he kept fucking you and looking into your eyes.
“are you sure?” he finally asked, “don’t play with me.” you continued to look at your lover in the eyes and repeated your words, “cum in me baby. I want all of you.”
You let out a loud moan as simon listened to your words, he kept looking in your eyes before finally closing them tightly as he did the final hip buck as he pumped you full of his thick cum.
you came all over his cock just as he came in you.
“christ,” simon panted. “how does it get better every time?”
you kissed Simon on the lips and both agreed to freshen to to meet with gaz and soap seeing as how you were both late.
“I’ll wait out your door,” he told you before kissing you once more. “I love you.”
you kiss him a little longer, “I love you more.” you told him.
you quickly dress up in something simple, you knew if you took too long Simon would try to use that as an excuse to stay in.
you threw on a few jewelry pieces before throwing on a leather jacket that simon gifted you awhile back. you took a quick look in the mirror and notice someone left a gift on your collarbone.
you shook your head with a smile and met with simon outside.
“do you think people will notice this?” you asked him, showing your new mark.
simon smiled, “no.” He cleared his throat. “soap keeps callin’ so let’s hurry up.”
simons hand found it’s way to the small of your back to lead you to the car. you felt your face grow slightly red at the gesture.
ghost was never the one to show pda and this one of his simple ways of showing it when you both were out. He was a total different person out in public compared to when it’s just you both in a room.
it was never a bad thing and it never bothered you because he never ever neglected you just because he preferred to keep you both private. He had little gestures to let you know he loves you when you’re with others.
it could be the small glances, your secret signal when others were around or when he would take the time to whisper something in your ear so others couldn’t hear.
ghosts hand rested on your thigh as he drove you both to where gaz and soap were last at. you noticed that the bar was quite busy as there was a line outside forming to get in.
“let me call soap,” ghost told you.
“yeah, im here but there’s a line outside. I don’t feel like waitin’ Johnny.” He told mactavish that was on the line.
“yeah,” he looked over to you, “y/n is with me.”
you could hear the already drunk Scottish yell in the phone as ghost slightly pulled it away from his ear. “hurry up or we’re leavin’.”
ghost got out of the car and opened the door for you, “thank you baby,” you stole a quick kiss from him. you noticed he started to blush at the gesture and couldn’t help but find amusement in it.
“riley’s!!!” soap joked as he yelled towards you both as you were walking up, “shut up.” you punched him softly in the stomach.
“uncalled for.” ghost to soap said as he followed.
you went over to greet gaz as you spotted him at a table filled with glasses. “Is this all mactavishs’ doing?” you asked gaz.
“of course.” he chuckled - you gave him a hug before noticing some other friends behind. you looked at Simon, “im gonna go say hi.” as you gestured towards the girls. you tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt and he nodded.
“i’ll be here.” as he took a seat with gaz and soap.
ghost noticed the other men looking at you. he knew you never paid attention to any of them but couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy hit him.
soap snapped him out of his thoughts when he came back with drinks, “im not drinkin’ tonight.” ghost told them.
Soap looked at him in disappointment, “sorry johnny, got y/n with me.”
The drunk Scottish rolled his eyes, “more for gaz and I.” he laughed.
ghost kept an eye on you every once in a while. He just wanted to make sure you were safe and no one attempted to touch you while you were talking with your friends.
he knew you sure as hell could take care of yourself but he wanted you to enjoy your night as you were chatting with friends. you would often catch him looking at you and give him your signal for ‘I love you’.
he would return the signal and let you get back to your conversation.
as you continued your conversations, you noticed the time, it was getting late and didn’t want to keep simon out later than what he wanted. he isn't an extrovert and you knew he was possibly running out of his social battery.
you had a few drinks and felt a bit tipsy but also felt ready to go back to base. “It was great catching up with you guys, think ima head back to base.” you told your friends.
you walked over to the table where simon, gaz, and soap still sat. soap was slurring his words worse than before and gaz was having a laugh out of it. you walked over to Simon and could tell he was ready, “Im gonna go to the bathroom then we could head back?”
“whenever you’re ready.” he said as he rubbed your thigh under the table, a simple gesture to let you know to take your time.
“you boys better call it a night too,” you laughed at gaz and soap. “it’s past your bedtime.”
you heard mactavish talk loudly as you made your way to the bathroom, “did she just mom us???” he asked.
“she did mate and she’s not wrong.” gaz told him.
you freshened up in the bathroom quickly to hopefully to try to get rid of the tipsy in you but only with slight luck of doing so. as you walked out the door you walked into a tall figure, “sorry!” You asked.
the tall man turned around with a smile on his face, “no worries.” before you could make your way around him he walked in front of you again.
“oops, sorry again…” you told him.
The man didn’t move.
you rolled your eyes at him, as you made the attempt leave again, he spoke, “hey, aren’t you y/n l/n?” he asked.
you shook your head no, “sorry, wrong person.” you quickly told him. "i'm headed out for the night so if you dont mind..." you tried to push him to the side.
"no, you're definitely her. ive seen you on base before." the man said.
a fake smile spread across your face, "well nice to meet you and goodnight." you finally made your way passed him but he grabbed you by the wrist - pulling you back towards him.
you were unreasonably close to him, your back against his chest. he reeked of alcohol.
oh god.
"let go of me," you said.
"im just trying to ge-"
before the man can continue to finish his sentence, you dug the back of your shoe into his and elbowed him in the nose when he bent down in pain.
"don't touch a woman when shes not interested." you warned him.
"you bitch!" he yelled as blood came out of his nose.
the whole bar was looking at your direction, you felt a presence behind you soon after. "the hell is goin' on here?" ghost asked.
"this prick wouldn't let me leave the door way." you told him.
you noticed ghost tense up, his hand formed a fist - you quickly turned around to make ghost bring his attention towards you. your hands rested on his face and you lowered his gaze towards you and he softened his look on you, "lets just leave." you told him.
you heard the man yell more as he was being thrown out but you were hand in hand with simon to try to quickly leave. gaz and soap were too wasted to drive themselves so they hitched a ride.
the tension in the car was suffocating.
"you guys held hands in public." soap spoke.
"shut it johnny." ghost warned.
you looked in the rear view mirror as soap threw his hands in defeat, "i was just sayin'..."
you couldn't help but smile at his silliness.
once you reached base gaz took soap immediately to the bathroom as he was on the verge of throwing up. you looked at ghost and could see he was still tense.
"come on," you took his hand and you both walked into his room.
you closed the door and turned around to meet ghosts lips once more.
"i love you," he said - "you're mine and only mine, understood?" he asked.
"are you mad?" you asked him.
ghost stopped kissing you to look at you, "im mad but not at you. im mad that people think they have the right to touch you when they're not me."
you pulled him in again for more kisses as those words left his lips, "i always feel jealous when people look at you." he spoke as he trailed down your neck - "i dont blame them but you're mine."
"im only yours, simon." you reassured him.
"does it bother you that i dont kiss you in public?" he finally asked, ghost stepped away from you and moved to the other side of the room. "im not exactly prince charming..." he trailed off.
you walked over to him, "no, because i know you love me and the little gestures we do make it even better. its like we have our language." you laughed as you hugged him from behind.
you felt his hands touch yours, "you are the love of my life, simon riley." you reminded him.
he turned to face you again, he picked you up - you wrapped your legs around him as you were finally eye level with him. "im a lucky man to have you." he said before kissing you.
he kissed you eagerly, with each kiss it was a step towards his bed.
you felt your back meet the bed as simon was still kissing you, "i want all of you again."
"i want you forever and always." you told him.
simon took off your jacket and shirt to reveal your lace bra, "is this new?" he asked as he was raising a brow.
you smiled, "just for you."
"matching?" he asked another.
"possibly, i guess you gotta reach the final destination to find out." you teased him.
simon returned to kissing you once more, taking his time as he reached to your breasts. your nipples harden as his tongue played with them over the lace.
he was teasing you.
"take it off..." you whined.
simon smiled as you did so, "was this expensive?"
"yes but i just want it off, please." you begged him.
simon pulled a pocket knife from his pants and put the blade on the center of the lace bra. your breasts spilling out of the newly cut bra. "so fuckin' perfect." he said before continuing his focus on your nipples.
you and simon have done knife play in the bedroom before but hes never used it to cut your bra off and its been a while since you've included it in the bedroom.
you felt more aroused at his actions, you tried to remove your pants along with simons but he stopped you, "are you the boss tonight?" he asked.
you didnt respond as you positioned yourself on top of simon, straddling him.
"im the boss because im desperate for you right now." you told him, an amused look spread across his face as he watched you remove the remaining of your clothing and his.
he looked at you with such awe as he watched you please yourself on him, slowly grinding against him to get your pussy more wet before beginning to ride him. his tip perfectly rubbed against your clit and you moved your hips against him.
"oh fuck," simon cursed.
you were a pretty sight to see as you threw your head back and your perfect moans filled his ears, you put some spit on the tip of his cock before slowly entering it within you.
"be careful, love." he told you, his hands rested at your hips to help you ease on him. you were unbelievably wet from teasing yourself on him and he knew that. "shit, shit, shit..." simon cursed.
you were able to finally sit perfectly on him and began riding at a steady pace.
simon had one arm resting behind his head with the other on your thigh as he just watched you please yourself on him, "you're doing so fucking good, my pretty girl." he praised.
this drove you wild as you began to quicken the pace, "dont rush it baby, im here all night for you." he reminded you. your pussy was throbbing from the pleasure you were giving yourself from simons cock, "tell me how much you love it."
all the words just evaporated from your brain to even try to explain how much you loved feeling him within you. you were fucking yourself dumb on his cock while he just watched in pleasure.
"mh- i dont ever want to stop." you managed to finally say.
"then dont stop baby, keep going until you cant." he said. his thumb found it way to your clit. you positioned yourself slightly back to let him play with it more as you continued to fuck yourself on him.
simon moved his thumb slowly and would randomly quicken the pace, he did the opposite of how you were moving. you've never experienced this amount of pleasure as you never often rode simon.
"fuck," you moaned loudly, "dont stop. im so fucking close simon!" you yelled.
simon moved positions to allow himself to finish the work of your doing to also give you a break. he didnt stop the pace you were moving at. your back pressed against the bed as simon was now towering over you.
"you did so good fuckin' yourself on me, love" he praised you, "im so proud of you." he kissed you.
the sound of your two bodies connecting filled the room, you both were so lucky that there were no other rooms near you. that luckily no one care hear you.
"am i cummin' in you?" simon asked.
you nodded eagerly as he continued to pound into you, "fuck, yes simon." you yelled. you felt him slow his pace, his thick cum spilling out of you.
there was so much of it.
"fuckin' love you" simon said as he finished.
you felt lightheaded from the high you both rode out. "i love you more."
simon grabbed a towel and some clothes for you, "let me clean you up, love."
you smiled at him as he did so, "lets get some rest?" he kissed your lips.
your eyes felt heavy, you felt him cover you up with his bed sheets before you fell asleep to leave simon smiling at you.
A/N: First, thank you so so so much for all your kind words!! I did not expect for this to get as many notes as it did! I'm so happy you guys are excited bc I am too! That being said, this is a long one! Also I changed it to a reader insert bc I think it fits better. If you haven't played the campaign, this mission is straight from it with most dialogue being the same. I really wanted this to feel like you were there the whole time. A lot of it is that mission but there's a small gift at the end ;) Our MC's femme fatale ways will return in full force next chapter!
----
Ghost
27 August 2022
2330, Classified location, Al Mazrah
Ghost approached the helicopter, listening to General Shepard.
"You're wheels up in five."
"Roger."
"Marines are loading in now. You'll be leading with two Sergeants."
"Two?"
"Soap MacTavish and Siren."
Ghost scoffed under his breath. "No last name?"
"It's classified."
Before he could make a smart remark, one of the many soldiers coming off a truck approached him. "Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, Lt.?" The man addressed him causally, causing Ghost to assume this was "Soap".
Soap lightly punched his shoulder. "Save ya a seat sir."
Just his chipper attitude was enough to make Ghost brace for a long mission. As he was about to go board the helicopter as well, a black SUV stopped close to him, and the backdoor opened to reveal a woman in tactical gear, helmet in her hands, and a rifle on her back. She quickly walked towards him and he took in her appearance; hair pulled back into a ponytail, an objectively beautiful face, and piercing eyes. It was her expression that made him pause. She didn't sport any particular expression, almost as if her own skin was the mask, hiding all underneath.
Almost as if he couldn't help himself, his gaze wavered. He silently scolded himself as he looked her up and down, his steady pulse feeling more fleeting than normal. Once reaching him, she stuck out her hand and looked him straight in the eyes, not even acknowledging his skull. "Siren, sir. Nice to meet you."
Logically, Ghost knew there was another Sergeant, he was told so. But for some reason, he was taken aback at the beautiful and seemingly fairly young woman in front of him. It was clear she was an American, the only one on their current team.
He shook her hand, noting that her hands were much smaller, but her grip was just as strong as his. "Ghost," he replied. "Board the heli, we're leaving in a few."
There was something about her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she was hypnotizing, and by the look in her eyes, dangerous too.
"Fucking hell."
----
Siren
27 August 2022
2345, In helicopter en route to Al Mazrah
You sat in between two marines who kept glancing at you, not that you payed any mind. No, you were more intrigued by the man in front of you. The man with the deep, British accent: the Liutenant. He wore a skull mask on top of a balaclava, the only thing truly visible was his eyes. Those same eyes gave you a thorough look over earlier, not bothering to hide the action. Unlike most men he didn't shy away from sustained eye contact.
In fact, his gaze was on you right now and intense; it made you feel a flicker of something you hadn't felt in a very long time.
You cocked your eyebrow, asking what he was looking at.
His eyes then narrowed as if to say: Indeed, what am I looking at?
It felt like a contest, seeing which would break first; the tension felt like—
“So what’s your name?”
Soap, the Sergeant with a Scottish accent, interrupted the intense moment, bringing everyone’s attention to you.
“Siren.” You replied, not bothering to elaborate.
There was a pause, Soap looking at you expectantly. And while he wasn’t looking anymore, you could sense that the Lieutenant’s curiosity was also peaked.
“Why?” The Sergeant asked.
You took a breath. It was always…. odd to explain your name. It’s not like you chose it. And for those who were stupid enough, would comment about your “tactics.” You didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know you; it was probably better that way.
“I suppose if we’re working together,” you started, “you’ll find out eventually.”
And with that, you didn’t say anything else. Instead, you chose to examine your rifle, the SP-X 80; reliable, and quick— two of your favorite things in a weapon. You did like getting up close and personal, the adrenaline, the satisfaction at successful fooling others into believing you were some innocent but seductive woman instead of a cold-hearted killer. However, if you couldn’t do it close, you liked being far.
Eventually Ghost stood up and began his brief.
“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill.”
The marines singalled their affirmative, whether by nods or a “Yes sir.” You and Soap both got up to follow Ghost as he went to exit the helicopter.
“Keep up Soap, Siren,” he threw over his shoulder as he stepped out.
You put on your helmet, slung both the rifle and an M4 over your back, and put on your night vision goggles, everything appearing in shades of blue.
“Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ.”
The helicopter flew on ahead while you and the others with you moved forward through the destroyed cobblestone.
All of sudden, shots were being fired ahead, followed by a panicked pilot on comms. “All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit!”
“Incoming-Flares! Flares!” flares erupted from the helicopter, narrowly avoiding being taken out by a missile. “Shit that was close!”
Before anyone could echo their relief, you saw something out of the corner of your eye, something headed straight towards the heli.
“Second missile!” you yelled into the comms. Unfortuantely it was too quick for them to react and you and the rest of the Bravo team watched the missile collide with the helicopter, sending it spiraling downwards.
“Razor-1 going down! We’re going down!”
It crashed into the ground, landing in the middle of some buildings and erupting into flames prompting Ghost to try to hail the other team. “Alpha, what’s your status?”
Gunshots began to ring out, aimed at the downed aircraft. There was still no response from the comms and you watched the Liteunant attempt to contact them again. “Alpha, how copy?”
Finally, the channel crackled to life. “Bravo—Alpha is immobile. Multiple critical!”
“Oh shit! We’re taking effective fire!”
All you could do was watch in dismay as gunfire rained down on the heli, with only a few shots being returned.
“Alpha,” Ghost radioed, “we’re moving to building 1. Hold tight.”
At that, Soap swung his head towards the Liteunant, “Ghost, we need to secure that crash site now.”
Ghost shook his head, “First we clear for Hassan, that takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?”
“Roger that.” Soap said.
“Roger,” you echoed.
The team crept closer, guns sweeping in all directions as you moved through the farm plots and up to the building. As you reached the top of the hill where the backdoor was, you began to here Al-Qatala forces talking, yelling to keep firing at the helicopter, anticipating more of us would show up to aid the Alpha team. While it may have seemed cold, Ghost was right; you could admire that: making those hard decisions, ones that seemed heartless to everyone else.
You swapped out your sniper rifle for your M4 and aimed at the door. Ghost pulled out a sledgehammer, “Breacher up!” and smashed the door down, seemingly taking very little effort on his part. Two people were inside, immediately taken out by five people simoltanelously firing.
“Sweep through,” he ordered. Both floors were clear of both AQ and Hassan, as announced by two marines.
Almost immediately, though, one of them shouted into their comms, “Contact! Building two!”
“They know we’re here!” Ghost shouted. You switched back to your sniper and aimed for the opposite building. You took out two while Soap, also sporting a sniper rifle, took out the others.
“All stations, crash site is taking rocket fire from building two, second deck!”
“Alpha,” Ghost responded, “taking building two now, hold fast!” He gestured for the team to follow him towards the back of building two and instructed Soap to enter through the window. You followed Ghost in, and watched as he threw a knife and hit an AQ member dead center in the face. While you didn’t have time to think too hard about it now, you noted to file that memory for later. He kneeled, pulling the knife out of the man’s face before gesturing to go upstairs. Before you could move forward too much, the soldier infront of you was shot from a room attached to the hallway. “I’m hit!”
You quickly shot his attacker and he mumbled, “Someone in the next hallway.”
You moved forward with your M4, taking out the person aiming at the heli with a rocket launcher. Soap appeared before and spoke into the comms, “Ghost, Siren took out the enemy rocket.”
“Roger. Time to hit the crash site,” Ghost responded. “Siren, how are you with that rifle?” At some point he removed his night vision googles, revealing his eyes, visible through his mask. Maybe others shied away from his gaze, but you never were one to back down.
You looked him straight in the eye and replied, “Deadly, sir.”
You could have swore his eyes widened a fraction, suprised by your answer.
“Stay here on the balcony for cover fire, rest of Bravo, circle up outside.”
The rest of the team left, talking to your team member who was shot in the chest plate in the hall.
You made your way out to the balcony and laid down, propping up your rifle and watched as Ghost and Soap made their way to the helicopter, everyone else fanning out in front of building two for cover.
The comms crackled with Ghost’s gravely voice, “Expect contact. AQ’s waitin’ for us.”
Both of them were only in the heli for a few seconds before you spotted enemy combatants approaching from the tree line.
“Engage!”
As soon you heard his order, you found your first target. You emptied your mind of all concerns, wrestled control of any errant thoughts of this or that. You took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
—-
Ghost
28 August 2022
0030, Al Mazrah, U.R.A.
‘Deadly, sir’ she says, he thought to himself. He can hear himself calling out directions of enemies to the others, his firing on autopilot. But everytime a target becomes to close for comfort, they fall, bullet to the head. And he knows Soap is firing in another direction, leaving only one person to be taking them out at a rapid speed.
Something about her prickled his senses. Maybe it was her demeanor, her confidence. Maybe it was that she looked like she knew what everyone else was thinking. Maybe it was that she seemed to challange him with her eyes whenever he looked. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
For now, he didn’t have time to entertain those thoughts, busy on trying to prevent being pinned down by AQ.
After the first wave was over, he ordered for Bravo 7-6 to call in air support, not wanting to get overrun by any reinforcements that were surely on their way.
Before air support could arrive, smoke rolled into the treeline.
“Siren, do you have a visual behind the treeline?” he questioned into the comms.
“Take cover—They have grenade launchers! I’ll take them out!” she responded in an urgent tone.
He heard one shot….two… three… four… five…
“Ghost, launchers gone. More AQ on the field.”
Both he and Soap worked on clearing out the rest of the field, eventually all movement ceasing.
In the stillness, he radioed back to his other Sergeant, “Siren, I need you down here right now.”
“Roger. Moving.”
Soap approached his side, “Ghost, we should fall back to the house.”
“Negative,” Ghost said, “We clear this position and push. If Hassan’s still here, he’s out ahead. 7-6, patch us through to air support.”
“7 Actual, Kilo 0-1. Fire is one mike.”
“Kile 0-1, you’re cleared hot on anything forward of our position. Danger close approved.” As he was talking, Siren joined them in the heli, nodding at him and Soap.
“You’re a damn good shot, lass,” the Scott declared, earning him a small smile from her.
Before he could say anything, Bravo 7-2 interuptted, “Lieutenant, we got armored vehicles incoming. Four of them.”
Ghost was not suprised, but it wasn’t ideal for a downed helicopter to be the only cover you have against APCs.
“Standby for engage!” he ordered. “Get ready….!”
The vehicles made their way onto the field in front of them. “Cut ‘em down!”
They rained gunfire on the vehicles; the air support pilot’s voice broke through: “All Bravo, Kilo 0-1 is inbound hot, danger close.”
“Engaging secondaries.”
The vehicles were taken down in quick fashion, any stragglers also meeting the same fate.
“We clear?” Soap asked.
“Fuckin’ hope so,” Siren replied, still aiming her rifle through the helicopter windows.
After ordering for a bird to be ready for exfiltration he addressed the team in front of him. “Get yourselves sorted. Hassan is still the target.”
“Aye,” Soap approved. “Let’s go get this fucker.”
They quickly moved away from the helicopter site and made for the compound in front of them.
“They used the helicopter as bait,” Siren observed, taking a position on his left.
“They’re well supplied and fighting smart. Thanks to Hassan,” Ghost replied.
The team made their way through a grassy field, frames of various structures littering the area.
Not even a second after the compound came into view, a green laser also appeared. The soldier to the left of Siren was shot, prompting her to yell out and move closer to Ghost. “Fuck! Man down!”
“AQ sniper on the roof!” he called out, “Get down!”
Ghost knew just by her rank that she has seen combat before; hell, she was a sniper herself, she didn’t need his aid. But for some reason, he found himself roughly grabbing her arm and dragging her down to the ground with him. She landed pressed against his side, caught offguard by the force of his pull.
A second passed and she quickly went prone on the ground and both her and Soap aimed for the roof.
“Sniper down!” Soap exclaimed after firing a shot.
“More snipers on the roof, take them out!” Ghost ordered.
Siren fired two shots, one right after the other, and he saw to bodies fall instantly. If nothing else, she was a damn good sharpshooter.
Despite their best efforts, 7-5 was shot.
“They’ve got fucking nightvision,” Siren said as she fired off another shot, “we’re sitting ducks out here.”
She was right, and he knew it. “Soap, Siren! Keep us covered, we’re moving up!”
As he crouched and moved up, he kept hearing the two snipers firing but it wasn’t enough to keep all the heat off of them.
“7-6!” Ghost yelled, “I want air support fire on that building now!”
“Ghost,” Siren said, sounding slightly dumbfounded, “we don’t fucking know if Hassan’s in there!”
He gritted his teeth, annoynace flaring up at the pushback. “They’re forcing our hand! 7-6, hit that building, but don’t level it.”
“Kilo 0-1 to Bravo team, copy that, making our run.”
As soon as he saw the helicopter, he yelled out to the remaining team members, “Force up to that wall! Move!”
Building 3 was lit in a fire, tinted yellow by the nightvision googles, shots coming from every which way.
“That’s a glorious sight,” Ghost said, crouching behind a half crumbled wall.
“Thank Christ for air support,” Soap commented.
“Yeah,” Siren said, swiveling her head towards Ghost, “hope Hassan’s still in one piece…”
“Several pieces will do,” he replied with a smirk hidden behind his balaclava at the way she shook her head in disdain. “Easier to find that way.”
He continued, not waiting for her reply, “All Bravo, move up. I want this building locked down. Lead us in Soap. Siren, behind me. Let’s find Hassan. Dead or alive.”
Siren took a staggered position behind him, an M4 aimed at the opened door.
Soap, barely two steps in, fired at an assailant running for him. Seemingly clear, Ghost entered, followed by Siren.
“Check the bodies,” he ordered. “We need positive ID on Hassan.”
None of the bodies nor any of the alive hostiles Soap encountered were ID’d as Hassan, prompting Ghost to order the team to the second deck.
Soap fell behind while Ghost and Siren lead the others up the stair. A closed door was on the right; Ghost looked at Siren and nodded his head towards it. She took position, aiming at the hallway in front while Ghost approached the door from the side. Ghost didn’t need to open the door as the door began to open, a rifle aimed at Siren.
Ghost opened the door the rest of the way and grabbed the solder by his rifle and slammed him into the wall and quickly shot him in the heart and the head before letting the body hit the ground.
Ghost continued into the room, feeling Siren at his back. “Got two X-rays,” he informed her at the site of the two wounded AQ soldiers in the room. “Dump ‘em.”
Two single shots were fired and they dropped to the ground.
“Clear,” she said.
“Hassan’s everywhere,” Ghost commented to no one in particular. Three screens were playing speeches by him, denouncing the West for taking out Ghorbani.
“Everywhere but here,” Soap retorted.
Soap pushed forward first, follwed by the rest. Several people jumped out but were promptly eliminated.
The room they entered looked well used but had blueprints. Combined with the previous room that had a dozen computers, Ghost called out, “He was here. This is a bloody ops-center. Poke around, Soap.”
Ghost watched Soap move towards the desk after checking the balcony and move around several papers. Then he moved on to the jacket draped over the chair.
“Look,” Soap called out, “Hassan’s uniform.”
“So he was here,” Siren concluded.
Ghost nodded. “Lost him when we secured the crash site.”
Soap looked at him incrediously, “Are you sayin’ we shouln’t have helped?” Interestingly Siren did not seem put off by his statement like Soap was.
“Choices have consequences,” was all Ghost said in reply, not willing to discuss the ethics of prioritizing team or target.
“All Bravo-we got movement out here.”
“On the way,” Ghost said into his radio, locking eyes with Siren on his way out. “All Bravo, circle up outside.”
As they moved out of the building, Soap voiced some of his thoughts out lout. “If Hassan’s gone, then what the hell are they still protecting?”
“Good fucking question,” Ghost heard Siren say somewhere behind him.
The night air fully greeted them once more along with the rest of the Bravo team.
After entering, the lights suddenly flipped on, forcing them to remove the night vision goggles. Bullets were aimed their way, hitting the shelves they took cover behind. Ghost reached around to fire at the soldiers, being mirrored by Soap and Siren.
“Fuck!” he heard Siren yell loudly. “Grazed me!”
Ghost whipped his head around to see her pull a bloody hand away from her upper thigh
He watched her eyes narrow in fury and continued shooting, not caring about having to lean on her good leg for better support.
Ghost didn’t bother telling her to fall back; the inferno present in her expression told him that it wouldn’t be well recieved or listened to.
Soon enough, all the threats were taken care of, leaving them to finally be able to locate what the hell AQ was so desperate on protecting.
“Search the warehouse. Let’s find what they were hiding….”
Serious weaponry was found along crates of ammunition. Ghost shook his head in slight disbelief at all the hardware present. “This warehouse wasn’t on the intel.”
“Guys, come look at this,” he heard Siren yell.
She stood in front a blue shipping container, gun trained on the doors.
Ghost walked to her side, glancing at her leg, blood visible through her gear.
“It was just a graze,” she said, eyes still on the container. “I’m fine.” Before he could say anything else, Soap approached the doors of the crate and opened it, revealing a server and a control console.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked.
“It’s in English,” Siren observed.
Ghost and the two Sergeants backed up to look above the container.
“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap breathed out.
“Ballistic missiles,” Ghost said, not quite believing his eyes.
“It’s a mobile laucher,” Siren added, “These’ll go 1,000 miles.”
“At least…” Ghost trailed off.
Soap was the first to break out of their stupor, walking around to the side and climbing the crate for a closer look. “How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?”
Siren walked with a slight limp around to the side as well while Ghost hailed Laswell.
“This is Watcher-1, send traffic.”
“Laswell, this is Ghost,” he said as he walked to stand beside Siren. “We got something.”
“Tell me you found Hassan…”
Before he could reply, Soap interupted, “Guys take a look at this…”
Siren let out a quiet gasp and muttered in disbelief, “What the fuck…”
Ghost finally could see what she was suprised at. The missile launcher had an American flag on the side.
“Ghost, do you have Hassan?”
“Negative,” he told Laswell. “We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles… they’re American.”
General Shepard’s voice broke through. “0-7- this is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat your last…”
“I say again—Hassan has American missiles.”
——
Siren
28 August 2022
0300, Safehouse, somewhere in Al Mazrah
After the missile was found, they were ordered to exfil, with the marines returning to the nearest base while Ghost, Soap, and you stayed in a safehouse for further instructions. The drive was a quiet one, the three of you stuck in your own thoughts about the missile situation.
The safehouse was low-profile, surrounded by nothing but trees. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen you noted as the three of you entered.
“I call first shower!” Soap exclaimed, brushing past you and Ghost, making a beeline for the bathroom. You sat your bag with your weapons and clothing down in the living room before looking in the kitchen for a first aid kit, sporting a slight limp. As you looked around, you heard Ghost venture down the hallway, likely picking a room.
You finally found one under the kitchen sink and took a seat on the couch, rag and kit next to you. You looked at blood from the wound; you could feel it wasn’t very deep, but definitely noticable and painful. As you threaded a needle in preperation, you heard light footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder and saw Ghost, mask still present, looking at you. His gaze fell from your face to your thigh. You drew in a steady breath and returned your attention to the needle. Once it was tied off, you wet a rag with rubbing alcohol and set it aside as well.
Before you could do anything else, he walked up to you and spoke for the first time since arriving.
“I’ll stitch you up.”
You nodded, not feeling like arguing, and it was at a weird angle for you to do yourself.
“Stand up and take off your pants,” he said in that deep tone of his, looking at you with piercing brown eyes.
You scoffed quietly and unbuttoned the top before gently stepping out of your pants.
“No dinner first?” you teased, standing before him in only your long sleeved shirt and black underwear.
“I usually skip straight to desert,” he said as he kneeled in front of you, eye level with your wound. You sucked in a breath at the sight; it had been a long time since a man kneeled in front of you other than to beg for his life.
He grabbed your injured leg with one hand, while the other grabbed the cloth and began to clean the wound. You hissed at the stinging sensation but otherwise stayed still. Maybe you should have been making some small talk but you found it hard to focus between the pain and the hand wrapped around your thigh to keep it still.
“Good work on the mission,” Ghost said, placing the cloth aside to instead pick up the needle and thread. His knuckles double tapped your inner uninjured leg, motioning for you to spread them apart. You did and quietly sucked in a breath when he leaned closer to get a better look.
“You are a deadly shot.”
“Thanks,” you said, wincing when the needle first went in. “Though I prefer up close and personal.” His hand twitched slightly, tightening by a fraction. His focus was on stitching up the graze on the side of your leg but you were focused on his hand that held the inner part of your thigh. He moved his hand up as he worked, index finger nearly grazing the edge of your underwear. His closeness was awakening desire in you; you could feel your underwear getting more damp and just hoped he couldn’t smell your arousal. Part of you wanted him to move his hand to spare you from getting so worked up. But the other, much louder part of you wanted him to slide his hand up, hook two fingers into your panties, pull them aside and—
You closed your eyes, willing your face not to redden; you have men constantly touching you for a job, for God’s sake!
You weren’t so naive to think he was the same as all those other men, though. No, this one was different.
“Finished,” Ghost said, “make sure not to pull them.” You looked down at him and found his eyes already on yours.
You could see that he was likely wearing a neutral expression, but his eyes revealed a split second of heat before being schooled into indifference.
Not looking away, he gave your inner thigh a squeeze and let his hand travel down the inside of your leg, finally dropping when he reached your knee.
He stood up, and for a second, you could have swore you saw him glance in between your thighs.
Again, the two of you stared at each other, a tension building and building, one of you having to break first; he took a small step towards you and—
“Am I interrupting something?”
Soap walked into the living room, hair still wet from the shower. Of course, from his view, it was odd, seeing his fellow Sergeant in her underwear with his Lieutenant.
“No,” Ghost said, moving towards the hall. “We were just finished.”
You pulled your pants back on and went back to your room, replaying whatever the fuck just happened.
Ship: Simon “Ghost” Riley/Reader
Summary: After busting a cartel, you and Ghost get hit with an experimental drug they were pushing.
Tags: Breeding kink, cream pie, sex pollen, power play, drug use, pet names, mask kink, voice kink, multiple orgasms, orgasm delay, biting, marking, forced eye contact, PWP, voyeurism, rough sex, oral sex (female receiving)
“Perimeter is clear!”
Ghost’s voice comes in crisp over the com and you smile proudly to yourself. Clicking your side of the com open, you shoot back, “Roger that, big man. I’ll meet you at your location.”
The mission had gone well, all things considered. Not a single thing had gone astray, which you were still suspicious about, but you had a little bit more faith now that it was almost over. All that was left was one final sweep of the tiny town, an inventory of drug, weapon, and money caches, and then a two day hike back to the pick up location and you were in the clear.
You see him in the window as you slowly make your way to the main building; it looked like, at some point years ago, it had been a small but proud city hall until the now dead drug lord moved in and made it a laboratory. Still, even though it was starting to crumble from lack of care, and reeked of chemicals, it still towered over the blocks of shacks the residents once called home.
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral f receiving, mxf intercourse) swearing, canon typical violence, din clubbing deserves its own warning guys.
a/n: a labour of true love. i wrote half of this so long ago, but was inspired by an incredible source to continue.we are really living up the the user name in this one bc WE ARE GRIPPING BESKAR FOR REAL. shoutout to @everybirdfellsilent for being the BEST person to bounce ideas off, catching all of my grammar errors (there were many) and helping me figure out how someone whispers in a helmet. you are a real one and i love you!!!!! okay enjoy goodbye.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Are you sure he’s in there?” You ask the Mandalorian, who even through his helmet looks as uncomfortable as you are. He just holds up the tracking fob and it beeps rapidly, hardly making a sound over the thumping of the bass in the club in front of you.
“Guess so.” He yells over the sound. If you can barely hear him out here, you don’t even want to imagine what it’s like inside. The sound vibrates through the concrete and you can hear the high pitched sound of girls singing somewhere in the back, blue and red lights flicking out underneath the door you both stand in front of.
“I’ll go. You can wait out here. Your shiny head’s gonna reflect the light too much and give me a headache.” You go to take the tracker from him but he yanks it away. Rolling your eyes, he just leans and opens the door for you, and there’s no point in arguing as you walk inside, the music instantly flooding your senses.
Horse plinko is a meme that took off last September, of a 3D horse falling through plinko pegs into a row of flames: (see below)
Recently, everyone’s decided to make variations of the meme, which is what’s been popping up all over everyone’s dashes and become a trending tag on this wonderful hellsite of ours :D
'horses are evil' 'horses are scary' i always knew this websites horse hatred would come to this. horses never put you in a plinko. never incinerated you. their eyes were never demonic you only ever saw a reflection of your own cruelty
I literally don't care if it's animated like you guys are literally laughing at animal cruelty you guys talk about fiction affects reality but it doesn't when youre are laughing at the idea of a horse suffering and getting incineratdjdj jk but can you imagine.
