september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good september will be good
She’s never been anyone’s first choice, or second. She is the fun friend, the mom friend, the friend that’s always there. Ole reliable.
She’s also the needy friend, the sensitive friend. The one that always needs just a little bit more reassurance that others don’t.
She’s confusing, she’s emotional. She cracks her chest open and bleeds for the people who feed her crumbs and leftovers of their own love. Hoping she’d stay but never caring if she leaves.
She swings, back and forth. Stop caring… they don’t deserve me. They love me, they invited me to an outing! Well fed on scraps. That’s all it takes. Like a dog.
Stay, girl.
Her relationships haunt her. Platonic, romantic.. her relationship with her family has healed but at what cost?
She’ll needs a little more. A hand hold, a word of encouragement. Her friends thinks she wants too much, that they’re bordering on the romantic until they, too, need those things. Then, and only then, is it okay for them to give in. To feed her scraps.
Tired of being torn open by none other than her own heart. Spinning the wheel of her mind to make herself okay so that she can make others feel the same because she knows how it feels to not have anyone in your corner.
Its why she seeks out the unobtainable. Becoming the third choice is easier so that she can offer her heart to the ones that don’t deserve it, hoping it’ll kill her one day without the consequences of having people miss her.
She wishes someone would miss her. She misses her.
simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
summary: he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.
an: angst with fluff, mentions of injury, war-stuff, cheeky stabbings, just cod things. no smut. just feelings. cause I wanted flangst.
word count: 3.6k
masterlist for ghost.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ghost doesn’t think when his eyes land on you.
He should.
He knows he should.
But he fires his gun all the same, not content with the sound each body makes when they fall to the floor. He wants them to fall harder, almost land and shatter.
He wants them to hurt.
It’s all he thinks as he slides the metal edge along the throat of the last one. The one who is hissing at him in a language he doesn’t even care to translate.
Ghost cares about one thing, and one thing only: getting that radio message out of his head.
It’s an ambush. Do not proceed. Get out—
It has been on a loop since he heard it.
Your radio message.
The one which made Soap shout, calling for you as the static and crackle came back. The sound which made his blood run cold. The one which made him charge across the base grab the person who confirmed the intel by the shoulder, and made them piss themselves. Accidentally, of course.
It had been Soap who suggested sweeping the place, but it hadn’t been far from his mind.
They found your radio stood on, crushed—likely by your own boot. You’d always been thorough—you also usually wiggled your way out of these situations,
It’s how you’d earned the moniker Mouse to begin with.
His eyes caught the dried blood, hoping it didn’t belong to you as his flashlight followed its path until his jaw locked, his muscles tensing.
Your scrunchie.
That ridiculous one you bought months ago. The one which you’d found hilarious, and he had found anything but. Black, with tiny ghosts on it, for Halloween. No other reason, you’d said with a smirk. Unless you want to borrow it, sir?
It’s in his pocket now.
Has been since he found it.
As he lets the last man fall, he brushes the pocket with his hand before wiping the blood on his thigh, sheathing his knife.
Turning, nodding in the direction of the other men as they checked them as he moved across the room to you, sliding his gun behind his back, and dropping to his knees.
We bring Mouse back. By any means necessary.
He’s thankful you’re alive and breathing. Watching as your head tilts —trying to work out who it is. Cautiously, both for the fact he’s considering it and for the knowledge he could hurt you, his gloved hand slides up your cheek, watching you tense before he pulls down the blindfold with his fingers.
One eye is swollen, horrid, and puffy. Something which makes him want to put extra holes in each of the men for it. But, he can’t take his eyes from the one of yours, which blinks, and stares at him, taking him in.
“I’m undoin’ this cuff.”
You swallow, nodding, trying to keep the eye fixed on him. The handcuff releases from your wrists as your arms drop weakly.
It’s then he can see the bruises.
The ones which have formed and the ones about too.
How the colours vary in spots along your exposed arms, neck and cheeks. Dreading to think of how deep they go, how far they spread under your clothes.
“Sir…” you whisper, his head moving closer. “You’re a piss poor listener.”
“Almost as bad as you, soldier.”
Cautiously, he moves closer, his knees hitting against your legs as his hand slowly brushes over your arm.
He’s aware the others have their eyes trained on him, Soap giving orders, busying them. It doesn’t stop him from moving his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close until his chest is close to your side.
“Do you want me to close my eye, make it easier for you?” you cough—sounding like a deflated lung. “You seem the type to hate touching people.”
“Enough.”
It comes out gruff, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. The side of your busted lip twitching as he pulls you over his lap.
He’s pretty sure it’s the gentlest he’s ever been, even more so with someone. He doesn’t mean to press his forehead against the side of yours. But, he thought he’d lost you.
The annoying girl who talked too much, who smiled and had no issues with personal space. Unless you were on the battlefield. Then, you were different—quiet, tactile, mouselike. You scurry, you don’t miss, with a gun, a knife or a computer.
Ghost knew he was fucked before today.
But, this confirms it.
The sharp pang in his chest is a horrid, bitter reminder of how fucked he is—especially with how his heart skips a beat when your hand shakes as it brushes against his mask.
He should look away as he lifts you, breaking the stare he has with you, but you move closer, whispering for him—and him alone. “I knew-w you’d find me.”
He tightens his jaw, feeling a lump in his throat as he gives a curt nod. “Always.”
“Always,” you repeat softly, eyelashes fluttering, desperate to close.
“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, and you do your best. You hope he knows that. “Good girl.”
You hear someone shout for a medic, but it’s not him.
He’s saying very little, just letting his breath dance across your neck and cheek as he holds you to him.
+++
The next time he sees you, he's visiting you when you’re in recovery.
He’s heard from others you’re improving. Soap nudging him, ensuring he’s heard him—thinking he knows more than he does.
He does go, though.
You’re smaller than him, but you look so much smaller in the bed. Your face finally regaining some colour, an expression not twisted up in pain. The bruises faded, eyes unswollen.
It’s a welcomed sight after the last time he saw you.
He crosses the recovery room floor, the room slowly emptying around him. He was glad that the rest of the med bay was without patients.
His chair squeaks with protest when he sits beside you, eyes glancing over your face, over your arms, checking and checking that everything is where it was supposed to be.
You say nothing.
He says nothing.
He just sits, staring at you, letting his eyes roll over your face. You seem to let him, likely basking in the fact that you’re currently not being boiled alive by him.
It’s nice. Quiet.
It’s helping to drown out the whimpers and groans you’d been making all the way back here from your injury.
Until the tension reaches such a height even if you can’t stomach it.
“What you doing here, Lt?”
“Ensuring you don’t act recklessly.”
“I think I can behave for one night.”
“Doubtful.”
You play with the sheets on the bed, rolling them between your fingers as he watches you, knowing what’s coming before you’ve even opened your pretty little mouth.
“I’d behave for you, if you asked.”
Sometimes, your brashness even surprises him.
“I have asked,” he says, stretching his leg out as he watches you smile. “You still disobey me.”
You nuzzle down into your pillow, not taking your eyes off him.
“Sleep, Mouse.”
“With you watching me?”
He clicks his tongue. “Sleep.”
You smile softer, eyelashes looking heavy. “Okay.”
Nodding, he interlocks his gloved fingers over his lap.
+++
You’d been silent.
Too silent.
He knew how you got your Codename. He’d read your file, after all. You sneaked through impossible holes figuratively and literally. Price had informed him how good you were with computers, he hadn’t known how good until he read it himself.
You were good, capable, and able.
He knew you could handle yourself, which is why it wasn’t that which concerned him. It’s the silence.
You’ve been quieter overall since you came back—since he brought you back. Since he helped carry you back to the truck till he watched you get patched up.
Something inside of you, that annoyingly cheerful part of you, had withered. He knew it, Soap knew it.
“You following me?”
“Could say the same to you.”
“Can someone even stalk a ghost?”
You’d tried to hide it, more so from him than the others. Your body trying to twist from him, but his arm had stopped you.
“Something you need, Lt?”
“No.”
You’d given him a curt smile. “Goodnight then, sir.”
He didn’t miss the way you added the sir.
Not that he expects he’s supposed to. Shifting his jaw from side to side, having watched you walk down the corridor, not even bothering to turn to look back at him.
That had been two days ago.
Today, you had dark circles around your eyes. A tenseness in your shoulders as you were all briefed.
He waited, seeing if you approached him, and asked him to stay behind—not entirely sure what his answer would be if you requested it.
But you didn’t.
It should have been a warning, your demeanour shifting, darkness descending down over you the closer they got to the location.
“Mouse, you copy?”
Silence.
Even to Soap.
Often, Ghost knew he warranted your anger.
He was colder with you, more stern. Especially since he’d allowed himself a moment—when he’d been able to hold you, carry you. When he’d felt your heartbeat and watched your eyes fix on him—warming him.
He had wanted distance and walls. Many of them, more so.
Now, he wishes he hadn’t.
Because with Soap, you were light, never ignorant. And maybe he’d have recognised how your anger and hurt had consumed you. That what happened between you being taken and being found had festered and eaten everything good inside of you.
He could relate.
More than most.
“Mouse,” Ghost radios, gruff voice and all. “Fuck.”
He taps Soap, heading in your direction, almost charging. He knew it before he saw it before his foot kicked open the door and witnessed it with his own eyes.
He even freezes for the briefest second.
Half impressed with the number of bodies on the floor.
But then he reacts, hooking an arm under your hips as he both lifts and moves you against the wall. The knife falling from your fingers, clattering against the stone, the only other sound is your panicked breaths and Soap exclaiming, “Steaming bloody Jesus…” as he enters the room.
His forearm presses into the wall beside your head, caging you in as his other palm presses into the wall next to your hip.
Because it was the mission to kill him—once they’d got the information.
The information he couldn’t currently prove you had—but he’d hoped you did. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to contain his anger, his fury. Right now, it simmered, being kept back by that vacant look in your eyes he doesn’t recognise. Not in you, at least.
You’re not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes.
Too busy staring at the body on the floor, the one which has scarlet seeping from each hole you’d inflicted with a knife. His knife.
“Mouse.”
You don’t move, staring as if transfixed in the knowledge he’s dead.
So he whispers your name.
Your real name.
Your eyelashes flutter into a blink, head-turning, finally pulling from the man who kidnapped you on the floor.
“Got the drive,” you say in a tone void of emotion.
+++
Ghost didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream at you, but he did all the same.
Both in anger that you disobeyed an order and in a panic because he couldn’t stop the way his mind unravelled when you didn’t respond.
That it took him back to that moment all over again. Where you were taken from him. Where he lost you. Where he should have protected you.
“You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there?”
You don’t look at him, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Pressing the sole of your foot against the wall as you leant, seemingly unbothered.
“That’s an order, Soldier—“
“I collected the information, and I stabbed him. Mission complete. Sir.”
Sir.
Fucking sir.
He hated how it made him hard. Little bitch.
“You disobeyed a direct order—“
“—The mission—“
“—You were supposed to wait for backup.”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
He rounds on you, forehead pressing against yours. “You couldn’t risk it?”
Your eyes don’t soften. They hold his gaze, full of fire, ash and destruction. “Well. We’ve both seen the evidence of bad intel, haven’t we?”
He stills.
Blinking, staring into your eyes, seeing the darkness still swirling. The anger has lessened but still remains.
“You need to let it go.”
“I need to… what?” You look hurt, more than he thought you could, and then it vanishes, swept away by anger. “…fuck you, Ghost.”
Moving from him, turning your back on him
“Fuck me? If you continue down this path—“
Then you turn, your eyes burying into him. “It’ll what? Keep me up at night? Consume me? Well, guess what, Simon, it already has.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a tremor to your outstretched arm before you snap it back to your side. “For days, they asked me who we were. They had ideas. They did… inklings. But, they… they knew my fucking name, Simon. They…told me what they’d do, and I had nothing, not a single thing to drown it out as they described all the ways they’d kill Johnny, how they’d break Gaz, how they’d hurt…”
You.
The unspoken word hanging in the room.
“I got it before, I did,” you say, words shaky at your almost declaration, “but I understand why you wear that mask—why you keep people out…”
Your eyes fill with tears, one’s he wishes he could wipe away before they even meet your cheeks.
“People you know can hurt you the most… right? That's what you said.”
His head reeling back an inch, but it feels like he’s been hit. And then you leave, storming out of the room, and he doesn’t stop you.
Because he knows he shouldn’t.
Because you’d called him Simon.
Not Ghost.
+++
He hates that you’re not here.
You’ve been avoiding him. Outside of briefings and necessity, you’re nowhere else to be found.
The rest of them are around a table, beers in their hands. His mask lifted just enough to enjoy his—if it didn’t taste like nothingness.
Because there were no kind eyes on him. No jesting coming from a soft, sweet voice.
Especially right now, when it’s needed as they discuss who they’re currently fucking their fist over. He hears someone ask him, something he ignores.
And then Soap speaks for him. “I think Ghost here has his eyes on—“
“That’ll do.”
The others snigger, mumbling about getting some air as he cracks his neck. Hoping if he ignores Soap enough, he’ll vanish too.
“Talk to her.”
Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, meeting his sergeant's expecting face.
Soap slaps his hand on his back. “Trust me, Lt, talk to her.” He tries to think of something, anything, to respond with. He hasn’t got anything until he continues, “Didn’t think you had a heart.”
“A cold one. I have a cold one.”
Soap smirks. “I doubt it’ll remain that way.”
It doesn’t take him long to find you, seeing you huddled over papers and a computer.
He considers watching you, but he steps in before he’s caught, offering you a mug, one you stare at suspiciously before taking it.
You prefer a milky tea, one sugar.
A person after his own heart.
Right now, he imagines you need something different, so he chose coffee.
“What’s this?”
“A boost. You need it.”
“Thanks?”
He doesn’t know what to say.
Letting himself see how dark the bags under your eyes have gotten.
“You’re not sleepin’.”
“Can’t.”
He taps the desk with two fingers, your eyes lifting up to face him. Slowly, he retracts his hand, holding your stare as he takes his glove from his hand. He knows his sleeve has risen, the ends of his tattoo showing as he offers you his hand.
“You made me a drink, and now you want me to what, leave it?”
Slowly, he nods.
Your huff sounds before you stand, slapping your hand into his. It isn’t until your fingers are in his does he watch your eyes flicker, realising that you're touching him—really touching him.
“Ghost…”
“C’mon. Now.”
He doesn’t let go or lessen his hold, not even when you slide your fingers between his. Not when everything inside of him tells him to run, to tell you to run.
His mouth doesn’t open, it remains shut as he brings you to his room, opening the door, letting it swing open before he lets his eyes meet yours.
Letting your eyes take it in before he nudged you forward.
“Ghost…”
“Simon,” he says gruffly. “My name is Simon.”
He shuts the door slowly behind the two of you, releasing your hand, moving it to his neck.
Your eyes follow him, the air thickening—he can feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, the ones on his arms standing. He’s even sure time is ticking slowly.
Especially when he begins to slide his mask up, slowly showing you his chin, his cheeks, and his nose.
Your lips parting, mouth falling open as he pulls it off that last bit. Nothing hidden, not from you.
Swallowing, you make a noise, a squeak as if you’re about to say something, before clamping your mouth shut.
“Hi.”
Your lips twitch. “Hi.”
His fingers brush yours ever so slightly, forcing your eyes to dip before landing back on his with so much adoration—he’s not sure how he deserves it. Any of it.
“What does this mean?”
“It means you go to sleep. Here.”
You raise a brow, and he almost smirks. Almost.
“Not like that.”
Shrugging, you smile. “Coulda fooled me.”
Sighing, he lets go of your fingers. “You can’t sleep because you’re alone. But, if I’m here—“
“You’ll keep the ghosts away?”
He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth.
“Anything else this… declaration means?
“Means you can trust me.”
He watches your head tilt, a scrunch to your brows and your forehead as you look at him. “I trusted you anyway.”
“Then get in bed.”
He wonders if your cheeks are warm if they’re full or blush. More so when your eyes land on the floor, and he turns his back, moving to his things, finding you a t-shirt.
On you, it’ll bury you.
Which makes it perfect, just as perfect as the sound of you undoing your belt is to him and the faint sound of your trousers hitting the floor.
“Here,” he says, holding the T-shirt behind his back, not wanting to look.
Not even when he feels your fingers slide down his forearm, over his ink. When he feels your index and middle slide along his pulse, over his wrist and palm before taking it.
It’s not until he feels your hands on his sides does he turn, your eyes looking up at him—somewhat close to the eyes he knew, the ones which first had his heart pulsing furiously as it is now.
“Do you snore?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Sleep naked?”
“Not all the time.”
“Good,” you comment, loosening your grip as he turns to face you. “Hate for you to have gone to all this effort to not let me get a wink of sleep.”
The double meaning of your words isn’t lost on him.
Especially when he sees the twinkle in your eye, the grin desperate to blossom over your lips.
“Unless…”
“Another time,” he says, even if he hates himself for it just a bit. “Now, get in bed.”
You nod, smiling, “Yes, Sir.”
Fucking hell. “Less of that.”
“Any reason?”
He snorts, turning to watch you climb into his bed, slowly pulling his T-shirt over his head, hearing you inhale as if your mouth was next to his ear.
“I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.”
He flicks the light off, wondering if your heart is hammering as much as his. Each step towards you feels like a mile, but he’d do it again and again. Feeling for your hand and the sheets you’re offering him, sliding in beside you.
For a moment, he’s tense.
Just as you are.
Especially as his bare legs find yours, your back to his chest, hair tickling his nose. He waits, letting you make the first move for comfort, feeling you breathe heavily before shuffling against him. Fingers trying to keep your hair out of his way, pulling it, twisting it.
And he remembers sliding his hand under his pillow, pulling it out slowly, the fabric rolling between his thumb and finger before he finds your hand over the sheets. He feels you tense, likely recognising it instantly, slowly taking it from him as you move, turning to face him.
Even in the darkness, he makes out your features.
His hand reaches up, touching his chin before fingers spread up your cheeks. His thumb rolls over your bottom lip, wanting to kiss you desperately.
“You found it?”
He says nothing.
“You kept it?”
He breathes out. “I did.”
You must feel his heart hammering. You have to.
Your body slowly comes down, arms sliding around his chest before hands find themselves on the back of his neck.
His head turns as you let hug him, as your body says everything without so much as speaking. And all he can think is he’s an inch away from your lips.
He’s within reach.
He could. He should.
“Simon…” you whisper.
His throat goes dry, and then you kiss him.
Silencing his mind, silencing everything that doesn’t matter—doubt, worry and the sound of that radio message—as he runs his hands over his T-shirt that covers your body.
I disagree. Ghost holds hands when he is eating you put to.stop you from squirming so much
A/N: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader. Oral. Wet stuff. He’s nasty.
Outside of their “moments,” Ghost won’t touch her unless he has to. He maintains a professional distance, and a part of her longs to stake her claim. Hold his damn hand, so the team understands how he gets on his knees for her or allows her to ride him.
He’s a legend to them. A myth. The lone wolf whose kill count is in the thousands.
How many?
I don’t count ‘em.
Oh?
I don’t lose sleep if that’s what you’re asking.
They needle her, poke fun because she’s a woman, and it’s just so damn easy. Ghost never does, though. Ghost treats her like he treats everyone else with cool, stoic regard.
Except when he fucks her. There’s that.
***
It’s an uneventful night. The rest of the team is playing poker around a plastic card table. There’s smoke in the air from cheap cigars. Whiskey that’s sticking to her throat as she downs it. She leans against the doorway; arms crossed firmly over her chest. She should go to sleep.
“Duchess.”
There he is. That voice matches the cigar smoke. It’s thick and impenetrable, and it licks up her spine. She feels his broad chest against her back, the heat of his bulk, and she wants the others to turn around and catch them. Sure it would appear like their lieutenant is simply chatting with her, but if they looked closely, they’d see...
He lowers his head so that his breath grazes her ear. “Needy, are we?”
She bites her lip, shutting her eyes. “No.”
“You may not believe I watch you, but I do.” If possible, his voice becomes even lower, dragging over gravel and full of suggestion. “I think about the sounds you make when I got my tongue inside you.”
She shudders, thighs squeezing together. Ghost’s pelvis shifts against her ass, and she restrains herself from leaning into his massive warmth.
“It’s bloody distracting,” he exhales. “Tryin’ to give orders when all I can see is that wet little cunt in front of my face.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“They don’t see how I look at you,” he continues. “But that’s because it’s mine. What we do...what we have...that’s all mine, darling.”
She buries her nails into her forearm until it hurts. She glances at him over her shoulder, and he’s staring straight ahead like he hasn’t just confessed an intimate truth. He’s so close she can discern his blonde lashes, his deep sea eyes. They flicker toward her.
“Ghost,” she murmurs as he draws closer.
***
“Simon,” she moans, hips rolling against his face. He’s shoved his mask above his nose as he blows cool air against her cunt. He parts her folds and nudges his thumb against the swollen nub as she clenches down on nothing. His touch is practiced as he strokes and teases her. He slips his fingers inside her pussy before removing them.
“Duchess,” he replies flatly, a flash of amusement like he enjoys wrecking her with as few gestures as possible. He holds her thighs open before he lowers his mouth and slides the flat of his tongue against the seam of her sex. She jerks, her foot knocking into the hard muscle of his torso.
“Easy, now,” he croons. “Stay still so I can eat you the way I like, yeah?”
One broad palm slaps gently against her inner thigh and pins it to the mattress. He sinks back down and buries his face into her pussy, lapping and sucking with a deliberate rhythm. He feasts, switching between his tongue and fingers. He crooks them inside her, thrusts in time with the soft sucks on her clit. There are the wet noises of her walls contracting around him. Ghost’s rumbling sounds of contentment as he tastes her.
“Duchess,” he warns when she bucks against his face and potentially breaks his nose against her lower belly.
“I can’t-I can’t help it,” she pants, and he sighs. It is impossible with the way he’s pulling pleasure from her. She feels like a naked branch in a storm, shivering and snapping against a glass window. Her muscles tense, her thighs twitch, and she can’t find leverage on this shitty cot.
Finally, she feels warm flesh brush against her knuckles. She glances down as Ghost threads his thick fingers through her own. His hand dwarfs her fist as he pins it to the mattress. It anchors her body and allows her something to hold onto as she straddles the oncoming climax. She’s leaking all over him, slick running down her ass and staining the sheets. It encourages him. His hips grind into the bed, his pupils blown out as he watches her shudder; it feels so good.
His thumb draws little circles against her hand as if to comfort her through it like this was a challenging task she had to win, an endgame for a mission. Her lungs are screaming - her heart thumps wildly against her ribs as the pleasure builds like a chemical reaction. Shocking. Overwhelming.
Tears prick her eyes. She swallows a sob as his stubble scorches her skin, his silky plush lips maneuvering against her cunt like he’s memorized it. Perhaps, he has. He's got a photographic memory, he handles her like he handles every precious weapon in his arsenal.
It’s coming - the pressure inside her core begins to cramp and fold until it slams right up against Ghost’s insistent mouth.
“I feel it,” he groans as her walls spasm and her pelvis stutters against his chin. He tightens his grip on her hand, his other fingers sliding in and out of her soaked heat in an even, lazy drag.
“It’s - fuck - it’s too much,” she whines, and he doubles his pace, prepared to shove her off the damn cliff.
“You’re a big girl, love,” he coaxes. “You can handle it, yeah? I know how good you are.”
That’s enough. Ghost’s praise that he hardly ever gives to anyone. It shoots her straight between the legs, where her cunt pulses and throbs like a wound. There’s so much pressure before everything is liquid. She feels wet, dripping, and when he rises to his knees, she is all over the lower half of his face.
He grins, straight, white teeth burning in the dark like a a crescent of stars, and she is momentarily stunned. She’s never seen him smile, or his teeth for that matter. She wants to lick them, taste them, and swallow him whole. The corner of his lips twitches like he knows what she’s thinking before he rucks the ski mask back down over his chin that’s gleaming with her slick.
She sits up abruptly, reaching for him. “You can’t-”
“I can,” he grunts, flipping her onto her side and slapping her thigh. “Get your pretty ass dressed. We’ve got wheels up in thirty.”
I tell you what, I’ve been a longtime lover of your writing. Loved every piece you’ve made put out so far, but this? This is it. Your writing for Ghost is so top tier.
I feel like... if you call ghost daddy in bed he'll go crazy
ghost with a daddy kink ? oh yeah… he definitely eats it up, when his prettiest princess calls him daddy in bed. <33
—❤︎︎ — DADDY’S HOME . . . ❞
SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER
✵. !! WC : 3.7k
✵. !! TAGS & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - service/softdom!ghost (he’s a lil bit mean), cunnilingus, daddy kink, size kink/difference, praise/petname usage, subtle spit kink, squirting, thigh slapping, overstimulation, dumbification, pussydrunk!ghost (hes in LOVE with your pussy), orgasm denial, fingering, the mask stays ON.
✵. !! A/N : hihi babies ! just a lil treat for y’all and thank you for 700+ follows and all the love you’ve given for simon says ♡!! hope you enjoy this mini fic, lmk how we feeling about it !! <33 ps… i folded. im sat. i actually wanna call this man daddy so bad. 🧎♀️
In your mind, there was one word— one forsaken word that you refused to utter. A word that only the most sexually deprived would use.
A person with their morals in check, should never attempt to sexualize something that is meant as an innocent title and name. Usually reserved for an actual father, or someone fulfilling the role of a male caregiver.
Right.
A person with their morals in check.
Right. You totally weren’t projecting… and deeply shaming your own innermost yearning, to desperately call your boyfriend ‘daddy’ while he fucked you.
It definitely wasn’t a thing you could say you were proud to admit outloud. Nope, you would quite frankly rather be caught dead than have your questionable cravings exposed to the world.
But every single day, you swore to god that your boyfriend tried to purposely provoke you into using the absolutely forbidden word.
Simon always took care of you. Whether that’d be making sure you got to work safely, cooking you meals on days that you were too tired to be bothered, or even texting you throughout the day to make sure you were resting properly.
You know. You know that’s probably the absolute bare minimum, and what a boyfriend is supposed to do for you in a serious relationship. But you just couldn’t help that ache and flutter you got in your heart, that made you so weak for him.
He worked so hard every single day, busy and moving nonstop on less than four hours of full rest. Even when he had his most stressful and agonizingly long days at work, he still tried to reach out to you. It could be a single worded text message or a phone call that only lasted for five minutes.
No matter what or without question, Simon will do his absolute best to tend to you. It was truly unconditional love, devotion, and his unspoken rule to give you whatever you most desired.
And you feel sick— sick in the head for letting your insatiable lust take over your sense of morality. Putting his mostly wholesome catering ways, in the same category as what you needed to relieve that scorching, sore pounding in your core.
That was alright though, you could live off your little fantasies and scenarios you created in your mind. Always making yourself dizzy and soft headed, imagining a world where he would make love to you and refer to himself as ‘daddy’.
It would suit him so well. Your hulk of a man, who had to put a slight bend in his knees whenever he came through the doors of your home. His mellow, husky voice always gently rasping to you— almost never, ever raising it higher than an octave at you. The way he could spoil you absolutely rotten, only ever calling you by his own little terms of endearment.
Always putting you first when he fucked you. Even in times when it got rough or you two were experimenting with things on the more intense side, you always came first. Literally and physically, since Simon couldn't properly get off himself, without knowing you were completely satisfied.
Your aftercare would consist of cuddling, he’d coo the sweetest of praises as he handled your sore limbs.
“My sweet girl, look at how pretty she is. Did such a good job today, angel. I know baby, I'll take good care of you now. Such a pretty girl, aren't you?”
It’s perfectly fine.
You could keep all those things about him to yourself. Just let your brain work its magic, to create fantasies and fill the deep void of your scorching carnality. You always subconsciously needed that one little thing to make yourself come even harder. But you were a good, grateful girl for him and always let Simon know how well he treated your body.
It’s perfectly fine. You don’t need a daddy kink in your life, to make yourself feel better. You were so much better than that, and you’d never let Simon get the idea that you were some ill, perverted deviant.
It was all fine.
Until today, when he finally pulls the most forbidden word out your mouth— and satiates the bubbling, hot desire that has a heavy chokehold on your heart and soul.
You don’t know how things escalated so fast.
One minute, you get his text that he’s on his way home and he’ll see you soon.
Out of pure joy and excitement to finally see him again after three weeks, you start to get yourself ready for the evening by taking an extra long shower. Making sure you’ve lathered and exfoliated every inch of your body in vanilla scented body polish, with a hint of brown sugar and cocoa butter. It was always Simon’s favorite scent on you, and he’d seemed more clingy than usual whenever your sweet aroma hit his nose.
The next hour, you throw on a simple, yet cheeky little lingerie set.
A delicate floral embroidered baby blue bra, with its matching mini stringed thong panty. You couldn’t help but fall in love with it at first sight. The design is a lovely work of art, the milky color enhancing the glow of your soft skin— yet it’s so scandalous on your body.
You did purposely get a smaller size, but on top of that it was made of see through mesh material. Not a single doubt in your mind that if he looked close enough, Simon could make out the shape of your nipples through the bra. And between your legs? The outline of your folds were perfectly clear and transparent against the light color of your panties.
After spending another minute admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror and taking a few selfies of your enticing form, you slip on a fluffy cream colored robe and head to the kitchen. You wanted to get something in your stomach before Simon came home, so you decided to lightly snack on a slice of pomegranate fruit.
You don’t even make it to the fridge before you hear the sharp clicking of keys turning a door knob, and feel the cold gust of wind that comes with the front door being swung open.
A gasp and squeal flies out your mouth as you bounce up and down on your toes, the actual sight of your boyfriend trudging in through the doorway makes your heart swell and pound in your chest.
“Baby!” You practically skip on your feet towards him, unable to hide your excitement of his abrupt appearance, as he starts taking quick strides to meet you halfway.
You think with how fast Simon approaches towards you, and him not even bothering to take off his shoes at the front door, he must’ve been just as excited to see you.
When you two finally meet each other in the middle of the hallway, you give him a big, dazzling smile as you go to lean in to hug him.
Before you can get your arms around him, he places a large hand on the small of your back and pulls you in close to his chest. You gape up at him, your smile slowly melting down to a look of pure confusion. Knees already feeling wobbly at his close proximity, and the way he has to tilt his head down to look you in the eyes.
Your breath hitches in your throat, when he slowly drags his open palm up along the cotton material of your robe. Even through its thickness, you can feel the heat radiating off his hand that follows along the curve of your back. Sending tingles down your spine, when his hand eventually makes its way up to the soft nape of your neck.
You both stare at each other. Your eyes become hazy and unfocused, while his dark ones scan over your perfect little form. You hear him pull in a deep breath of air through his nose. Holding it in his chest for five seconds before letting it back out, while he drags his eyes up back onto yours.
“Been thinkin’ about you all day long, y’know that?” He mutters these words, yet somehow they’re loud enough to ring and echo in your eardrums. You pull your lips in your mouth, feeling your core thump in tune with the pitter patter of your heartbeat.
You practically whimper out loud, as he continues onto his sentence,
“ ‘S about time I came home. Think it’s only right to show my princess how much I really missed her, wouldn’t you agree, pretty baby ?”
That was the only warning you were given… for what your boyfriend truly had planned for you, once he finally got his hands on you. Everything after that moment, truly did escalate as if time were being fasted forward.
You knew he missed you. Without him vocally telling you how much he thought of you, his actions spoke much louder than his words.
He was so sloppy.
From the way he practically rips your robe off your trembling body, to pushing you down onto your shared mattress and diving face first into the warm heat of your clothed pussy.
He was truly like a dog in heat. Not even bothering to take his mask off completely from his head, and only lifts it enough to show you his parting lips as he comes face to face with the growing patch of wetness sticking in your panties.
“Look at my pretty lil’ lady,” he coos softly, hooking his thumb into the side of your soiled panties and pulling them to the side to expose your glistening cunt to his heavy eyes. “Missed me, haven’t you? Can’t imagine how tight ‘n upset you are, since I haven’t been givin’ you proper treatment lately.”
It always blew your mind when Simon literally talked to your pussy.
Speaking in soft murmurs and giving it the same delicate pet names that he gave you, the owner of it. As dumb as it probably sounded, you sometimes couldn’t help but feel that ugly swirl of jealousy when he practically treated it like it was an entire living and breathing person.
You don’t have time to mull over your childish feelings, letting out a squeak when he grabs both of your thighs and presses them back until your knees squish against your chest.
“Know you’re mad at me, little one” Another squeak sounds out your throat, as you feel him turn his head to the side of your thigh and he lets his teeth sink into the doughy flesh of your skin. He hums, sucking on the flesh before letting it go and pressing a soft kiss to the flaming bruise he leaves behind. “Gonna show you how much I’ve missed splittin’ you open on my tongue.”
He follows through with his words, putting his full attention back onto your pussy. Using his index and middle fingers to pry open the thick lips of your cunt, groaning when he sees your hole twitching and spasming over nothing. The scent of your nectar coating your thighs and leaking out your pussy, makes him feel even more high and drunk off your arousal.
You’re so messy already. And like the gentleman that he was, Simon always took the initiative to help clean up messes that you made.
Still keeping his fingers spread enough to keep your lips parted, he lolls his thick tongue out before swiping it on your slit. You mewl and flinch at the feeling of his warm tongue, but he grips the side of your thighs to keep you still. Simon continues licking up and down your cunt. Maintaining the same pattern of stroking his strong tongue, as if he were savoring a frozen delicacy that helplessly dripped down the side of its waffle cone.
Once he feels like he’s collected enough of your cum on his tongue, he pulls his tongue back into his mouth to let the taste of you sit heavy on his taste-buds.
Your toes curl and you let out a soft gasp, as you watch him hollow his cheeks, before he lets the sinful mixture of your cum and his spit fall right back into your twitching hole. Chuckling to himself as he watches the way his greedy girl swallows up the little treat he gave her.
“Taste so fuckin’ good, princess” This time he does actually talk to you, dragging his eyes up from your drenched pussy and onto your blearing, glossy ones.
“Always so good for me. Could eat you up every single day ‘n never get tired of it. Can’t believe I went so long without this, fuck.”
Simon starts to probe his tongue along your core, tracing the shape of it until he finally pushes inside you. Already feeling the tight caverns of your pussy ease up, and welcome the thickness of his tongue rubbing up against your gushing walls.
“S-Sim— oohhh,” You throw your head back, unable to finish your squealing when he pulls his tongue completely out of you, and decides to inflict his torture upon your little clit. First he flicks the tip of his tongue over it, then he lets his mouth completely envelop around your pearl. Pumping it a few times between his lips, before pulling off to run his tongue over the expanse of your pussy.
You weren’t going to last.
You were far too sensitive after not having him around to please you for three entire weeks. All you could do was sob and let it happen, letting out a cry before you feel a fat watery gush of cum shoot out your hole. Simon pays it absolutely no mind, only widening his mouth to catch every little drop you gifted him.
“That’s it. Such a sweetheart, you’re already spoiling me ‘n givin’ me a lil’ treat. ,” He feels the way your body starts to relax, already going into its state of after pleasure— but he isn't done. Far from done, actually. Hasn’t even been half of an hour yet, and your legs start shaking like a leaf in the wind.
“Ah, Ah,” Simon tuts, slaps his palm hard on your soaked inner thigh, making you jolt and buck your hips up. “C’mon baby, couldn’t have thought I was done with you. ‘S only been a few minutes, ‘n you’re tapping out already? Thought my baby missed me, hm?”
It hasn’t only been a few minutes. Even in your dazed and dizzy mind, you knew that he’d been feasting on your pussy for well over twenty minutes. You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as you let out a soft sob.
“I di-did miss you, baby” You sniffle wetly, feeling him trace his thick fingers along your soaking heat. Shaking your head in protest as he slips in his middle and ring fingers, humming while you babble to him. “But I can’t ta— aaahh, t-take it anymore. ‘S too much, baby. No more.”
“Too much?” He starts to flex his fingers deep inside of you, curling them in slow motions to stimulate your special gummy spot, that has you sobbing hysterically.
“You haven’t had your fill yet, sweet girl. I can feel it. Y’see this?” Simon tries to retract his fingers from your cunt, but your walls instantly clamp down on him. “You’re not lettin’ me out. My little lady down here knows exactly what she wants. So c’mon princess, lay still ‘n let me spoil this pretty pussy rotten.”
Having absolutely zero regard for your whines and sobs, he continues his previous abuse on your poor little pussy.
Seconds, minutes, hours, decades— You can't even tell how long he stays between your thighs.
Simon uses both strong hands to keep your legs steady and trap you from squirming or running away. You can take it. You will take it. He knows how much you need this, humming at every broken little sob and wanton moan that comes screeching out your throat.
Your vision starts to blur while you stare up at the spinning ceiling. Saliva pooling in your mouth and making a puddle next to your temples, as you let it run down the side of your lips.
You’re going crazy.
So high off the overstimulation of his face buried deep in your leaking pussy, that you swear…. you swear, you can feel your brain getting mushy. So mushy that if you shook your head hard enough, it could probably come spilling out through your ears.
He’s speaking into your pussy, saying words and mumbling something out loud. But you can’t hear it. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your throat, and feel the way he shakes his face side to side, while his tongue is plugged in your cunt.
Feel the way his hands grip your thighs so tight, that the blunt tip of his nails dig deep into your skin. You can already imagine the bruising and crescent little puncture marks it’ll leave on your legs.
It’s all so sloppy. Your pleas and cries for mercy, getting lost in the little squeals of ‘yes!’ and ‘simon!’ you can’t help but let out. And he eats it up, kissing your heated pelvis while burying three fingers inside of you.
“There’s my good girl, y’sound so pretty” He goes back to focusing his attention on your sore clit, giving it an open mouthed kiss before he continues speaking to you.
“Wanna hear my girl tell me who’s making her feel good. Hm? Lemme hear it. Say who it is, that can make you sing your little heart out.”
You make some unintelligible garbles, and Simon chuckles at your quivering and hiccuping. He squeezes your thighs encouragingly and smacks the side of them twice.
“Big words, baby. You’re a big girl, so tell me… who’s making you feel good right now?”
“It’s…” You swallow thickly and sniffle, slowly losing your train of thought as he suctions his lips around your swollen pearl. “It’s— ohhh, ‘mmm my goddd. It’s you…”
You start to gather some of your discombobulated brain cells to form a complete sentence. Simon’s name sits on your tongue, and you’re ready to tell him, it’s him. Simon. It’s Simon.
Until he pulls his head back with your clit between his lips— taking it with him, and letting it go with a loud pop!
Whipping his head up to see if he really just heard what he believes you just cried out. Tapping the side of your thigh, he tries to get your attention so you can focus on his voice.
“What was that, honey? Didn’t hear you, come back to me and say it again.”
You whimper and hiccup, tears run down the side of your face and you continue whining at him.
“ ‘S you, daddy. Need you so badly, pleasseee baby. ‘M-m so close. I need it.”
Unbelievable.
He lets go of your trembling thighs. Letting the weight of his body help keep them pressed against your chest, as he crawls from up below your stomach and hovers over your face. Simon’s face is covered in your arousal. His lips glisten, and a good portion of the mask is damp and sticks to his skin.
“One more time, honey. Y’said it’s ‘daddy’ ? Hm? It’s your daddy, that’s taking good care of this pretty pussy?”
Simon’s fingers trail back down between your legs, softly shushing you as you keen at the feeling of his digits sliding back inside of you. He stares down at you, practically seeing the little stars spinning in your eyes. You weren’t in your best state of mind right now, but he’ll be damned if you tried denying that word escaping out with your cries.
“Can’t come ‘till you let me know,” You give him big, sad eyes but he shakes his head at you. “Wanna come, right? Tell. Me. Say it again, _____.”
At the use of your real, full name you quickly snap back into reality. It was like a switch, your bubbly headspace falling apart and bursting open once he rasped your name.
You did it. You really did call him daddy. It was your most taboo, and forbidden word—
But fuck it.
Today, your daddy was finally home. And you needed him to take care of you, just like he always did.
“Daddy,” you mewl out, feeling another hot sensation shooting through your spine. It was coming. You were so close. “Daddy I n-need you. ‘S you Simon, so please, pleaasee let me cum.”
His nostrils flare before he’s smacking his lips down on yours. Licking inside of your mouth, and inhaling the little moans you let out from tasting yourself on his tongue.
“Not yet, pretty little baby. Daddy hasn’t had all his fun yet.” Simon pulls away from your lips for a moment, laughing softly at the way you try to chase after his mouth for more. He uses one hand to swiftly fumble with the buckle of his belt, making quick work of pulling down his cargo pants and boxers. Laughing again when he pulls his drenched fingers out your greedy little hole, that puts up a fight to keep him deep inside your cunt.
“Must’a been treating my lil’ lady real good,” You can feel the heat of his hard, thick cock pressing onto your pelvis. Already licking your lips and grabbing onto his flexing bicep for support. “Gotta keep showing my special girls how much their daddy loves ‘em.”
He uses a free hand to guide his length to your throbbing pussy, unable to help himself from slapping the head a few times against you. His cock makes a squishy plop plop when he makes contact with your sticky folds, and teases you with a rub on your raw, swollen clit.
“Want you to remember this, once I’m done with you.”
Simon feels your nails dig into the hard meat of his bicep, bracing yourself when he finally lets the head of his cock greet your warm, welcoming insides. Already feeling the way your pussy grips around him, and makes no plans of ever letting go.
“Want you to remember what’ll happen every single time, that daddy comes home to his pretty, little princess.”
I disagree. Ghost holds hands when he is eating you put to.stop you from squirming so much
A/N: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader. Oral. Wet stuff. He’s nasty.
Outside of their “moments,” Ghost won’t touch her unless he has to. He maintains a professional distance, and a part of her longs to stake her claim. Hold his damn hand, so the team understands how he gets on his knees for her or allows her to ride him.
He’s a legend to them. A myth. The lone wolf whose kill count is in the thousands.
How many?
I don’t count ‘em.
Oh?
I don’t lose sleep if that’s what you’re asking.
They needle her, poke fun because she’s a woman, and it’s just so damn easy. Ghost never does, though. Ghost treats her like he treats everyone else with cool, stoic regard.
Except when he fucks her. There’s that.
***
It’s an uneventful night. The rest of the team is playing poker around a plastic card table. There’s smoke in the air from cheap cigars. Whiskey that’s sticking to her throat as she downs it. She leans against the doorway; arms crossed firmly over her chest. She should go to sleep.
“Duchess.”
There he is. That voice matches the cigar smoke. It’s thick and impenetrable, and it licks up her spine. She feels his broad chest against her back, the heat of his bulk, and she wants the others to turn around and catch them. Sure it would appear like their lieutenant is simply chatting with her, but if they looked closely, they’d see...
He lowers his head so that his breath grazes her ear. “Needy, are we?”
She bites her lip, shutting her eyes. “No.”
“You may not believe I watch you, but I do.” If possible, his voice becomes even lower, dragging over gravel and full of suggestion. “I think about the sounds you make when I got my tongue inside you.”
She shudders, thighs squeezing together. Ghost’s pelvis shifts against her ass, and she restrains herself from leaning into his massive warmth.
“It’s bloody distracting,” he exhales. “Tryin’ to give orders when all I can see is that wet little cunt in front of my face.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“They don’t see how I look at you,” he continues. “But that’s because it’s mine. What we do...what we have...that’s all mine, darling.”
She buries her nails into her forearm until it hurts. She glances at him over her shoulder, and he’s staring straight ahead like he hasn’t just confessed an intimate truth. He’s so close she can discern his blonde lashes, his deep sea eyes. They flicker toward her.
“Ghost,” she murmurs as he draws closer.
***
“Simon,” she moans, hips rolling against his face. He’s shoved his mask above his nose as he blows cool air against her cunt. He parts her folds and nudges his thumb against the swollen nub as she clenches down on nothing. His touch is practiced as he strokes and teases her. He slips his fingers inside her pussy before removing them.
“Duchess,” he replies flatly, a flash of amusement like he enjoys wrecking her with as few gestures as possible. He holds her thighs open before he lowers his mouth and slides the flat of his tongue against the seam of her sex. She jerks, her foot knocking into the hard muscle of his torso.
“Easy, now,” he croons. “Stay still so I can eat you the way I like, yeah?”
One broad palm slaps gently against her inner thigh and pins it to the mattress. He sinks back down and buries his face into her pussy, lapping and sucking with a deliberate rhythm. He feasts, switching between his tongue and fingers. He crooks them inside her, thrusts in time with the soft sucks on her clit. There are the wet noises of her walls contracting around him. Ghost’s rumbling sounds of contentment as he tastes her.
“Duchess,” he warns when she bucks against his face and potentially breaks his nose against her lower belly.
“I can’t-I can’t help it,” she pants, and he sighs. It is impossible with the way he’s pulling pleasure from her. She feels like a naked branch in a storm, shivering and snapping against a glass window. Her muscles tense, her thighs twitch, and she can’t find leverage on this shitty cot.
Finally, she feels warm flesh brush against her knuckles. She glances down as Ghost threads his thick fingers through her own. His hand dwarfs her fist as he pins it to the mattress. It anchors her body and allows her something to hold onto as she straddles the oncoming climax. She’s leaking all over him, slick running down her ass and staining the sheets. It encourages him. His hips grind into the bed, his pupils blown out as he watches her shudder; it feels so good.
His thumb draws little circles against her hand as if to comfort her through it like this was a challenging task she had to win, an endgame for a mission. Her lungs are screaming - her heart thumps wildly against her ribs as the pleasure builds like a chemical reaction. Shocking. Overwhelming.
Tears prick her eyes. She swallows a sob as his stubble scorches her skin, his silky plush lips maneuvering against her cunt like he’s memorized it. Perhaps, he has. He's got a photographic memory, he handles her like he handles every precious weapon in his arsenal.
It’s coming - the pressure inside her core begins to cramp and fold until it slams right up against Ghost’s insistent mouth.
“I feel it,” he groans as her walls spasm and her pelvis stutters against his chin. He tightens his grip on her hand, his other fingers sliding in and out of her soaked heat in an even, lazy drag.
“It’s - fuck - it’s too much,” she whines, and he doubles his pace, prepared to shove her off the damn cliff.
“You’re a big girl, love,” he coaxes. “You can handle it, yeah? I know how good you are.”
That’s enough. Ghost’s praise that he hardly ever gives to anyone. It shoots her straight between the legs, where her cunt pulses and throbs like a wound. There’s so much pressure before everything is liquid. She feels wet, dripping, and when he rises to his knees, she is all over the lower half of his face.
He grins, straight, white teeth burning in the dark like a a crescent of stars, and she is momentarily stunned. She’s never seen him smile, or his teeth for that matter. She wants to lick them, taste them, and swallow him whole. The corner of his lips twitches like he knows what she’s thinking before he rucks the ski mask back down over his chin that’s gleaming with her slick.
She sits up abruptly, reaching for him. “You can’t-”
“I can,” he grunts, flipping her onto her side and slapping her thigh. “Get your pretty ass dressed. We’ve got wheels up in thirty.”
This isn’t anything new. You’ve heard it all before.
Maybe, then, it’s the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say:
“You’re all wrong, boys; he’s just keeping my seat warm.“
(a joke at your lieutenant’s expense has unexpected consequences.)
Warning: Fire, angst, PTSD, violence, blood/gore. Alcohol use. Smut, thigh riding, biting, guided masturbation, car (Humvee) sex. kind of an attempt at an angst, slow burn? idk. I meant it, when I said I wanna take Ghost for a ride, this is what I meant.
Full smutty version on my Ao3 here.
Part one, two.
Summary: It was well known by now that you needed saving quite often. It turned into a joke within the team every now and then. However, this time, it was your turn to save your savior. The fiery explosion you pulled him from did something to him, making him react towards you in a way you’ve never, ever expected to see.
A loud boom rumbled the ground you laid on, making you jolt at the piercingly loud rumble that erupted from the far-left side of the oil factory. Raising your head from your scope, your eyes frantically searched along all parts of the building you could see from your vantage point.
It wasn't long before thick, rich black smoke began spewing out from any available door, window or crack in the walls, cascading upwards to the night skies.
"Shit!! Price, Ghost!! You copy!?" Soap shouted out in terror from the sight from his own vantage point.
Another harsh explosion erupted from the building, forcing your burning heart to drop deep into your stomach from the sight. Your team was in there, Price was in there, Ghost was in there.
Rigorous hacking and coughing erupted from your earpiece, rattling every single bone in your body.
"B-Bloody hell! Soap!" The familiar, raspy voice of your Captain finally came through, the connection sounding chopped and contorted.
"Captain! What the hell happened?!" Dropping all formal speech code, Soap shouted from the grasses he laid in, smelling the pungent odor of burning fuels as a harsh breeze blew past.
"This damn room was rigged! Christ, the whole place was rigged! We've got injured! We need backup now!!" Any further possible sentence was cut off by more coughing before it grew silent, urging Soap to insistently persist in calling his captain again, but no reply came.
"Shit! We have to go in there!" Soap officially announced, rising from his position on a high hill looking over large, flat grassy plains. The abandoned oil rig factory was built on solid concrete foundations, proving to be the perfect place for a hideout spot in the middle of nowhere.
"I'll go!" You stood off the ground, abandoning your rifle to reach for the thick, hidden clasps of your ghillie suit. "You need to call for evac, Soap!"
"No! I'll go in, It's too dangerous!"
"Fuck dangerous, our team is in there!" You yelled back, tugging the heavy coat off of your shoulders. "Split the team we have! Half of us goes in to get the survivors out of there!"
Various rustling came from the landscape far around you, multiple disguised soldiers rising from their own personal vantage points, hastily tugging off their own falsified grass suits to join you.
Pulling off what was left of your ghillie suit as fast as you could, you picked up your rifle, calling for half the team to be on you and raced towards the factory, catching a further assist in your frantic pace from the sloping hill.
While at first, you were unsure where to go once you entered, a horrid sulfurous stench began polluting the air, growing stronger with each step you took in the right direction. A bright, orange light began glazing over the walls, gray smoke fogging up your vision once you got closer and closer.
"Captain!" Catching sight of Price, finding him slouching against the closest wall, his hands clutching onto the wall and his rifle. Four other soldiers from his team quickly appeared from around the corner, struggling to breathe whilst supporting each other to stand, their injuries visible through their bloodied uniforms.
"What happened!?" You yelled out before you could refrain yourself, a few soldiers from your makeshift squad quickly assisting the suffering survivors.
"Bombers! A trap!" He coughed, clutching his throat, "That damn room was rigged the moment we stepped in, this whole building's gonna blow if we don't leave now!"
"Where's the Lieutenant?? The others??" You quicky rushed past the captain, blinking rapidly from the burning smoke in your eyes, the toxic air quickly souring your throat. "Back in the room! Shit," His voice cut off with another cough, sounding strained with intense emotion from the reality of what he witnessed, "Don't think they made it!"
No, no you didn't want to believe that one bit. Tugging off your mask, you clutched your rifle closer to yourself, looking towards the direction they came from.
"Get them out of here now! I'll go look for more survivors!" You ordered the nearest soldiers that made up your team, quickly taking off before anyone, not even Price, could stop you.
You found a man weakly slouched against the wall in a narrow hallway leading towards the room where the explosion occurred, every inch of available surface completely engulfed in flames. Rich, black smoke came from the entryway, filling the ceiling high above your head, painting every surface black by the second.
"Simon!" You got to his side once you recognized the mask, your voice croaked from the dry, polluted air destroying the moisture in your mouth. A rich, intense heat filled the area, seeping into every ounce of black fabric he wore, leaving him incredibly warm to the touch.
He was conscious, yet visibly frozen, almost unable to make out any emotion from those painted eyes as they stared straight into the flames.
The upper left corner of his mask was cracked as if he was struck in the head, various blood splatters staining his false face. A patch of blood continued to darken the material of his balaclava sticking to his face, leaving you worried if he was currently suffering from blunt force trauma to his head.
"Mirage!" Soap's frantic tone came through your earpiece. "Get the hell outta there, the building's gonna collapse at any second at this rate!"
“Soap! I found Ghost but he’s unresponsive! I can't move him!”
"Shit! You've got to try! I'm comin' right for ya!"
Setting your rifle to the side by the strap, you grabbed onto his left arm, trying your hardest to use what strength you had to sit him up from the wall.
His hand clasped a tight grip on your wrist, making your arm tense from his fingers squeezing against your bones, shooting a fierce pain along your hand.
The look in his eyes burned brighter than the flames, having you freeze like a deer in headlights, like he’s seen something no man, no human, should ever see in their existence.
Never before has a glare from him make you feel so afraid, so terrified.
"Come on, we need to get you out of here!" Bracing yourself on your knees, you pulled your hand from out of his constricting grip, tucking both your arms under his to try to maneuver him to his feet. He was able to sit up properly, but didn't move any further, his head stuck in the direction of the growing fire.
"Come on, Simon! We need to go!" Struggling further, you hoisted one of his arms over your shoulders, clutching onto his tactical vest in an effort to get him to stand.
Unaware to you, it was difficult to make out anything you said from the potent ringing in his ears.
Getting harder and harder to breathe, you held your breath while struggling, the intense heat on your back making you sweat profusely. It took a bit until he managed to shuffle himself to his feet, making you take a choking sigh of relief. Trying your hardest to get him moving with you, you assisted him out of the hallway, seeing that Price and the wounded soldiers were long gone, blood splattered along the floor from someone's severely injured leg.
Breathing as hard as you were, it grew more of a challenge trying to carry a man of his weight and size to safety. Your feet staggered along the concrete floor, the weight throwing you off balance as you fell to your knees, trying to get any form of proper air into your lungs with little avail. Intense heat trickled throughout your entire body, your nose burning and dry, your throat tainted from pollution.
Your mind, however, was only focused on your Lieutenant by your side, your strength quickly wavering as you struggled to keep his upper body from touching the floor out of fear of risking further injuries to his head.
“Mirage! Where the hell are ya, lass?!” Soap yelled into your earpiece; your hands too occupied to press the buttons to respond. So, you resorted to the next best thing, screaming out his real name in hopes that the echo would travel him to the right direction.
"Mirage!" Soap yelled to you upon sight, seeing you struggling on the ground, sweat dripping down the sides of your face as it grew harder and harder to breathe.
"Help me!!" You yelled at him, the man quickly sliding towards Ghost's other side, using his strength to help hoist the man off the ground, rushing you both to the exit out of the building.
A harsh wind blew in your direction by the time you got outside, fresh, full air filling your lungs. The blades of the C-130 filled the ambience, the ramp wide open displaying everyone inside, a few soldiers from your team remaining outside per orders.
The both of you rushed Ghost up the ramp inside, Soap quickly taking over to sit the Lieutenant down in a seat. You stepped back and sat yourself down in a seat opposite from them, coughing and taking in deep breaths of clean air, your throat dry and desperate for moisture.
"He's bleeding from his head!" You exhaled loud for him to hear, watching Soap look into Ghost's dazed eyes, examining what he could with the cherry red lighting. "He must've gotten struck from whatever the hell happened in there, we've got to get him checked when we get back!"
"Where's the medic!?"
"Dead!" Price spoke up, quickly rushing towards Soap’s side to examine Ghost. "We lost 'em in the explosion, we're down four men, two wounded!"
Looking over at the view of the burning factory, you watched bright flames peeking out from the high ceilings. The craft rose from the ground, giving you a perfect view of the entire factory grow further and further submerged in flames, the stench filling the entirety of the plane. Standing from your seat, you approached the edge, keeping a fair distance to get a better look at where you once were hiding before chaos ensued.
Harsh, heavy footsteps against the metal flooring came from behind, grabbing your attention just enough for your head to turn, seeing the large shadow of a man treading closer and closer towards your direction.
“Ay, Ay! Ghost!” Soap pressed a hand against his chest, forcing the man to stop before getting any closer, heavily concerned by this sudden change in demeanor. The sudden raise in his tone had Ghost abruptly pausing, the ringing in his ears reinforcing from that loud, irritating tone, causing him to snap.
Ghost swung at Soap, his right fist making contact with the left side of his jaw. You jumped at the action, alerting every eye in the craft towards the shocking scene.
Soap quickly recovered from the blow, quickly catching sight of his next punch, blocking him with both hands. He yelled out Ghost’s name to get him to settle down, but Ghost couldn’t listen, raising his other fist until Price quickly intervened, catching a firm, restraining grip on him.
“Get a hold of yourself, Simon! That’s enough!!” Price yelled at the man, assisting Soap with holding him back. His eyes grew wide and frantic, shoulders raising high and low with his quick, unsteady breathing. Soap shoved the tall man back in his own burst of anger, watching two more men who witnessed the attack quickly grab ahold of Ghost, forcing distance between the four of you.
“The hell is going on?!” You pulled Soap by the arm back, seeing him grunt in irritation from the pain in his jaw, shoulders tensed. “Don’t know, it looked like he was tryin’ to come after ya or jump out. He was just headin’ your way.”
Your heart stopped at those words. What…?
All the shock from before immediately morphed into rage.
“You tried to WHAT?!” You shouted in pure alarm, quickly taking a few fast steps forward towards Ghost.
“Hey!!!” Price shouted, watching Soap quickly grab hold of you, keeping you from approaching Ghost any further while he was apprehended, being moved to the far towards other side of the craft.
“That’s enough! All of you!” Price demanded from everyone, watching your angry face struggle to comprehend his orders, shoving yourself away from Soap before facing away, running your black stained hands over your face.
You were at a complete loss at the scene happening behind you, hearing the constant shuffling on the entire way back. Soap tried calling your name, putting his hand on your shoulder only for you to shove it off, feeling your heart racing in your chest.
It made absolutely no sense. You went through the liberty to save him, all for him to what, harm you? Push you out of the craft? Throw himself out of it?
He could kill you so easily if he wanted to. You never forgot those very words that struck your mind ever since.
That whole incident happened three months ago. As officially written in the reports, from what you could remember, an intel operation gone horribly wrong.
The oil had been rigged with charges in the walls of the room they had been in. They were further set off by hidden suicide bombers, instructed to destroy the evidence followed by those who were in the building.
Your clothes and equipment smelled like smoke for days, feeling paranoid every time you showered to scrub the stench from your skin with anything you could use, your fingernails leaving angry lines before you officially gave up.
Every burning memory of that night always led back to that look in Ghost’s eyes; Wild, crazed, frantic, deadly. You couldn’t forget them, thinking over and over why he would do such a thing.
He refused to acknowledge you for quite some time after that happened. Understandably so.
It took you two and a half months to finally learn why he reacted the way he did: Something to do with his past, mixed with the trauma to his head, his dissociated state going from non-responsive to absolute violence. Telltale signs of severe PTSD with an easily trigger-able fight response. You weren’t sure what struck it however, making you bite and pick at your nails while pondering the details of that night over and over.
It finally occurred to you why after one night, staying up in bed until four in the morning. You stood at the edge of the aircraft, simply looking out to the view of the oil factory, but to him, it didn't appear that way at all.
You felt ashamed for reacting the way that you did before you let go of the anger. It was a dreading sink of your heart to your stomach, feeling terrible for blaming him over something he couldn’t control. Despite being treated and disappearing for a while to recover, once he was released, you never saw him anywhere you went. The feeling was quite similar to how you would try to look for boyfriend along the halls in high school, but he wasn’t there, purposefully avoiding you.
It wasn’t like he was your partner, in that sense, anyway, but you cared for him. Truly.
The last time you saw him was in the early evening, during a mission where you arrived in as backup support and extraction. Never have you had such an awkward ride ever in your life, sitting beside Ghost in the Humvee. It was silent and uncomfortable, his new mask refusing to even tilt in any way towards your direction. He was always quiet, but this time, the air was so tense a bullet would’ve been stuck and suspended in place if fired. Only thing you did was keep your head down and stay quiet, knowing he wouldn’t look your way for another day.
"How many are we at so far?"
"Eight to twelve."
"You liar, it's even. Eight to Eight."
”Ah, thought you weren't payin' any attention. Could’ve sworn I saw ya close to slanting off to the side."
”Nice try, I haven't even drank a thing. Unlike you." You couldn't help but smirk at the chuckle that came from the other side of the table. "Just checkin, lass. Maybe that soda bottle earlier wasn't just a soda?"
"You wish, MacTavish." You muttered, keeping focused on your hand.
"You two goin' at it again? Who lost what bet this time?" Gaz spoke up, a tinge of amusement in his tone while peering over the two of you at the table, clutching three new bottles of beer.
"Mirage over here thinks she's got the upper hand on me."
Failing to bite back any further amusing, yet unnecessary commentary, you double checked the cards you held close to your chest. “It’s cause you suck at this game, John.”
Now, what does your task force do after a successful job well done, a target properly apprehended, and every soldier was able to come home safe? Celebrate. Loudly, but responsibly.
A drink was almost in every hand from the squad you could recognize, each soldier taking this night after the successful mission to have a moment to cut back and enjoy themselves. While leaving to head towards any bar in the world was definitely some better form of option, many of you still had to wake up quite early in the morning, or in a few hours, in some cases.
While incredibly rare, It definitely helped with the Moral around here every once in a while, that was for certain.
Multiple groups of men and women huddled to themselves with bottles or cans in hand: Water, juice, soda, alcohol even. Every now and again, a new member would join into the group or change places. Loud rock music came booming from multiple stereos placed outside of the large steel walled supply warehouse that had been transformed into a makeshift hangout spot. The large doors were left wide open, letting the cool night air circulate inwards every time a calming breeze blew by.
As crude as it looked, it gave a more open, welcoming atmosphere than being huddled up in the mess hall.
“Here you are.” Gaz smacked the cap off the bottle on the edge of the table before placing it by your right hand. You thanked him and maneuvered your cards over to your left, picking up the bottle.
Staring at the bottle brought forward some rather interesting memories. When was the last time you've really seen a bottle like this that wasn't under flashing lights and loud music? Shit, when was the last time you had beer? Did you even like beer?
Well, why not? Couldn't hurt.
You exhaled before taking the first sip. A strong tingle followed by a pungent, sour note almost made you wince at first, quickly reminding you why you didn't like beer, or whatever the hell this brand was. You never even touched a drop of anything ever since you joined the army, a small part of you wanted to keep it that way.
"Here, somethin' to cleanse the palate." A narrow paper bag was pushed over, housing inside a white paper boat with small, miniature churros, nestled comfortably beside a small cup of chocolate sauce. Crystals of cinnamon covered your fingers as you picked up a piece, ripping apart a sizable chunk for yourself.
Soap's attention was elsewhere when you quickly grew occupied by the well-needed snack, his head focusing on someone while you fully ripped off another piece for yourself, munching on it quickly.
“Now, tell me something, Y/n. What I don't get is how did you manage to survive falling out of a chopper?” You could only shrug at the answer, almost feeling that lingering pain in your left shoulder returning momentarily from the mention alone.
“You should’ve seen when it happened, All I got from it were the reports." Soap downed at least half his beer once he brought his attention towards the conversation. "You must be the luckiest woman alive, and unluckiest. Betcha Ghost gave ya quite the talkin' to about that."
You chewed slowly, your mind pondering over your racing thoughts while rolling the crystals of sugar in between two fingers. Looking back up at Gaz, you gave him another measly shrug, swallowing your food before turning to Soap.
“Are you still mad at him?” You asked, watching him cross his arms on the table, neglecting his cards as he looked down in thought before shaking his head. “No. Got no reason to be.”
“You sure? Have you guys talked?”
Soap looked you in the eye with a firm nod. “We shared a few words, but even durin' that whole shitshow, I could recognize the shell shock even with that damn mask of his on.” Soap mutters, exhaling after.
"So, what's with the mask of his anyway?" You refrained making eye contact with that question, your fingers slightly shaking while tearing away another piece of your snack.
"Eh, that's a story you shouldn't be askin' from me. All I can say is he doesn't take it off for anything, or anyone." Soap huffed a bit, a smile slowly stretching across his face. "Don't think even to sleep. Definitely takes it off to eat, you see the muscle on him?"
Gaz chuckled, taking a swig of his beer while you munched along silently, wondering over something entirely new. Doesn’t take his mask off for anyone, huh? That’s something.
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