“What you got there, Trouble?”
Simon (Ghost) Riley x injured F/Reader SMUT MDNI
(You always thought your lieutenant didn’t like you, until you get hurt. It’s funny how someone can act like they hate your guts until they’re rearranging them)
Morale was high as the team trudged towards the safe house,it was a clean mission, smooth execution. Almost laughably so. There had been no casualties on your end, no slip-ups; everyone knew their place and stuck to it.
It had been your first real mission with TF141, and you had made a promise to yourself to prove what you could do, something you often felt obligated to do being a woman in your field. You had to admit, the mission going so well with you there, combined with the occasional praise from the men, stroked your ego just enough to make you stand a little taller.
Not that they had ever doubted you. Ever since joining them all those months ago, they had made you feel nothing but welcome (once you had earned their trust of course), more than you could say for a lot of the men you’d worked with. Price was often like a father figure to you, pushing you to be your best during training sessions and never backing down from telling you when you’d done a good job - or a not so good one. Soap was like your annoying older brother, but oh boy, could that man make you laugh even when your mind and body were in disarray. Gaz was a comforting presence, always casually reminding you they were happy to have you there, as if he could sense your people pleasing heart and always willing to ease it. Then, there was Ghost.
You couldn’t pin your relationship with him. Hell, you couldn’t figure him out at all. But you’d come to the conclusion that he mustn’t have liked you very much. He never even really spoke to you, not really, besides the occasional command or critique of course considering he was your lieutenant. If anything, he seemed to avoid you unless absolutely necessary.
You were never sure why; you were obedient, polite and well behaved, so you could never understand his behaviour towards you. Even more so, you were confused that he didn’t call you by your name or even your call sign. Oh no, to him, you were “Trouble.”
You couldn’t even remember the first time he called you that or what you’d done to earn it if anything, but it stuck like sickly syrup and was always said in a growl on his tongue. Out of all the men you worked with, stupidly you felt the need to prove yourself to him the most. The team saw the lingering glances, heard him mumble something unintelligible when you walked in a room, and could practically feel the tension between the two of you. Always looking at you like they knew something you didn’t.
Which was, of course, one of the reasons you’d kept your mouth shut, your voice steady and your movements loose. Only you knew of the blood seeping down your side beneath your gear like a sickly warm ink. Adrenaline masked the pain, or maybe it was that burning need to prove yourself, especially to him.
It had been just at the very end of the mission - just your luck, of course - you’d averted your gaze for no more than a second to reload when you felt it. Just enough time for a bullet to kiss your ribs and tear through your side, making you bite down so hard on your tongue you thought it might split.
You could tell it wasn’t anything life-threatening the minute the bullet grazed you, just an external wound. But God above, did it hurt. You’d naturally debated alerting your team, but the mission was just going too damn well and coming to a close, the last thing they needed was the newbie distracting them with a scratch. You could deal with it later, and so instead you’d quickly shimmied your jacket back on to conceal it, barely feeling it after a couple of minutes. But fuck, you could feel it now.
Every step hurt. Every breath dragged fire through your ribs. It was getting worse. Granted, you probably could have said something by now, probably should have at that, but you felt you’d left it too long; it would just dampen everyone’s spirits and make them question your seemingly poor judgement. Besides, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t a little proud of yourself for how well you’d done on your first mission with them despite your injury, and that they thought so too. You didn’t want to prove them wrong.
However, there was one member who wasn’t engaging in the celebratory chit-chat as you trudged through the mud: your lieutenant. His eyes drifted toward you occasionally from beneath his mask, and you could see… something swimming behind them. Did he know? Of course he didn’t. Nobody knew. You were hiding it well, just being paranoid. You averted your eyes, but you could feel his gaze sharpen, searching like he was peeling back your layers without permission. You hated that.
Stepping into the safe house was a relief. It wasn’t a five-star hotel, but it was warm, sheltered, and safe. You watched as your teammates all took a load off, their bags dropping to the floor as they slumped into the couches, bodies limp and relaxed. All but one who stood against a doorway, eyes still focused on you. More conversation flowed as you engaged through gritted teeth, still biting back the pain that continued to nip at your flesh. You really needed to tend to that wound.
The five of you stayed there for no more than fifteen minutes before exhaustion took hold. Being the gentlemen they were (when they wanted to be), they’d agreed to all sleep in the living room, leaving you the one room upstairs to get undressed in private if you wished and sleep without their incessant snoring. Usually you would tell them that it wasn’t necessary, but in this scenario that would be your cue to sneak away undetected. So you accepted gratefully excusing yourself to your sleeping quarters, all that was left to do was wait.
You knew the men would be quick to drift off. Sure, the mission was smooth, but it was still tiring. So, you carefully made your way out of your room, tiptoeing across the hallway to the bathroom. The snores from downstairs reassured you, dampening the creaks of the floorboards under your feet. Slipping inside, you switched on the light and looked into the mirror. You finally lifted your shirt to assess your wound for the first time. Shit, it was worse than you’d initially thought. A large slit right across the dip of your waist, your skin completely hidden by the smeared blood.
Letting out a sigh, you reached for the cabinet and grabbed the first aid kit, wincing as your movements tugged at the broken skin. You hadn’t meant for the noise to slip out, just a whimper. Your mind and body had finally caught up to each other, seeing eye to eye for the first time tonight, and you’d reacted to the sensation they’d sent straight to your nerves. A shift from somewhere within the house had you immediately freezing on the spot. You felt suddenly exposed and without debating much, snatched the first aid kit from the sink ready to make your way back to your room and finish the job there.
Glancing back up with the first aid kit in hand, you almost let out a startled scream as your eyes fell upon the mirror, or more specifically, who it held. Simon fucking Riley. Looming in the shadows like the Ghost he was. His skull balaclava still hid his face, but his eyes were almost too visible as they flickered over your reflection.
“What you got there, Trouble?” It was somewhere between playful and bitter, dancing between that unnatural line, until he looked down. From your face to your exposed side, then down to your bloodied hands clutching the first aid kit. His stance shifted, moving from leaning smugly against the doorframe to upright and tense.
Your eyes widened, caught red-handed, literally. Shame crawled through your veins. It just had to be him who found you like this: vulnerable, bloody, weak. Finally, you tried to gain at least a little composure.
“Lieutenant” was all you could manage, your voice giving you away instantly. This wasn’t something you could have missed accidentally, this was something you had hidden intentionally. And now you had been caught, still too afraid to turn and face him, you felt like a deer in headlights.
“What the fuck’s that?” You could hear the rage in his voice, laced with something else, something you couldn’t place. Not from him at least. You swallowed hard.
You could almost see him stiffen, hesitating only a second before he invaded the bathroom and your space, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. He was behind you in an instant, his eyes meeting your own through the mirror, pupils blown and brows furrowed. You hissed as his rough hands seized your hips, spinning you around. His jaw ticked, his breathing ragged. You’re in trouble. Not the nickname, not this time. Real trouble.
“The mission was going well, it’s just a scratch. It’s not that big of a deal!” you blurted after a moment of scrambling to find the words, startled by his sudden proximity and trying not to focus on his hands on you.
“A fuckin’ scratch? Just a fuckin’ scratch?” He half-whispered, half-shouted at you. Despite his fury, you were grateful he wasn’t about to alert the whole house.
Reaching forward to snatch the first aid kit from your hands, you didn’t even fight him, too focused on his glare burning into you. You didn’t even have time to process before he was kneeling in front of you, rough hands palming your abdomen as he took in your wound himself. His eyes faltered for a minute, almost softening before springing back to suppressed rage.
You watched as he began tending your wound. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle—stilling for a second every time you twitched in his hold as the saline solution lapped at your wound.
“S’that kind of shit mentality that’ll get you fuckin’ killed,” he all but growled. “Christ, the fuck were you thinkin’?” That part was quieter, mumbled, almost to himself.
If the gash at your side didn’t hurt, his words sure did. You shifted uncomfortably between each one as you writhed against the gauze he held firm against your side. His face was completely focused on fixing you which you were grateful for, his gaze only making you feel more guilty and naive, you really did think you were doing the right thing.
“Look I- I’m sorry okay? I just didn’t want to be a burden when everything was going so well” your voice was small, barely above a whisper, his hands still firm on you. When he said nothing, you let out a sigh as your hands reached forward towards his own. “Here, I can do that myself” you spoke again, a little louder this time.
He shook his head, no room for negotiation “Needs stitches”. His voice was still firm, but this time he wasn’t shouting at you. You watched intently as he prepared the needle before pressing it into you through blurred vision, tears brimming and threatening to spill as your body processed the feeling of the metal invading your already vulnerable flesh. It hurt, a lot.
He was being gentle, you could tell, but a needle is a needle regardless of how it’s held. “I really can do it myself y’know, I know you don’t exactly like me” you mumbled, trying to think of anything but the pain. He just ignored you, continuing his work as if your words hadn’t even reached his ears. “Simon.” You said just a little louder, just to get him to hear you for once. He froze for only a beat, then continued his work, but you didn’t miss the shaky breath from his throat.
Once your stitches were in place and he had bandaged you, he stood, eyes locked on yours. For the first time, you couldn’t read him. Not the look, not the tone. Nothing. “Got no fuckin’ idea how I feel about you, Trouble.” His voice dropped, thick with something you couldn’t place; danger, maybe? Or affection? It was hard to tell. Your mouth opened, but no words came out, what were you supposed to say to that?
The silence stretched for a couple of seconds, although it felt like hours. His eyes searching yours, yours searching his. Before you could ponder his words his hand came up. Not to you, but to lift his mask up, just enough to expose his mouth.
He twitched for a moment, as if his body and mind were in a conflict. As if he wanted to run away yet move closer all at once. Before you could speak, his lips crashed against your own, one hand behind your neck and the other pinning your hip to the sink.
It was shameful really, how your body froze only for a second or two, before instinctively kissing him back. His hand on your neck made its way into your hair, while the one on your hip seemed to have a mind of its own, its thumb tracing delicate circles into your lower stomach. You broke away first, breathless, flushed but very much confused.
“I- I don’t underst-“ you couldn’t even finish as his hands both moved, slipping underneath your thighs and hoisting you up. You gasped as he wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, brows still furrowed with confusion and curiosity.
“Drive me fuckin’ crazy, y’know that?” He huffed against your lips, already moving towards the bathroom door with you in his arms, opening it as quietly as he could despite his own urgency. “Trouble’s exactly what you are” You didn’t even speak this time, you just leaned forward and let your lips fall on to his.
The two of you stumbled into your bedroom for the night, making sure the door was closed and locked, you could feel your own heart thrumming in your chest, as well as his. He laid you down on your bed, carefully. He was riled up, at his breaking point long before he had even stepped into that bathroom, but he had to consider the fact that you were freshly stitched up.
He was on top of you before you could blink, but his lips didn’t find yours this time, instead anchoring themselves underneath your jaw and on your neck. You gasped aloud feeling his tongue run along all your sweet spots, his teeth nipping at you and his lips sucking at your skin. Every drag of his mouth was lighting your body on fire, any pain long forgotten as his hands traced down your sides.
You felt one of these hands slip between your knees, nudging them so your thighs fell apart, he quickly took up the empty space. Slotting himself between your legs so your hips were flush against each other, and then when you finally thought you had managed to recompose yourself, you felt him move. He rolled his hips into yours, slow and heavy, the drag of him against your core making your breath hitch like it’d been punched out of you. He felt it. Smirked. Did it again, and again.
Your head fell back against your pillow exposing your neck further to him, your soft gasps turned into whimpers and quiet moans. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle yourself, but he was faster, catching your wrist in his hand. Moving his mouth up from your jaw to your ear, tutting at you.
“Don’t cover your mouth.” His voice was low, barely more than gravel against your skin. “You feel that?”
He rolled his hips into you again, slower this time, deliberate. Punishing.
“That’s months of wantin’ you. Months of keepin’ my hands to myself. And now I’ve got you?”
Another grind, rougher now. Your breath caught- his name breaking in your throat like a prayer and a curse.
“You don’t get to be quiet. Not tonight. Not after what you’ve done to me.”
“Si- I can’t, I’ll get us caught” you choked out between your breathy moans, and yet, you found yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, desperate for more friction. Your whole body was trembling, whether it was from the anticipation, the sensation, the tension building again? You didn’t know, quite honestly you didn’t care either. You just knew you needed more.
He felt it, the way your hips started rolling back, the way your heals dug themselves into his lower back, he lifted himself to look at you this time. His pupils were blown once again, but it wasn’t from anger this time, although maybe it never was.
“Y’think after all this time, after I finally get you under me, that m’gonna let you keep quiet?” His filthy words vibrated in your ear while you felt his hand travel down your stomach, slipping under the band of your pants and underwear. Your hips jerked at the sudden contact of his rough fingers against your bare skin, he began stroking you up and down, the sounds of your wetness reaching your ears.
That’ll do it, a broken moan left your tongue, completely shameless as your hips rocked into his touch. Your hands grabbing at his shoulders and biceps for leverage as he explores every inch of you.
“Fuck, Simon, what if they hear?” You breathed out, one last attempt at dignity you supposed, before giving in and proving yourself worthy of his little nickname that is. But you couldn’t even prick your ears to prepare for his response, one of his fingers slipped inside you, awarding him a beautiful gasp from you. It didn’t take him long to find that sweet spot of yours, and he curled his finger against it over and over again.
“Then let’s make you sound real pretty, yeah?” He murmured against your lips, before taking them into his own again. This time he kissed you gently, more gently than you thought he could, but with the hunger of a man starved. Every gasp and moan you let out spilled from your mouth straight into his own.
He played you like an instrument, revelling in the sweet sounds you made. Apparently though, it wasn’t enough as you felt him slide a second finger into you. Any control you had over your body was long gone, legs shaking, back arching, hips grinding. You should have been embarrassed by the neediness of your own body, but instead for the first time, you allowed yourself to get lost. To be vulnerable to the pleasure you were feeling, the pleasure that he was giving you through relentless curls of his fingers.
It was getting too much, you felt yourself getting dangerously close to the edge. “Si- if you don’t stop I’m gonna-“ you whimpered against his lips, but stopped yourself when you felt them detach from your own. Trailing back down to your neck to the spot he had already memorised to have gotten the most reactions out of you, quick learner.
“Yeah? S’that right? Say my name when you do then~” barely above a breath in your ear, in the same growl he usually used when he called you by your nickname. How naive that you had chalked it up to hatred all this time.
Who were you to refuse an order from your lieutenant? You felt your body give in, pushed over by his words. Your body shook and you let a symphony of desperate moans, all of course filled with his name. He was talking you through your high and fall, whispering temptation in your ear as you clung to him, but you couldn’t make out a single word. Like the ghost he was, he had possessed your whole body and fragile mind.
When you finally stopped shaking and your moans turned to please of overstimulated, you felt his fingers pull out of you. His hands didn’t linger however, moving at a speed you didn’t even know him to posses. Stripping himself and you of any clothes like they were barriers, nuisances, in the way.
Still glossy eyed and flush faced your attention was completely on him, his body was a sight, adorned with scars that decorated him beautifully, muscles highlighted by his own sweat. And of course, your eyes drifted down as he moved. He was big, bigger than you could say you were used to.
It wasn’t until you glanced back up towards his face that you realised he was doing the exact same thing to you, mapping every inch of your body with those dark eyes. “Fuckin’ beautiful”. His hands slid back up your thighs as he slotted himself between them once again, this time without those pesky clothes.
He hitched your legs over his hips again, eyes lost in your own, and then he hesitated. He was waiting for your permission, he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did. You blinked at him a few times, your hips shifting against his slightly. “Please” was all you said, it was all you had to say.
His lips found yours once again, before he pushed himself into you all the way. A high broken moan made its way out of your mouth and into the kiss, your arms around his neck. One hand sliding down his back, your nails used as anchors as the other found the hair on the nape of his neck under his balaclava tugging lightly.
His hips moved slowly at first, gently, holding himself back until you had adjusted to him. Once your moans became more frequent, more erratic, he finally allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure too. “Christ Trouble- feel s’fuckin’ good”.
Despite the vigorous snapping of his hips into you, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t know existed, his hands remained on you in a gentle grounding. His palms pressing into the skin of your hips, fingers giving reassuring squeezes and rubbing deliberate circles.
The bed creaked, you moaned and whimpered, he grunted and growled, the sounds from him slapping into you echoed through the whole room. And neither of you gave a shit. In fact, you worried that there was a little part of you that found thrill in this little game, each of your moans and pleas becoming a little more daring than the last.
A strong hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at the masked face above you. “Let go for me again sweetheart, know you can, need to feel you” his voice was at a new delicious low, coaxing you through the overwhelming pressure. His hand stayed firm on your face, while you felt the other trail down your stomach to where your bodies met. Once again you felt those rough fingers, this time tracing circles into your clit.
Your head fell back one again, jaw completely slack in his hold. Before you could even register the build of it, your second orgasm came crashing over you with vengeance. Tears filled your eyes as your mind went dizzy, if the first one wasn’t already amazing, this one had you questioning your sanity.
The feeling of you tightening and gushing around him made his hips stutter as a low groan escaped his throat. “Tha’s it, good fuckin’ girl” his head fell to the crook of your neck, his own high chasing your own as you felt his body tense. His hand moving from your jaw to grip at your hip as you felt him spill inside you with a breathy moan of your name, your actual name. Not trouble, not your call sign. You.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, catching your breaths and occasionally sharing a lazy, sloppy kiss. Your whole body was still trembling, from the high and the cold now prickling at your sweat covered skin. You felt him pull away, turning to roll on his back before pulling you to his chest, bringing up the blanket to tuck you in. You didn’t miss the way he glanced down at your bandage checking for any sign of blood, satisfied that you were fine he wrapped his arms around you.
Your eyes were heavy, your breathing and heart rate finally slowing down, you felt a gentle kiss to your temple as you cozied up against him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you love, rest”. You had no idea how you two would approach this the next day, or what you would say if the boys came looking for their lieutenant. But for now you didn’t care, your body had been through enough for one day. And so, still in his arms, you let yourself drift off against him after pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. Maybe you really were trouble, or maybe trouble had found you.
(I feel like this isn’t my best work but I had an idea and ran with it so I hope you like it! I wrote this listening to obsessed by zandros on repeat 🤭. Please let me know what you all think and as always hope you enjoyed! <3)
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