Alrighty so I’m brand new at writing on here. I’ve been mostly reading fics for the past couple years until lately and I decided I wanted to try and contribute to the collection of stories for people to read. I’m in my 20s and I try not to disclose too much about personal details. I’ve posted on Ao3 but I wanted to move them over here where I really spend the most time. I think I'm going to make a tagging system eventually (I need to write more to apply that but yeah). I will use #maddie.writes for my fics and #maddie.thinks for my headcannons I think, and I'll update this as I go.
So now that that’s been cleared up I want to say I don’t have any of my writings beta’d and I probably won’t anytime in the near future. I don’t own any characters blah blah blah. All mistakes are my own, feedback is very very very appreciated, and enjoy!
Summary: Ghost hates you. You hate Ghost. Simple enough and easy to understand right? Well it turns out it’s not that simple when you’re forced to sit on his lap for an exfil (exfiltration) and things take an unexpected turn.
Warnings⚠️: MDNI Blog, Enemies to lovers, teasing, hints of jealous!Ghost, mean/indifferent!Ghost (not really mean, mean though), pranks, seduction, innuendos, not smut but slight references?, reader is a sergeant, Chuckles the annoying rookie
Notes: This is not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. Feedback is appreciated! I could definitely make a part 2 to this if you guys want.
Word Count: 2,472 words
Normally this doesn’t happen. Or I guess you should say you haven’t seen this happen before on a mission. The exfil trucks are usually large enough to accommodate the amount of soldiers who need to escape quickly since they’re sent by the higher ups, unfortunately this time the nearest available truck only seats four out of the five of you on the mission. Gaz and Soap managed to commandeer the truck for escape while you, Ghost, and one of the new rookies –you've taken to calling him Chuckles because of how often he hits on you with a cheap and unfunny joke– hold off the enemies that are hot on your tails.
The truck pulls up next to you three as Ghost manages to incapacitate one of the last and nearest enemy soldiers. Ghost and Chuckles hop in the only two remaining seats leaving you with a raised eyebrow and pit in your stomach. Oh shit. They surely won't make you do what you think they’re about to do.
“C’mon lass!” Soap yells from the passenger seat, “You’re gonna have to squeeze in on someone! Let’s get moving!”
OH HELL NO. There’s no way in hell you’re doing this right now. You’d rather be taken captive than sit in one of their laps. You despise Chuckles and his complete insubordination to you. His flirting is just enough to almost cross a line but never enough to report and you’d be damned if you ever sit on his lap. Your only other option leaves your Lieutenant. Simon “Ghost” Riley. The man who makes your life a living hell and treats you like scum of the earth. You have no idea what you did to provoke his anger and hatred but you can’t recall a time where the two of you ever got along. He loved pushing you to your limits during drills and would often treat you like a rookie, despite you and Soap being of the same rank. It only got worse as you were brought in to help him train new recruits, it’s like your methods were never good enough and he’d always take over your sessions so you were sitting back and watching while he sparred with the rookies. To be only slightly fair, it’s not like you tried to be nice to him. After he immediately decided that you weren’t worth his time, you made the same decision and blew him off and made sarcastic remarks any chance you got (so long as it didn’t interfere with the chain of command because the last thing you need is him to get you discharged or punished). Either way this wasn’t happening. You really would rather be a prisoner of war than go head to head with these men’s egos.
“Here I can move my stuff around and if Lieutenant Ghost can hold my gun and tactical belt, you can sit here with me.” The rookie offers.
You give him a distasteful glare at the offer, but it seems you aren’t the only one to oppose that idea.
“No. I have less gear on me at the moment anyways rookie.” Ghost gives a stern look to the rookie warning him not to protest. “Aye sergeant let’s go!” Ghost hisses as he hoists you up onto his lap and slams the door shut. He shifts his vest a little to situate you both and heaves a sigh. You can feel him tense uncomfortably behind you, much like your own posture at the moment. You’re sitting straight up and avoiding putting your full weight on him, almost as if the smallest touch is going to burn you. “Oh you’ve got to be shitting me…” he mutters as he reaches around you and pulls you down to fully sit as the truck starts to haul ass out of there. You let out a squeak and try to situate yourself, feeling very uncomfortable with the situation.
“Ghost,” you whisper back to him, “could you move your gun?”
“That’s not my gun sergeant. Now stop fucking moving yeah?” He leans forward pressing against your back as he whispers with a tone you’ve never heard from him before. You feel his arm wrap around you as he reaches to grab your waist and hold you steady.
Oh. Oh- you’re caught completely off guard. Not sure what to do or how to respond, Ghost beats you to it: “Don’t get any ideas sergeant. Just a situational thing.”
Oh well now you’ve got some ideas. How situational is it really? Knowing he can’t see your face you smirk a little and wiggle around a bit more, under the guise of getting comfortable. Your own arousal decides to make itself known to you as the pit of warmth settles deep in your stomach. As you move around, his grip on you tightens and his fingers dig into your uniform with the pressure almost enough to bruise your flesh around your waist. You hear his breath hitch as he leans forward again “You’re playing a dangerous game here love,” he growls out lowly, voice laced with warning and just quiet enough for only you to hear, “but don’t think for a second that I won’t play along.” You can practically hear his smirk while he whispers to you when he suddenly shifts under you, pushing his evident arousal against you and creating a delicious friction. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you. “You know, Lieutenant, if you keep this up I'll have no choice but to assume you actually do like me.” You smirk thinking you finally caught him off guard. However, his next words which he pairs with a well timed movement throw you off your little game again, “Oh finally catching on are you? Remember, I’m in control here… and I won’t hesitate to cause a scene.” He chuckles as you make a quiet noise again, and this time you get the message. You stop squirming as you’re torn between the forbidden and uncertain tension and maintaining your composure in front of your colleagues. The tension remains heavy in the air as the truck continues the journey back to the safehouse.
By the time you make it back to the safehouse it is well past sunset. You all unload, unpack, and claim your sleeping areas. You manage to catch glimpses of Ghost as he goes on as if nothing happened. You can’t help but feel slightly irritated by his display of indifference. If he’s going to play a stoic and silent game then you’re going to make it your personal mission to break his facade. Throughout the unpacking and night shift rotations you continue to tease Ghost, indulging in every opportunity to provoke him with innuendos, playful gestures, and even subtle touches. All of your tactics focus on testing Ghost’s resolve, and despite catching him off guard he manages to recover and maintain his composure every time. The only hint you have at success is the slight flicker of desire in his eyes, proof you’re actually having an effect on him. The next morning when you wake the team is starting to pack up again as Soap and Gaz have managed to hijack a new vehicle for transport, one with more room for everyone. The drive back to the military base is mostly quiet with everyone taking turns driving. The unspoken desire between you and Ghost still hangs heavy in the air, and as you all arrive back at base in one piece you make it your mission to shower first, and then completely and utterly break your Lieutenant’s act.
As you’re getting dressed from your shower and pulling out clean underwear and pants, you have a brilliant idea on how to break Ghost. It’s risky and most definitely will be a little bit of a challenge, but just picturing the look on his face is enough to really sell the idea to you. You continue digging through your dresser drawers trying to find the sexiest pair of lacy underwear that you can find. Eventually you settle on a pink pair you’ve worn maybe once, but it never got put to its intended use. Stuffing them into your pocket you decide to head to the community kitchen, no doubt where everyone will be eating or rummaging for their hidden stashes of their preferred foods and drinks. You’re counting on Ghost to stick to his usual routine of showering, unpacking, and his usual cup of tea from his stash he buys special from across seas. The thought of pushing Ghost’s buttons again further ignites a fire within you. As you enter the kitchen you take a second to assess the layout and positions of everyone there. Soap is at one of the tables with Chuckles and Gaz, they’re all talking and making jokes while munching on something no doubt made by Soap. That man loves to cook for people. Meanwhile Ghost is leaning against the counter by the stove where he waits for his kettle to heat up properly.
You decide the best way to sneak the underwear into his pocket is by faking grabbing something from the cabinet behind him. Even better if you can convince him to grab it for you. Luckily for you the mugs are on the top shelf of that cabinet and you could actually use some coffee right about now. You walk over to the counter by ghost while pretending to be on your phone. As you get close you put it away and go to grab a mug, trying to make your struggle slightly noticeable.
“Ah fuck, why do we keep these on the top shelf anyways? Not everyone here is as tall as you guys,” You gesture towards Ghost and Soap and Ghost lets out a chuckle.
“Yeah well not everyone is as short as you either now are they, love? Here, move out of the way.” He nudges you to the side and while he’s reaching up you make your move and slip the panties into the pockets of his black joggers. You can honestly say you’ve never been more thankful for the men’s clothing industry giving them unfair pocket sizes. He manages to grab a mug for you and passes it off to you. You hum a thank you and move to the coffee maker. Coffee sounds so amazing right now and you managed to successfully complete your mission so why not reward yourself? Now you wait. You have no idea when Ghost will discover the panties, but you kind of hope you’re around to see his face when he discovers them. Logically though you assume he’ll find them before he goes to bed or if he has to change. Either way you expect some sort of reaction, and a reaction you will get.
It’s late night now and still nothing. You’re hanging out in your room wearing only your tank top and sleep shorts since it was rather warm on base tonight. You had also put on some mindless tv series earlier to distract you, although you really weren’t paying attention to it anyways. At this point you keep thinking about Ghost finding the panties, but you assume he just hasn’t found them and they may end up going through his wash cycle, which would honestly be just as good in your opinion. You just have to practice some patience which isn’t your strongest area, especially after that unresolved teasing in that truck. You’re about to give up the show and turn off the tv and head to bed when you hear a quiet but insistent knock at your door.
Oh shit here we go. You get up off your bed and make your way to the door, cracking it open slightly and hiding the lower half of your body behind it out of habit. The sight before you is almost enough to make you crack but you manage to keep your composure. Ghost stands there in a black t-shirt and his same black joggers, his arms swirled with black ink from tattoos you hardly ever get to see. He opted to switch out his usual skull mask for his balaclava that he reserves for roaming the base, but the detail that had you struggling to keep it together was the lacy panties he had hanging from his pointer finger like they personally offended him.
He pushes his way into your room not even giving you time to protest, so you shut the door behind him and turn around to face him. Still you try not to giggle as you decide to crack a joke, “Huh Lieutenant… I didn’t take you for a pink lace kind of guy.” You feel your composure beginning to crack as the corner of your mouth tilts upwards.
“Bloody fucking hell.” Ghost’s jaw ticks under the mask, but you can’t tell if it’s from amusement or annoyance. Maybe both if you had to guess. You’ve been laying it on him pretty thick recently.
Your eyes finally meet Ghost’s intense stare but with a cool and collected demeanor. You can see a flicker of amusement and something else in his eyes, one you really hope is desire. He clears his throat and speaks with a low voice but still stern enough to keep your focus, “So, it seems I’ve somehow managed to find quite the surprise… care to explain yourself sergeant?” You can see his eyebrow quirk upwards as he gestures to the panties with his head.
You take a moment and gather your thoughts, trying to figure out how you want to play this. You maintain your poker face despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through you. The goal is to make him break first and you don’t like to give up easily. “Well Lieutenant, I have no idea why you’d be carrying around lacy underwear. Is there something you want to talk about?” You smirk a little, still keeping your cool.
“Oh so you’re playing stupid yeah? You can do that love, but remember I’m not one to back down from a challenge.” He takes a step forward and the air between you is heavy and full of tension. As he comes closer he leans up by your ear and whispers, “If i have these in my hand right now sergeant… I can only imagine what may be under here.” He gestures down and pinches at the waistband of your sleep shorts, letting them fall back into place with a snap. Your breathing picks up at his boldness. You certainly didn’t think you’d actually get him to make a move first, but now that he has, you have your opening and you’ll be damned if you don’t take it.
You lean forward this time to whisper in his ear, “Well Ghost. I suppose there’s only one way for you to find out.”
Ghost hc’s for when reader loses their voice (based on my own suffering right now lol)
18+ MDNI. NSFW under the cut
You lose your voice. Be it from a concert, your job, overuse, or *ahem* maybe you were a little too enthusiastic about Ghost’s techniques in the bedroom
He is a relentless tease. You are not going to be able to escape him or his comments about losing your voice. Even over the most basic things like asking if you’ll share your food with him (that man will steal your fries or snacks I’m telling you) right now you’ve been reduced to popsicles, pudding, ice cream, and applesauce. Basically anything that doesn’t irritate your throat more
“What’s that princess? I'm not hearing a no”
You give him your best death glare and type it out on your phone and click the “speak” option which is unfortunately how you’ve been communicating for the past 6 days with everyone
"Don't even think about it. It's my ice cream."
“Sorry, what's that? I still didn’t hear a no from you” he smirks and reaches out to steal a bite of your ice cream and you smack his hand away
“Ah c'mon luvie, I’m just messing with you”
Don’t even get me started on trying to seduce him when you can’t talk
At first he’s being all stubborn on purpose to see you squirm and pout “You have to tell me you want this verbally, love. Nodding isn't going to cut it” and you just POUT. He knows this isn't fair and you’re perfectly capable of consenting
You get desperate on the third day going so far as to use the phone to speak for you “Pretty please Simon? I'm saying yes. Please!”
“Sorry luvie. Can’t hear ya”
Eventually you've had it and decide teasing him was the way to go, and oh boy do these popsicles work in your favor
You lick and suck the popsicle just like you do to his cock
He does his best to ignore it and the sloppy wet noises you keep making to get his attention
It’s only after you take even more of it into your mouth while staring him dead in the eyes that he caves. Practically throwing you over his shoulder to haul you to the bedroom. The popsicle dropped in the trash along the way.
He’s setting rules for you like “Tap once for good, twice for slow, and three rapid taps for stop okay princess?” you just nod finally getting what you’ve been craving
Once this man gets started oh boy
You’re absolutely being fucked dumb at this point. But you can’t even make any noise!
It’s killing you. He’s just making you feel so good but you can’t tell him how good he is stretching you out and hitting all of your spots deliciously
Meanwhile he’s just smirking down at you full well knowing that you would be a moaning mess right now, and it definitely strokes his ego while he watches the way that your mouth is opened in a silent scream while your nails scratch down his back
“That feel good love? You look like you’re enjoying my cock baby. Can’t even scream and moan like you want to… poor princess”
All you can do is nod and tap once silently begging him not to stop, tears filling your eyes from how much pleasure he’s giving you
His aftercare though guys. He’s cleaning you up and bringing you a cup of ice for your throat. Telling you how good you are for him and how much he loves you.
He cuddles up to you and strokes your back while he waits for you to sleep before he does and he starts muttering about how he misses your sounds and your voice
When you get your voice back you can absolutely expect him to fuck you silly again. He just needs to hear those pretty noises he’s been missing out on :)
Pairing: Tasm!peter x reader (or any peter would work)
Summary: Reader recalls their first time experiencing a panic attack with Peter around to help.
Warnings⚠️: Angst, Fluff, Panic Attacks, Depression and References to Depression, definitely some good old Hurt/Comfort, brief mention of suicide, Peter being an angel (I think that counts)
Notes: This is not beta’d all mistakes are my own.
Feedback is greatly appreciated. This is based off of my experience with a panic attack which is not going to be the same as everyone. I tried to keep the reader gender neutral. This also has a past tense view as reader recalls the event.
Italics: inner monologue
Bold red: intrusive thoughts
I still don’t know what was really going through my mind that evening. I can only recall the emotional and physical pain pulsing through my body in random outbursts.
Oxygen.
I. Need. Oxygen.
In my chest, a knot tightened around my lungs, pulling tighter and tighter until I had no control over my own body. As the knot restricted my lungs and chest, the rope spread out to tie new knots around my head and limbs. The room started spinning and blurring together while I tried to force air in and out. But all I could manage were little gasps and hiccups as I began to sob uncontrollably. My hands were clenched tight, restricted by the ever growing rope residing in my body. Something heavy settled in my stomach and helped my body wage war on itself. I dropped to the tiled bathroom floor. Fear set in, and I couldn’t find a way to stop it.
BREATHE.
I know I need to breathe to avoid passing out!
I need to let this attack happen. I need to feel something again—but this is bad. I shouldn't be feeling this way.
I need help.
No, I’m just asking for attention.
How can I be asking for attention when no one is around to see me fall apart? I don’t want anyone to see me like this. This time is too bad. I might accidentally hurt myself if I can’t get a grip on reality.
I know, but I’m going to die. I can feel it. I can feel the lingering doom. Something’s going to get me.
Something is going to get me?
Something’s going to happen. I'm in danger!
I’m in my basement! Why am I so paranoid?
I’m in danger!
This is safe. I’m safe.
No! I feel death, and it’s coming for me.
I’m not going to die.
Yes I am!
No I’m not. No I’m not! This isn’t right. Nothing is going to get me. Something is wrong. What's the number of the hotline?
No! Not that one! They’ll contact the police or Peter. Isn’t it for suicide only? I’m not suicidal, and I can’t be a burden.
Okay.
Okay.
The anonymous crisis line. I can text it.
What’s taking so long? This system is a failure. I shouldn’t have to ask others for help.
This time, I will.
I tried to grab my phone, but uncurling my hands is like trying to unwind a tight rubber band. Pins and needles took over my nerves as I forced the movement. I took my time typing and retyping at least four times until I had got it right. I couldn’t call them; it would've been too real for me, so I texted instead. The volunteer for the crisis hotline introduced herself as Sara. She guided me through breathing exercises and asked me about my mental health history. I told her about things no one knew at the time.
“What could have triggered this feeling for you?” she texted me.
“I was diagnosed with depression and general anxiety a few months ago. I've been seeing a therapist since tenth grade. It got so bad my family and friends finally began to notice.”
I continued talking to her and she asked me to describe my symptoms to her .Then she proceeded to ask why I had texted. After going over the symptoms including my hyperventilating, numb hands, shaking, and fear, she revealed that I was having a panic attack.
I still can’t get air. How do I calm down? The breathing method isn’t working.
That’s okay I don’t care. I’m just overreacting to all of this.
It’s all in my head.
Damn right it is! It’s not going anywhere! No one can help. I can’t even help myself. No one even noticed my withdrawal or overall irritability. My parents didn’t care until it affected them, and I told them I thought I was depressed. Peter hasn’t notice and he never will. HE CAN NEVER KNOW.
MY ENTIRE PERSONALITY CHANGED, AND THEY DIDN'T EVEN BLINK. They didn’t notice, and they still don’t care.
They do care! Peter cares! This is serious. I need help. Therapy isn’t working anymore. Why can’t I feel genuinely content for once? Why is it always anger or sadness? Isn’t that the whole point of therapy—fuck therapy—to help me feel again? I need more help. I can’t be alone right now—but I am alone!
I am alone and no one cares! Why doesn’t anyone care? Can’t they see I’m suffering? Can’t they see my fight to do basic tasks? I break almost every night, and does anyone ever notice?
No.
No! They don’t understand; they'll never understand. I don’t want their fake sympathy!! How can they tell me they’ve been where I’m at?! This is torture. This is hell!
No, it’s not. So many people have it worse—but no one will save ME!
Nobody even knows I’m suffocating in my own head. They don’t see my constant struggles and daily battles to get up out of bed. It’s a never ending war and no one wins, so who could possibly help?
Peter, he’s the only one who might understand. Close out of the hotline’s website.
For the second time I attempted to use my hands again, but they just wouldn’t cooperate. I pressed each button carefully with my knuckles as my thumbs had completely locked up. Eventually, I made it to Peter’s contact in my text messages.
“Can you please come over it’s an emergency”
“What’s going on??! Are you okay y/n?”
“You have to come over, it's an emergency.
I’m having a panic attack I can barely text, but it's not 911.
Please.”
“Okay hold on, wait for me. I’m on my way!”
I need to pick myself up off the bathroom floor.
Clothes. I need clothes and not this old itchy brown towel. He can't see me like this.
If I go get clothes, I’ll have to try to walk. I can barely type!
I’ll go slow. I have to open the window for Peter.
That’s a bad idea.
Yeah, I know it is.
I pulled myself up off the cold tile floor, and slowly walked to my room from the bathroom. On the way I shakily open the fire escape window, I don’t know when Peter will arrive, but I can’t let him see me like this so I continue to my room.
I get my clothes and grab an oversized white t-shirt I stole from Peter a couple weeks ago; it’s got black lined sleeves and a black collar. I took my nearest pair of pants; soft and fluffy white pajama pants with Care Bears on them. I stumbled a bit, struggling to get my hands around the fabric while shaking violently. Eventually, I succeeded in getting them on and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I look like a mess.
I could dry my hair. Put some makeup on. Change again. Stop. Crying.
No, I’m tired of pretending. He's going to be here soon, no point in trying to cover up the truth. This is real and I can’t be fighting it alone.
No one needs to know I’m struggling.
Someone needs to know if I want to get better.
Fine, but I look terrible.
I know.
I returned to the safety of the isolated bathroom in hopes of sheltering myself from reality. I sit waiting while the tears fall down my flushed cheeks. When Peter got there he knocked on the door and came in to see me sitting on the bath rug covering the cold floor, tears streaming down my face as I began to regret my decision. I curled further into myself. I couldn’t stop the shaking and panic that took over me.
He's going to judge me! I just lost my boyfriend! The love of my life! Look at his face! I scared him. How could he possibly want to be around me anymore after this?
I had called him there to help me. I couldn’t be alone in the midst of my world seemingly crumbling around me. I feared he would tell me it’s all in my head. Tell me I’m not actually sick. Tell me I’m making it up, but as he got closer he did the one thing I didn’t expect him to do. Peter quietly made his way onto the small brown bath rug on the floor, grabbed my hand, and wordlessly pulled me close so he could hug me. I couldn’t stop the new wave of tears spilling out and clinging to my eyelashes.
He knows. He understands. I am not alone anymore. It’s okay to break, he’ll pick up the shattered pieces and make it whole again. I am safe right now.
He sat there and let me cry while he encouraged me to breathe with him. Slowly my lungs began to do as they were told. My hands were still clenched, but no longer numb and tingling. My mind stopped telling me I had to be strong. I wasn’t alone. I finally reached out like I should have.
“Shhh y/n, it’s okay. I’m here and I love you. I need you here with me, and I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. Remember to breathe.”
I love him with all my heart. If it wasn't for him I doubt I could’ve made it. I may never truly win the war with myself, but I won this battle, and that’s all I needed to do. I just needed another soldier to give me direction.
