| Obsessive - Stalker! Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
Word Count -Â 1.6k
Summary -Â Ghost finds himself in the room of the target of his obsession.
Tags/Warnings -Â Trigger Warning! Stalking, Obsessive thoughts and behaviours, B&E,
A/N -Â Going into this obsessed ghost mindset was kind of scary ngl
Masterlist â¤ď¸Â Â
Ghost had no idea what point his interest turned into a fascination. Even less so was when it turned into an obsession. He wasnât sure when his thoughts shifted from admiration to addiction. It was foreign and terrifying to him. These emotions had consumed his every fibre. It blinded him of all reason. He prided himself on his control; it was something heâd worked very hard towards. It all fell away when it came to you.Â
He knew heâd be so good to you. He would treat you how you deserve to be treated. He was yours already. Every breath he took was for you.
It was driving him insane. It made his skin feel too tight and his mouth too dry. He needed space from you, but going a day without seeing you made him feel like he was suffocating.  Â
To say you had âswayâ over Ghost would be an offence. From the moment he saw you, you had unknowingly and unwittingly sunk your nails into his very core. You consumed his thoughts, even at the worst of times. He could hear your voice in his sleep, it followed him into his dreams like a creeping shadow.Â
It was getting out of control. He was getting out of control.Â
This obsession was taking over his life.Â
All he could think about was what youâd feel like, sound like. Taste like.Â
Just the thought of you had him adjusting the front of his pants and clearing his throat. Even now, as he stood outside your residence and waited for the last light to be turned off in your home, he could feel his pants get tighter over his crotch.
The rain made for the perfect cover as he stalked across the street to your little townhouse. Heâd noticed a while ago that you kept your bedroom balcony door unlocked, even at night.Â
For him, he thought with a savage delight.Â
You knew what you were doing to him. There was no reality where you were unaware of his fixation with you. Not that he wasnât good at hiding it, because he faded into shadows like he was made from them. No. It was the way youâd leave traces of yourself behind for him to find that led him to believe you were playing games with him. On more than one occasion, heâs found your hair ties abandoned on coffee tables and the cups with the remnants of your gloss on the lip.  Â
It was all fine with him; heâd play games with you. Heâd let you win if it meant making you happy. He was willing to fall into whatever trap you laid out for him. If only it allowed him to talk to you.
This wasnât the first time heâd thought about climbing up your balcony and into your room, but it was the first time he found himself in the act.Â
The rain made every surface slick, which might have been a problem for anyone else but not for him. With practiced movements and agility, he hauled himself into the ledge.Â
He reached for the sliding door and lightly tugged. A lethal smile tugged at his mouth, and he licked his lips. He pulled on it some more, just enough for him to slip through. As quietly as he opened the door, he closed it.Â
His gaze dropped to the small area rug you had placed in front of the door, a welcome mat of some sort. He paused, watching as the rain he brought from outside slid as droplets off his boots and soaked into the fabric.Â
Had you left this for him because you knew his boots would be wet?Â
He raised his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the dark room.Â
His breath hitched.Â
There you were. Right there. A mere ten feet away from him. Alone. Vulnerable.Â
You were turned away from the door, a duvet outlining the curves of your shoulders and hips. You didnât move, but he could have sworn the rise and fall of the blanket hastened. He took in a deep inhale, memorizing and cataloging the scent of your room. It smelled like clean sheets, shampoo, and whatever lotion you had been using for the last four months. He was in your domain. In your room, and some might consider it the most intimate space someone can have. And he was in it. His finger twitched at his side.Â
He was taking steps toward you before he even realized he was moving. He froze. What the hell was he doing in here? He didnât have a plan. It wasnât like heâd done this before.  Â
He ran trembling fingers through his damp hair and pulled. He knew that he shouldnât be here. That it was wrong. But there was this primal, insane part of him that felt relief.Â
His boot tapped the foot of your bed frame, and he sucked in a breath, fearful that the foreign sound would stir you awake. Your shoulders fell and rose in regular breaths.
A million questions raced through his twisted, inky mind.
What would he do if you woke up? What could he say? Would you recognize him? Would he hurt you?
His head tilted to the side in introspection. Would he hurt you? Not even he could answer that question.Â
 His skin buzzed as he moved closer to you.Â
He special note of the fabric of your bedsheets. The colour of your walls and the pictures hung on them. The many intermingling smells. An impossible scent to replicate, to his demise. His dark eyes snagged on the overflowing laundry basket beside your closet. His eyes narrowed on the pink lace that was atop every other piece of clothing. Â
He nearly groaned at the sight as heat rushed to his groin.Â
You were torturing him, he was sure of it now.Â
He lifted his face to the ceiling and did his best to control his breath. He thought of death, and blood, and gunpowder. He thought of rotâanything to calm himself down.Â
He felt his body relax back into itself before he turned his attention back to you.Â
As he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, he thought he saw you flinch underneath the covers. He stilled. Every muscle in his body had gone taut. He waited for you to turn to him and scream. He was readying himself to reach out and cover your mouth, but when you didnt so much as groan, he settled.Â
His chilled fingers reached out to touch the stray hairs that fell back behind your head onto the pillow.Â
Soft. That was all he could think of as his mind numbed.Â
He fought every urge to lean down to smell the tendril. Â
He yielded to the urge faster than heâd admit even to himself.Â
He rubbed the individual strands between his fingers as he brought this face closer.Â
He inhaled, deep and quivering.Â
If he had leaned over your shoulder, he would have noticed your wide, frightened eyes. You remained as still as you could and willed your breath to remain calm.   Â
He rocked back, eyes wild. Oh, how he wanted to drag his nose to your neck. Let his mouth trace the angle of your jaw, and nip at the tender, thin skin there.Â
Too close. He thought. I am too close.
He rose from the bed as fast as he could without making too much noise and took a wide, unbearable step back from your prone form. He brought his hand up to his face and bit down on the side of his palm, as if to distract himself from the internal pain. His hand dropped to his chest as he realized that internal pain was coming from his heart. It ached as he stumbled back a few feet in dread. He fisted the fabric of his shirt in his fist before dropping it to his side.Â
He took one last, dragging look around the room. There was no way he was leaving this room without taking something with him. Some piece of you. Something small and easily misplaced. But not replaceable. He wanted something youâd look for. Something to connect you to him.Â
His attention landed on the thin diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet you had lying in a small bowl beside the bed.Â
Had you left it there for him to find?Â
He has seen the bracelet poke out from your sleeve a few times, the diamonds catching the light. He loved the way it spun on the wrist as you moved about your day. He loved the way it would sometimes catch on the fabric of your sleeve and the way you would huff and pull it out from the fibres. Â
He swallowed as he picked it up. It couldnât have been more than an ounce, but it felt unbearably heavy in his palm. His eyes fell back onto you as he brought it to your lips and pressed a yearning kiss to the cold metal.Â
He retreated to the sliding door, turning back to drag his eyes up your sleeping form. Memorizing every curve and angle of your body so that when he went home tonight, he could imagine how his body would fit up behind yours.
You could hear the rain get louder for a second as he slipped back outside.Â
As he closed the door behind him, you couldnât help but feel the absence of his heat in the room. You sucked in a shuddering breath and curled your arms around your torso. There was some sick twisted side of you that wished he had stayed a fraction of a second longer.
Hello𼰠do you write fics? Would you mind taking one of my request? I was thinking maybe reader was recently out of depression because of an event that happened and she meets tf141. They help her through it because theyâre sacred that sheâll get back into it but they realize sheâs ok and sheâs on a good road. Later on in the fic reader finds Simon in the corner with tears in his eyes and all you can smell in the air is fart (Simon has farted)
Word count - 1.2K
Summary -Â For the last two months, Task Force 141 had grown increasingly concerned about the mental well-being and safety of Sergeant L/N. Who had become so withdrawn and stone-faced that it was nearly impossible to make them laugh, let alone crack a smile.
Tags/Warnings -Â Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death (kinda, it's an animal), Limb loss, Mentions of mental health.
A/N -Â i refuse to acknowledge the second half of the request
Masterlist â¤ď¸Â
You went to every rehab and therapy session, but that didnât change the fact that where there was once a furry friend with his tail wagging who was now missing. It sure as hell didnât change the fact that the K-9 was dead. There wasnât a body for you to bury. Not that you would have had the time. When you were medevacked out, you had lost so much blood you werenât conscious enough to tell them about your dog still left at the crash site.  Â
You were bedridden for two weeks after the explosion, stuck in a state of shock for half that. You had visitors the entire duration of your hospital stay but couldnât remember who was all there. Â
It all went wrong because of a single misstep. In a matter of milliseconds, your life was changed forever. A life was lost.Â
Like clockwork, your ears began to ring and fill with the sounds of metal scraping along the concrete, the sound of broken glass and settling rubble. The crackle of an engine giving up. The sounds of your screams, as you tried your best to get your leg unstuck from between the wall and an LTV. The tinny reverb of your fist slamming down on the side of the LTV in frustration. Somewhere among the wreck was your K-9, Lily. You called her her name over and over again; until your voice was raw.
She didnât so much as whimper.Â
It took you forever just to relearn how to walk. Even today, you sometimes struggle to find and maintain balance. You have yet to get used to your new life.   Â
âI still donât feel very good. And Iâve been wanting to hide away a lot more,â you toe your boot at the edge of the carpet, tracing its pattern with your eyes. You were finding it increasingly difficult to look people in the eyes, afraid that they would see through your fragile exterior if you did.Â
Dr.Greene leaned back in her chair, quickly jotting down the admission. Her tawny hair caught in the light of the singular lamp she had on. The room smelled like lavender; you can imagine it was a calming environment for some people. Yet, your leg twitched to get out of here.Â
âListen, I donât think this is what I need. I donât need months of R and R. Let me back onto the field. " You rested your elbows on your thighs, but you already knew the answer she was going to give youâthe same one she gave you last week and the week before.Â
âOnce I tick off a few more boxes on your file, I will do just that.â
You stood up from the cushioned chair, swaying ever so slightly, and dipped your chin at her, âThank you. I think we end things here.â
âThereâs a lot we still need to unpack and discuss,â she started, levelling you with a disapproving look, âThis session is going so well for you.âÂ
âThen we can leave it to next weekâs session,â you snipped.Â
Price was sitting in the lobby waiting for you, engrossed in one of the pamphlets that were left on the coffee table. The members of the 141 took turns taking you to your appointments, mostly because of your newfound fear of vehicles, which sent you into a crazed panic.Â
âDone already?â he stood up, his knees crackling as he did so.Â
âGet me out of here before I start screaming.âÂ
You leaned your weight on the railing, letting the steam from the coffee heat your face. Behind you, the door squeaked open, and if the lack of footsteps meant anything, it meant that Ghost was coming out to keep you company.
Ghost was the only one you felt like he didnât coddle you. He didnât try to stop you from doing the things you used to do; he didnât try to pretend to know how you felt.Â
But he was getting scared for you.Â
You were standing right in front of him, and he still felt like he was seeing a ghost. Â
You could see his arm resting on the banister from your peripherals, his hands clasped together. You couldnât find the energy within you to greet him.Â
âWhâs on your mind?â he asked, picking a piece of the peeling paint off the railing and flicking it away.Â
You shrugged, your vision unfocusing.Â
He knocked his elbow against yours, grabbing your attention, âWhatever it is, it ainât helping you.â Â
âI wasnât even going to bring her on the mission,â you respond, your head ducking, âI just felt so bad that Iâd left her behind for the last three,â you sucked in a shuttering breath, âItâs my fault. She didnât need to be there,â It was an admission you hadnât voiced before, not even in your own head.Â
It was all you could do to put the mug onto the railing before you collapsed, your feet sliding out from under you. The heart-wrenching sob that tore through you was devastating to Ghost.Â
He knelt beside you, one hand reaching for under your arm, âLetâs get you inside. Weâve got an audience out here.âÂ
He ushered you back into the coffee room, guiding you to the couch. He let you cry for what seemed like hours. He didnât say a word; he just gave you the chance to let it out. He made sure no one else came into the room and handed you a glass of water for hydration and that was all you needed. He already knew you didnât want to hear all the sap like âSheâs in a better placeâ or âHow could you have known that was going to happen?â
It was the first time since the accident that you had cried.Â
Three Months Later
Aside from Mactavish, whom you had already given a very important job, you had sat everyone down in the commons room. Â
You cleared your throat about to give a big announcement, âAs you guys may know, I have been allowed to rejoin the K-9 unit, â As an instructor, given the fact that since you lost your left leg, you were unfit for combat. There was a collection of smiles around the room. âIt has been a long, tiresome journey. I owe a lot of my recovery to you guys. So I thank all of you for your support and patience.â
Slowly, you backed up until you reached the front door, âNow we all know that being a part of a K-9 unit requires one thing. I would like you guys to be the first to be introduced to our newest member, Callahan,â You swung the door open. Soap knelt on the other side of the door and let go of the dog's collar, who immediately took advantage of the freedom and booked it into the room.Â
He was still a juvenile and still hadnât completely gotten rid of his puppy coat. He was still energetic and friendly when he wasnât at work. His left ear flopped around as he hopped from person to person, too excited and overwhelmed to decide who he wanted to sniff out first.Â
Callahan wasnât like the normal K-9s. He couldn't sniff out mines and wasnât trained to attack an assailant. He is a support animal. No, he specifically trained and curated to your needs. Â
| Valentines Day - Simon âGhostâ Riley X Reader
Word Count -Â 1.7K
Summary -Â What a valentines with Simon might look like.
Tags/Warnings -Â Established relations, Mentions of the narsty and some heavy petting, interrupted
A/N -Â welp...it was supposed to be a valentines post but uhhh...I got busy
Masterlist â¤ď¸Â
You and Simon had a routine for the mornings. There was an unspoken agreement that the first person to get out of bed was to make breakfast. Since you were both early risers, it was usually a 50/50 chance that youâd be the one making breakfast. Although, you liked it more when Simon cooked. He would die if you told the rest of the 141, but he was a good cook. It was never anything fancy or over the top, but everything he made was delicious. His go-to was the regular bacon, eggs, and toast. He made your eggs just how you liked themâCrispy around the edges and the yolk runny enough to dip your toast into it.   Â
The clock on your bedside table read 07:17. It was later than you usually woke up, but you and Simon were up late the night before. An âearly Valentine's gift,â he had said, before he took you into the bedroom and worshiped your body. Made you a quivering mess beneath him. Â
Looking at his sleeping form, you could tell he put his all into it. Into you.Â
You couldnât help the soft smile from your mouth as you brushed his hair back from his face. It was the longest youâd ever seen it, curling at the tips of his ears and furling down his neck. There was no real reason for him to follow the mandatory military cut since no one ever saw it. Although, he claimed he preferred it short because it was more comfortable underneath the mask.Â
He looked so calm when he was asleep. Younger even. The worries and stresses that drew lines between his brows didnât follow him into sleep. Not tonight, anyway. However, no amount of rest would ever be able to erase the dark shadows under his eyes, a permanent mark of exhaustion.       Â
You slid out from his embrace with utmost care to not stir him awake. He huffed a sigh and shoved his now-empty hand underneath the pillow, subconsciously searching for a new source of warmth, but he didn't wake. You tip-toed into the ensuite, clicking the door shut behind you to quiet the noises of you getting ready for the day. You had a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night, albeit reluctantly.Â
By the time you entered the room again, Simon was sitting over the edge of the bed. Still half asleep and only managing to keep one eye open. He must have opened the curtains at some point because the room was now basking in the morning light. The sunlight climbed up the bed and warmed the sheets.Â
âGood morning,â you said as you made your way to stand in front of him. He immediately reached out for you, pulling you between his legs and letting his face rest on your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and cradled his head into you. With nimble fingers, you combed into his hair. He breathed deeply, groaning, inhaling your fresh, clean scent.Â
You stayed like that for a while. Long enough to think he fell back asleep like this, with his arms wrapped around you. You scratched playfully at his scalp to get his attention, âWhat are you wanting for breakfast?â  Â
He looked up at you with bleary eyes and shook his head, âIâll cook this morning. Itâs valentines.â     Â
You leaned back to get a better look at him. âI got up first, and youâve already given me my gift.â
âMhm,â he straightened and came to life at the hint of a dispute, âThat wasnât all I was intending to give you.âÂ
You rolled your eyes at him, âIâm seriousââÂ
He stood and put a hand over your mouth to keep you from arguing further, âIâm serious.â
You pulled your head from his grasp. âOkay,â you said, searching for a compromise he would accept. âWhat if you make the food and I make the coffee?âÂ
He played with the still-wet strands of your hair, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a curl, âHmm, sure.âÂ
You padded after him into the kitchen, oogling his bare, muscled back all the way. Noting the symmetrical red lines that were etched into his back. Something akin to pride burned in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face.Â
You press a single button on the coffee machine and let it run. Then, you sit at the island and watch as Simon starts breakfast.Â
He moved with the same grace he did with everything. Every move was thoughtful and calculated, even for something as simple as cracking an egg.Â
A devious idea popped into your head. You werenât that hungry for food.      Â
âI love it when you moan,â you sighed, pretending the statement was innocent.Â
He froze at the stove before spinning on a heel to look at you. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion, âPardon me?â he said incredulously.Â
âYou know when my legs are wrapped around your waist, and you're pounding into me,â you slid off the chair and walked around the island, his dark eyes following you, âWhen you say the dirtiest thing to me, and I tighten around you.â
His graze flashed from you to the stove, then back to you, and narrowed, âWhat are you doing?â
You took a step forward, locked your fingers behind your back, and pushed your chest up towards him. âI can stop,â you said, tilting your head up to him. He was so tall, and you loved it. If you could climb this man like a tree, you would.Â
You could practically see his resolve disintegrating, and he fought to keep his eyes drifting from yours.Â
With fingers chilled from the morning air, you slid them up this barren skin. The corded muscle of his abs tightened under your touch, and he tried to cover up his surprise with a chuckle. Only it came out more nervous than he had intended it to.Â
He responded to your advances with an enthusiasm that knocked your breath from your lungs. He had his fingers wrapped around the back of your knees, making a noise to signal you to jump up. He gracefully placed you on the island and nestled his hips between yours. With an experimental roll of your hips, you felt his arousal. Â
His mouth slanted over yours, and he pulled the hair at the base of your neck to maneuver your head how he needed to. He nipped at your bottom lip before working his way down your neck. You sighed in bliss at the feel of him.  Â
Behind him, a familiar smell of char wafted from the pan. You were so engrossed in each other that you missed the first few signs of burning food. At the same time, you looked over his shoulder as flames from the propane stove started to lick up the side of the pan.Â
Faster than youâd ever seen him move, he was flicking on the fan above the stove and pulling the pan from the heat. You were jumping off the counter and rushing to open the patio door for him. Without a doubt, you were going to brag to everyone who would listen, the scary calm demeanour with which he placed the pan on the concrete stairs. Â
He straightened and stared down at the pan. His face was unreadable, and his hands resting on his waist was a comedic scene. He was still shirtless, and his shorts sat low enough on his hips that you could see the waistband of his briefs underneath.Â
âBaby,â you said slowly, trying to hide the humour. You walk to stand in front of him and obscure the view on the pan. âItâs okay. I didnât really want eggs anyway.â Â
The pan had followed you and been by your side throughout your college days. It had been the only pan you had for years after. A go-to. It made perfectly crispy chicken and the most incredible sauces.Â
âItâs okay,â you patted his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to one of the myriad scars that scattered across his skin. âWeâve got leftovers." You couldnât help but smile at him.Â
As you reach the fridge, the tips of his ears turn bright redâa telltale sign of embarrassment, rare as it is. You pause, your suspicions rising at his reaction. âWhat?âÂ
He just shook his head and pursed his mouth, gesturing with his hand for you to open the fridge.Â
Confused, you slowly opened the door, the light from inside flipping on.Â
A bouquet. A very large bouquet that took up half of the bottom shelf. You noticed he must have had to shift the shelves above it to fit it in there without damaging any stems or petals. It was a breathtaking arrangement of white and light purple flowers and an assortment of greenery.
âSimon,â you whispered in awe, reaching for the vase.
âI-uhh,â he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, âYesterday was the only time I could pick it up. But I wanted to have something to give you today, so the florist told me to find a fridge to put them in to keep them as fresh as possible. I was going to give them to you after breakfast was done. " He jerked his chin to the patio. Well, it is done. I done it to death, actually.âÂ
You set them out on the island, and the sun crawling across the marble made the colours pop. You clamped your mouth shut, realizing you were gapping. You had never received such a large bouquet before. Spinning the vase to fully examine the flowers, you found the card nestled into the greenery. Â
A little card, and all he had written on it was âSimonâ
Not âLove, Simonâ or âHappy Valentinâsâ.Â
Just âSimonâ
You turned back to him and grabbed his face before diving in for one last kiss, âMy god, I love you.âÂ
| His Foresight - Simon âGhostâ Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 8)
Word Count -Â 5.6K
Summary -Â After being ambushed by an unknown foe and coming face to face with the realities of war, Ghost and Doc are forced to relocate to another safe house. Here they come clean about the inner turmoil plaguing them.
Tags/Warnings -Â Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn
A/N -Â Just gunna sneak back in here.
Part 1 â¤ď¸ Part 2 â¤ď¸ Part 3  â¤ď¸ Part 3.5  â¤ď¸ Part 4 â¤ď¸ Part 5 â¤ď¸ Part 6 â¤ď¸ Part 7
Masterlist â¤ď¸
Simon found himself stealing glances at the hands you had fisted in the fading material of your trousers. Your knuckles flashed white under your skin, and your jaw was fixed tight enough that your teeth might just crack under the pressure. Only the tips of your toes touched the floor, the muscles in your legs were so tense.
A near-death experience in his presence was unacceptable on his best of days. Itâs happened twiceâit was fucking with his head. He wanted to give you the space and independence that you had asked for but it seemed like every time he did so, you ended up injured. And badly.Â
He wanted to pull you out of harm's way, hide you away from danger; but he was so devastatingly afraid of losing you again. A bitter fact that was making him go mad. He was selfish. In every sense of the word.Â
It wasnât that he thought you were helpless, he knew you could hold your own.
ButâŚ
He turned over the cyclone of thoughts in his head with a desperate need to find a solution that didnât involve you getting hurt. Either by him or not. Â
You shifted in your seat, brows knitting together and a grimace threatening to stretch your mouth. Simon had growing concerns about a possible concussion. Your agonizing headache and the puking from earlier werenât a good sign. The singular gash above your brow has stopped bleeding but blood still coated and crusted into the strands of your hair.Â
Your body had begun to shake as the adrenaline ebbed from your bones, leaving behind cold and sore muscles. For the life of him, he couldnât shake the sight of the wild and desperate look in your eyes when he saw you in that hallway. You didnât believe youâd come out of that fight alive and he could see that from the driver's seat. He forced his eyes to remain on the road ahead but his attention was wholly on you and your every breath. He wanted to ask you to talk to him, to let him know that you knew you were safe now. It was foolish to assume you would, you very rarely spoke your mind. Instead, you pushed your unsavoury thoughts and feelings to the deepest recesses of your mind. He only knew this because he saw it in himself.Â
Like calls to like, he internally grumbled. Perhaps that was what he needed, someone who understood him and the way he worked.Â
From the corner of his eye, he caught your eyes rolling shut, your head bobbing, as you fought off sleep. He reached over to your arm, shaking you lightly, âStay awake for me, Doc.âÂ
Your eyes snapped back open but they were still glazed with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion, and you struggled to focus them. The terrain outside the truck window was moving too fast and your vision blurred then doubled.Â
You frowned, âI think Iâm going to vomit,â you cupped a hand over your mouth as it began to water.Â
This time when he pulled over you nearly didnât make it out in timeâcollapsing to your knees just outside. If he wanted to look over he would still be able to see the top of your head and watch as your shoulders heaved and curved forward with every wretch. Simon had to grip the steering wheel so tight that he feared the weathered and worn plastic would give way. Yet, he only tightened his hold to keep from jumping out after you because he knew youâd bite his head off if he did. Instead, he waited, pretending to distract himself with finding something from the back seat.Â
He glared so hard out the windshield that he had to blink away a burn from his eyes. If he learned anything from his time in the military it was that he needed to manage his emotions before they took form. He had a track record of âlosing controlâ, and heâd be damned if he didnât feel like punching the fuck out of the steering wheel at this moment.     Â
You used the side of the vehicle to haul yourself back up, knees wobbling. Simon was already handing you water from his pack. You rinsed out your mouth, giving him a look that confirmed his suspicions.Â
He felt his expression harden and watched as you noticed his demeanour change. You waved a hand.Â
You waved him off.Â
He swore he could feel his blood pressure rising. He was a torrent of emotions and thoughts that he didnât have the time or desire to sort through right now. Â
He cared so much. So much so, that he had to quite literally bite the tip of his tongue to keep from asking you a million questions.Â
Are you okay? What can I do? What do you need?
âIâll be fine, Riley,â you crawled back into your seat, âHow much longer?âÂ
He tipped his head from side to side in contemplation, âHour and a half.âÂ
Simon counted to 50, then back down by 7s, and back up by odd numbers, just to get a handle on his breathing.Â
Turning back time to a few hours ago to kill those two soldiers again wasnât an option. He knew that, but dammit it all if he didnât wish that just this once he could.Â
The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you arrived, and to your visible relief, this new safe house was in a rather populated city. Around 20,000 civilians if you had to guess. The sky of the downtown area was stretched higher from the dozen or so apartment buildings. All similar looking in architecture. Some were as high as 10 stories, with little glowing windows dotting the sides. Others were no more than four. This would make it easier to blend in and disappear.Â
He pulled into an underground car park, finding the most secluded and dimly lit corner he could. He ripped the cover off of a neglected truck from a few stalls down to cover his. Dust kicked up from the disintegrating canvas, and you waved a hand in front of your face and let out a few coughs to clear your lungs of it. Â
You let him carry your pack from the car, if only because you knew he would pretend he didnât hear you if you asked for it.
He led you to the seventh floor of the apartment building, and he quietly apologized for there not being an elevator.        Â
Simon had made you stand by the door while he made sure the place was secure. From where you stood you could hear him opening and closing the door, his footfalls near silent. When he was satisfied with his findings, or lack-there-of he guided you to the table before disappearing down the dark hallway. The singular light he had turned on in the kitchen was just enough to give you an idea of your surroundings. The apartment was nearly barren apart from the absolute basics. There was a small kitchen table that had the stain and lacquer peeling off, with a couple of chairs and a couch in the main room. Down the hall were two doors one with a bedroom complete a bed and dresser, and a bathroom.
When he returned, he had a wet cloth and a medkit he found in the bathroom in hand. With a nod of his chin, he sat you down in one of the chairs at the table, pulling another for himself in front of you. His legs were too long to sit comfortably unless he placed them on either side of yours. The proximity of his body heat melted nearly every muscle it reached. Â
He was so incredibly gentle. It never failed to surprise you that this man was capable of such a touch. His fingers were feather light on your chin as he maneuvered your face to get rid of the blood that had dried to your skin. He said nothing the entire time. Too focused and too in his head to remember to talk.Â
Guilt rushed up. You wanted so badly to reach out and take his hand in yours. Console whatever inner battle he was waging on himself. You wanted to feel him. Kiss him. Â
Jerking back, you hissed at him when he began to clean the open wound.Â
âSorry,â he murmured, and his whiskey-coloured eyes snapped up to yours for a second before returning to his work.Â
Now that he had cleaned up the area, it didnât seem to be all that bad. Headwounds always bled more you reminded, but he would still need to do something to close it up. He rummaged through the kit, basically emptying its contents onto the table before he found steri-strips at the bottom of the medkit.   Â
You were certain that if it were he who had the injury he would have been content with a gluing to shut with the common crazy glue youâd find in every household's junk drawer and be on his way. He was no surgeon or nurse. He was a war-hardened soldier. There should be nothing nurturing about him. But with you, he was thoughtful about it. When he was done he leaned back in his chair to take a good look at his handiwork. You thanked him, instinctively leaning forward and resting your head on his chest. His arms encircled you, rubbing comforting lines up and down your back. You could hear the rhythmic thumb of his heart.Â
You stayed like that for long enough that your breaths became synchronized. You allowed it to lull you, nearly falling asleep against him. Â
âTo bed with you,â he stood, holding out a hand for you. He guided you to the bedroom down the hall. There were no sheets or blankets. Or even a pillow. But, the cot looked unused. Brand new, even.Â
You pulled off your boots with a grunt, and that was about as far as you got before you decided it wasnât worth the effort and laid down. At some point during the night, you woke up with his jacket covering the upper half of your body. You curled your body into it, trying to get as much of yourself covered as you could before you drifted back into sleep.  Â
He left you to rest, but he still came in every few hours to wake you up and check if your condition was worsening. Each time he made sure to quickly close the door behind him so that the light filtered from the kitchen into the hall wouldnât bother you. He usually left right after checking in on you, and more than on one occasion you could hear the voices of one of the 141 members coming from a radio or laptop in the living room area.Â
Right now, he was crouched beside your bed, his eyes searching yours for any indication of a decline in your condition.Â
Without thinking, you reached out for the hand that he had dangling between his legs. His fingers almost instinctively curled around yours. You rolled onto your side to face him completely, wincing when the weight of your hair reminded you of your injury.Â
Gingerly he pushed hair back from your face and tucked it behind your ear.Â
You could tell there was still an inner conflict plaguing him. One that he was trying very hard not to let come to the surface. There was so much he needed to say to you, but he couldnât find the right wording and he was so afraid of scaring you off again. You would let him have a little more time to think before you pushed him to talk.
âWhat are they saying?â you had to fight to keep your eyes focused on him as your vision swam in front of you. You reached for him, your fingers catching on the collar of his sweater. You used his form to ground yourself as vertigo threatened to sweep you away.Â
He placed a stabilizing hand under your elbow, âWeâre gonna have to stay here for a few weeks until we know for sure we werenât followed. It worked out great though. I have a contact here. Might be able to tell us who that was today,â his voice was unnaturally soft, and melodic. He sounded distracted like his mind was elsewhere, âYou should get some more rest.â
He moved to stand up, but his grip didnât loosen. As if he couldnât bring himself to let go just yet.Â
âDonât leave me,â you whispered, biting your lip and looking down at his shoes preparing yourself for his rejection.Â
He stilled.Â
âLet me finish this report and Iâll be back,â he gave your hand one last squeeze before lowering it.Â
You were in the limbo between sleep and wake when he returned. He came in with his pack, ripping off the last of his gear piece by piece. You sat up to watch when you heard the soft thud of boots hitting the floor. His shirt was already discarded on the floor, his belt open and hanging loose around his hips.Â
You swallowed, your imagination instantly taking you back to that night a few weeks ago. Remembering how he had felt above you. In you. The feel of his desperate panting on your neck, and the sound of his moans were enough of a reminder that you squeezed your thighs together involuntarily.Â
âNuh-uh,â he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction when he noticed your eyes glaze over, âWeâre getting you cleaned up.âÂ
He pulled back the covers on the bed, revealing your bare legs and the shirt he had slipped on you before sending you off to sleep. His shirt. The sudden change in temperature in concurrence with the heat of his gaze caused goose bumps to rise on your skin.Â
âAre you planning on joining?â You tilted your head to the side. It was more of a request than it was a question.  Â
His eyelids grew heavy and he nodded. This time when you stood up, you werenât as dizzy as you were expecting to be, at least nothing that you couldnât handle. There was only the constant headache. A shower would help.
With his hands on your hips, he guided you down the hall to the bathroom. Almost immediately after he turned on the tap, steam wafted through the room. Your mouth dropped open, âA hot shower?â   Â
You fought to keep from pushing him out of the way to step inside the water. You were struggling with your shirt when Simon gave you a helping hand.Â
Now completely naked in front of him, you reached for the zipper of his pants, eager to get in the water. He grasped your hand with him, his face tilted up and staring off into the corner. The tips of his ear were crimson and a nervous chuckle escaped him, âYou need to give me a second.â
You took a cheeky peek at where your hands had just been.Â
You blinked.Â
He was rock solid. Painfully straining against the front of his jeans. Â
âYouâre naked,â he gritted out, and he said it like you werenât aware.Â
âWhatâŚâ You tried to move your hands again but his grip tightened, âWhat were to expecting? This is a shower.â
âPlease just get in the shower.â
You raised yourself onto your tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Then worked your way down his neck; to his pulse, which hammered against his skin.Â
You pressed into him, trapping your hands between your bodies.Â
He groaned, the sounds coming up from deep within his chest.Â
He stiffened as if remembering that just a few hours ago your life had been forfeit. His blood ran cold, you could feel it in the way his spin went ridged. Â
And just like that, he was serious again, quietly guiding you to the shower.Â
He did not join. He had brought you a fresh pair of clothes and waited outside the bathroom for you, closing the door behind him.Â
You had tried your best to rinse all the blood and dirt from your body, unsure of how much of it was even yours. Your fingers danced over your open wounds, careful not to disturb the dressings Simon had put there earlier. Blood feathered and mixed with the water before slipping down the drain. You stayed under the water until it ran clear. What you wouldnât give for a bar of soap in this moment. Your skin was red and irritated from the heat of the water and the scrubbing of cloth by the time you stepped back out. Â
Steam fogged the glass but you could still see the vague, distorted outline of your body. You looked down at the fresh purple and blue hues of the bruises that marred your skin. They littered your legs and arms and contoured your hips. They peeked out from beneath your chin and disappeared into your hairline. Poking at them to feel the familiar ache was a habit youâve had since you were a child, one you couldnât shake all these years later. Your tongue darted out to trace the split in your lip, tasting coppery blood.Â
The shower helped more than you had thought it could. It didnât just rid your body of the blood but any lingering fear and tension. You didnât move as sluggish as you did before, but you were still unbalanced enough that you had to sit on the toilet to put your pants on.  Â
   When you exited the bathroom, Simon had tried his best to carral you back the bedroom but you put up a big enough fight that he eventually moved to the side of the hallway to let you past.Â
Even though every slight shift in movement sent pain crackling between your temples, you had felt the need to make yourself useful. You had yet to discover what task you could do that would help you achieve usefulness in this moment. You asked and asked until he had finally relented and allowed you to sit at the table in the kitchen with him, and had given you the menial task of planning out meals so that the little bit of food you guys had on hand could last as long as possible. Ghost had set up his little station in the kitchen, and was currently taking inventory on the very limited supplies you guys had available.Â
Which was his own C8 carbine with a total of three clips and two extra boxes of ammo, his standard-issue handgun with one extra mag; yours must have fallen out of its holder during your fight in the school hallway because neither of you could find it. Your M4A1 with four magazines. Each of your military-issued knives, and 11 throwing knives, four of them being your own. Between what he found in your pack, his pack, the truck, and the safe house you guys had four maybe five comfortable days worth of food. He had found four blue jugs full of water in the bathroom.Â
You sat slouched in the chair, scanning the table and kitchen counters that were now full of all your paraphernalia and provisions. He had told you his plans to meet up with this contact, Alex, some time tomorrow he was just waiting to hear back from him to see when and where. You had asked to come but Ghost shot down the idea immediately saying, âI still donât really know whoâs side heâs on. Itâd better if he thinks Iâm alone for now.â
You fiddled with one of the bullets he had laid out on the table, your finger balancing on its tip as you rocked it back a fourth. It wasnât that you missed or even liked the abandoned fort you guys had previously been hiding out in with everyone else but at least that place wasnât so agonizingly quiet. You guys couldnât talk above a whisper to avoid any neighbours questioning why the usually empty apartment suddenly had occupants.Â
You also missed Soap. Oddly enough. You hadnât realized youâd taken such a liking to him. Enjoying his company came easy, with stifled chuckles and playful competition.   Â
Ghost dragged the back of his hand across the growing stubble on his chin, a gesture you had recently discovered might have been a nervous tick of his.Â
âIâm going to try and see if I can at least get you back to the others,â he looked up at you from beneath his brows, his long lashes shadowing his eyes. If you knew how to paint, this was a picture you would want to capture on canvas. His deep brown eyes wavered for a second before hardening.  Â
There was a low, nearly imperceptible hum coming from the light in the kitchen. A noise you hadnât noticed was so irritating until just now.Â
You blinked at him, thinking for a second you heard him wrong, âWhat?â
He dropped his head between his shoulders for a second before looking back up at you, his eyes full of conflict, âIâm going to-â
âNo,â you tilted your head at him, âI heard you. Iâm just trying to understand what you're insinuating. Youâve never really been the best at communicating, but I think youâre saying youâre trying to go off on your own right now. Which, by the way, I will not be agreeing to. So I strongly suggest you take back what you just said.â
You watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. You couldnât help but feel like he hated the fact that without the comfort of his mask. A man who liked keeping his plans close to his chest but had a difficult time hiding his emotions; was an unpredictable man.Â
âIâve already almost died once this week,â you tried to reason with him, âStatistically speaking, I donât think it will happen again for at least a few more months.âÂ
A purple so deep rimmed his eyes, that you wondered if heâd slept at all since you arrived. His dark eyes were dull and unamused at your try at a joke.Â
âItâs not funny.â He quipped. Pushing his chair back with a thud. He made to move for the kitchen.Â
âWhy are you so upset?â you sit up, his jacket falling from your shoulders and getting stuffed between your back and the chair. You attempted to reach for him but he shot you a warning glare over his shoulder, his hand shooting out in a âhaltâ gesture.
Your heart squeezed in your chest, and your blood ran cold. You scowled at him, âI canât understand why you are so insistent on trying to hide me from a career path that I chose for myself. I donât know how many times I have to tell you this, but whatever happens to me out there is something I have already come to terms with. So why, Simon,â Your voice had risen to a decibel that boarded on yelling, âWhy do you keep trying to coddle me?âÂ
âBecause everyone Iâve ever cared about dies! They either die, or leave me, or betray me. And youâre being selfish.â He snapped, chest rising and falling.Â
Your breath sucked out and you pulled back in surprise. He has never raised his voice at you like this. You knew he could. He has at others. At Soap. At Price. Not at you though.Â
âI have done as youâve asked and Iâve stepped back. I have done well by you in that. Butââ he raked a hand through his cropped hair and moved to take a knee in front of you. His hands gripped your shoulder like he wanted to shake you but didnât, âItâs not working. You have to give me some room to breathe. I canât keep walking on eggshells around you. We have to come to an understanding. I have watched so many of my comrades die. I couldnât save them and I am terrified of if there comes a time where I canât save you. I have this pit in my stomach every time I am around you that it might be the last time,â he huffed, irritated with himself for a reason you couldnât understand, âIâm still a man. Iâm still a man who desires to keep you out of harm's way. And you hate me for it.â
Instinctively, you almost said, I wonât die, but knew that was naive.Â
His eyes were frantically searching yours. This wasnât how he wanted to have this conversation with you. He had been carefully putting together a speech for days, and he just threw the entire dialogue out the window, and he was panicking.Â
You hate me for it.Â
The words settled in the air, and with every breath you took you inhaled the bitter taste of them. The time between his confession and the words that stuck to the roof of your mouth must have been too long for Simon because there was a flash of hurt in his eyes.  Â
He made a sound of disbelief before turning his head to the side, his tongue digging into the side of his cheek, âShit.âÂ
 You caught his shoulders just as he tried to pull away, keeping his attention on you. Somewhere between the shock and foreign emotions, you felt a sense of anguish. A grief that burned at your eyes.Â
âI-â you started, trying to find the words, âThere has never been a man in my life who I felt truly safe and protected by. Not a single one. Not even my own father, my flesh and blood, has given me that security. All of my life I have been relying on only myself. I got myself in and out of situations entirely on my own,â you dragged your hand up to his jaw, âBut when I am with you, there is no place on earth where I would feel like this. Like I donât have to watch my back all the time. Or like I have sleep with one eye open. With you, I can let my guard down. I can be vulnerable,â you shook your head, âIâll be better. I will be better at letting you help me. I will let you worry for me. Iâve never done that before and I donât really know how to do that, but Iâll learn. Iâll learn. Just donât send me away.â   Â
Before he could reply you were leaning forward in your seat, your mouth falling into a now familiar position over his. He immediately parted his lips for you, his hands instinctively delving into the hair at the base of his neck. The salt of tears you didnât know you were shedding mixed in with the taste of him. He kisses them into your skin. With minimal effort and a soft grunt, he lifted you from your seat, shifting the two of you so he was sitting in the chair with you in his lap.Â
âI donât hate you. I could never hate you,â you didnât think your words could be so honest.Â
The agonizing sound that came from him was heartbreaking. The very thought of this man thinking you hated him for something he was trying so hard to ignore was enough to convince you that you never wanted to leave his side.
His mouth captured yours once more, one hand digging into the skin on your hips while the other wrapped around your back to keep you as close to him as he could possibly get you. You let him. Let him grab ahold of you like he desperately needed to. He needed to steal the air from your lungs for his own, his heartbeat to the feel of yours. He needed to memorize every curve and dip of your body beneath his touch. He needed the know how the sound of your gasps and breaths like he needed to know his own name.     Â
He kissed you until he was all you knew too. Until the world faded away into the shadows of the night, and your mind whittled down small enough for just him to hold. Your body moulded to his, sinking deeper into his hold. Your skin screamed to be touching his, and your fingers searched for any bit of exposed skin they could find.Â
For what seemed like an eternity and a few seconds at the same time, you stayed like this. Entwined in each other's arms and fingers, and mouths; lost in each other. Pulling away from one another if only to take in air before diving back in.Â
This man would be the death of you. You would throw your neck on the blade if it meant saving him. And oddly enough, you werenât terrified of that revelation. You welcomed it and felt the need to nurture this new feeling.Â
His grip loosened and he ran lines up and down your outer thigh. His fevered kisses slowed to a leisure.Â
âDonât leave me,â he breathed into your skin, âDonât leave me behind.â
You knew without him needing to say that didnât mean physical distance, or even emotional. He meant for you not to leave him behind to walk the earth without you by his side.Â
You shook your head, giving him one last sweet kiss before stepping off of him and holding your hand out for him to grab, âStay with me.âÂ
You lead him down the hall back to the bedroom, where you curled up into his arms in the bed. He pressed into the curve of his arms and engulfed yourself in his warmth and safety. It was a wordless interaction, one that felt natural and practiced.Â
For a second, just as you drifted into sleep and your senses ebbed away into the recesses of your mind, you thought about what it would feel like to go to sleep and wake up in his arms every day. What it would be like to wake up in a room you shared, in a house you shared.    Â
He was gone the next morning before the sun had fully risen. Even though he had tried his best not to wake you, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall tugged you from your sleep. He was barely halfway through the kitchen before you were followed him. He sat at the table tying his shoes while you had prepared a quick breakfast of jam and crackers for him. When you turned around in the kitchen to face him, his eyes were already tracking your every movement, an indescribable expression pulled at his brows and the corner of his mouth.Â
âHow long will you be?â You handed him the crackers.Â
He ate the first one in one bite, chewing quickly before answering, âIâll be back by noon at the latest,â he paused, âIf Iâm not, call Price. Heâll come get you.âÂ
âIâll wait,â you said with a finality that he didnât have the heart to argue with.Â
You waited for noon to come, keeping yourself busy by monitoring the streets out front. Memorized the cars and people as they went off to work for the day. You took detailed notes of those who left later or lingered outside for longer than what you deemed normal. You wrote down on the small notepad you kept in the front of your pack. You flipped past the pages that had the tasks and notes from previous dates. The pen ink was smudged and washed away from rainy days and spilt coffee on some pages.Â
You watched as the hour hand flicked across the clock. From one to two. From two to four. You watched as some of the civilians who left in the early morning hours returned home. Some with groceries for tonightâs dinner, others still stuck on the phone with coworkers as they unlocked their front doors. Some hold hands with their children after picking them up from school.
You sat anxiously by the window, one leg crossed over the other while the other anxiously bounced. You chewed on the tip of your pen as you tried to force yourself to continue to take notes on the people outside.Â
You couldnât help yourself but lean a little bit closer to the window, your breath fogging the glass, every time you saw any man who even remotely resembled Ghost. Your ears perked up every time you heard heavy footsteps come up and down the hall. Waiting until one set stopped in front of the door.Â
The sun was beginning to set by the time you heard the softest of knocks on the door. With bare feet you padded over to the door, reaching out for your handgun you felt on the counter on the way there. On the tips of your toes, you pressed your ear up the wood, listening hard. Another knock, this time with a different pattern and force. You tilted your head. Two different people?
You took one large, silent step to the side of the door, pressing your back to the wall. With the gun still in your left hand, you reached over for the door knob. And waited. Waited to see if they speak. They didnât. You heard no movement.Â
Your heart began to pound in your chest, and it felt like your lungs werenât fully expanding. A million thoughts ran through your mind.Â
Who could it be? Simon surly would have just walked in. Right? Or at least said something. With one last inhale through your nose and a forceful breath out your mouth you twisted the cold metal of the door handle.Â
The sights of your handgun aim directly at the man's forehead standing outside the door.     Â
I know you mean good but fat girls can also break easily. I also donât mean to sound rude or offend you but itâs rare for fat girls to be 6 foot, I know you might be fat and 6 foot but itâs pretty rare. I think most people stick to petite girls in cod stories because it would be scary and horrifying if they gave reader their sweater and all the sudden reader fits or barely fits in it and it only works as a crop top on them. And please try to remember just because their fat doesnât mean they arenât clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they arenât slobs. Fat girls can break when they get laid and yes I believe they also will jiggle around in the process so please try to be mindful when bringing up cod guys with a fat girl
the sentence âfat doesnât mean they arenât clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they arenât slobsâ is by far the best thing ive seen in while
yanno, iâve been thinking and getting chased by an unfriendly ghost would actually be so terrifyingâŚi may or may not be writing something where someone is being chased by ghost
Summary - The reader is the pilot, AKA Stitch, of an apache helicopter, one the most dangerous, advanced killers in the sky. Sheâs been the 141â˛s go-to when they need aerial support for a year. After their latest mission, Ghost seeks out Stitch to offer a special thank you.
A/N - If you haven't already, I would suggest you read Incident Report before this one
Masterlist  â¤ď¸
Soot and smoke coated Ghostâs tongue and every breath felt like an attack on his lungs. The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder made his head spin. All that combined with adrenaline and anger, it was his life support. He clung to his senses with a feverish need. Rubble and bullet shells littered the ground around them. His once-black uniform took on a greyish hue from all the dust. Sweat rolled down his back and he had to blink it from his eyes.Â
Beside him, Price was on the radio, his outrage tangible as he called for aerial backup for a third time, âIâve got my men pinned here! Where the fuck is my support!â.  Â
Ghost felt a bullet's heat as it raced past the exposed skin of his neck, leaving behind the ghost of a burn. He ducked down behind the concrete barrier, cursing at himself, âWe wonât be able to hold this position for much longer, Price. We need a plan to get us the fuck out of here,â Simon repositioned himself for a better vantage point. Ghost had long since run out of ammo and had resorted to picking up magazines from his dead comrades. He silently thanked every one of them, ripping off the dog tags from the few he could to take back to base with him.Â
Price gave him a curt nod, âChopper is five minutes out. They were diverted from another mission.â his face was grim and every muscle in his body was taut, readying to run for new cover or the bite of a bullet. Five minutes was a lot of time in situations like this, a lot could happen in a matter of seconds. He could die in half that.Â
The team was forced into a corner of the compound, and they were getting hammered. There was nowhere left to go. He kept one eye on the darkening sky beyond the compound's wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the incoming heli. He figured the pilots on board would have reached out by now, but the radio remained utterly and eerily silent.Â
He craned his neck, hearing the distant sound of its propellors, but with the ruckus around them, it was difficult to determine exactly how far out it was. Something in his soul urged him to bring his radio to his mouth, âWeâre in the southwest corner,â he was speaking to the pilots, who were most likely biding their time before revealing their presence to the enemy. If that were the case they were probably dark, using minimal instruments to keep their profile as discreet as possible.Â
Then he saw it. The slightly darker patch of sky.Â
Then it was firing, and screams followed.Â
And just like that, this fight was shifted in their favour.Â
Bursts of orange and red as fire erupted from the helicopter's guns in erratic intervals, and in between they would shift positions, making it nearly impossible to predict where they would shoot from next.          Â
Then a very familiar voice came across the radio, âHello boys.â
âAnd here I thought youâd be excited to see us,â you replied as you dipped the heli back behind the walls, using it as cover as you moved closer to the closed gates keeping them from their escape, âShould I knock?â
They didnât bother with a reply before Dutch let loose, blasting open the gates. You could nearly hear his smile, âLadies first.â Â
Being diverted from a different mission meant you didnât have nearly enough firepower or fuel to do any real damage, but you could do enough so the soldier below would be able to breathe a little and regain their footing.  Â
You glanced down at your fuel gauge, cursing, âWeâve got five minutes of fuel before weâre RTB. Give me some targets,â You couldnât stop yourself from searching the ground below in hopes of seeing a familiar figure.
Someone pointed a laser at one of the watchtowers, marking it and the people within as prey. You angled the aircraft, giving Dutch a clear view of the tower. With the help of the last HELLFIRE missile you had, it was desecrated in a matter of seconds.Â
The floodlights that were pointed to the outside of the compound turned on, momentarily blinding you. The enemy used the distraction to shoot back at you. Bullets dinged off the sides of the Apache.
âSmoke!â someone called from over the radio.
âFlares,â your muscle memories kicked in, your thumb finding the appropriate buttons as your eyes still had yet to adjust. Somewhere beyond the cockpit, you heard as your flares interrupt your death. You gritted your teeth, you werenât sure you had the firepower left to fight this fight, but the thought of leaving those guys down there helpless wasnât one you were willing to have.Â
Your attention snagged on the fuel.Â
You didnât have a choice. You were already cutting it close.Â
Dutch listed off what he had left to throw at him. The list was devastatingly short.    Â
âI have one more good run before I have to turn back.âÂ
Another laser pointed to a truck on the other side of the now blown open door, a mounted machine gun giving suppressant fire to the ground crew. With that truck, even with the gate opened, they werenât going anywhere.Â
âCopy,â Dutch replied, his head already turned and locking in on the target. He unloaded the last of his rounds into the truck and the surrounding area.Â
Reluctantly, you pulled back from the fight, âWeâre RTB,â again you search for Ghost amongst the group. Finally catching the flash of white of his skull mask. The nerves that gripped your chest loosened, âAnd as much as I love these play dates with you guys try and stay out of trouble will you?âÂ
Youâd arrived back to base a few hours ago but still had yet to change out of your jumpsuit. You were immediately dragged into a debrief. You checked your watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since this meeting began.
Task Force 141 has yet to return, and you were beginning to ruminate. While in the sky it was easier to ignore your feelings, having to focus on not being struck by an anti-air and falling out of the sky didnât allow for such mundane activities. Now that you were on the ground, you had all the time and safety in the world to just think.Â
You could say thatâs why you loved flying so much. Youâd never be able to say it out loud under the fear that youâd be grounded for a month under the mental health act; but, youâd sooner die than give up flying.Â
Suppressing a yawn you sat next to Dutch in the room, arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of you. Your eyes grew heavy as you blinked up at the screen before you. You leaned closer to Dutch, âYou think theyâd notice if I just left?âÂ
A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth, âNot if you crawled.â
You pinched his thigh, scowling, âYouâre a pervert.âÂ
There were probably twenty other people in this room right now. You could undoubtedly sneak out.Â
A shiver raced down your spine, and your instinct told you that someone was looking at you. You peeked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the tall ominous figure standing at the back of the room. His hand still hovering over the doorknob. He jerked his chin to the hallway. A silent invitation to join him.Â
Dutch was already rolling his eyes in pretend irritation, âYouâre boyfriend beckons you.â
You made a face at him, âHeâs not my boyfriend.âÂ
âTell him that.â
You bit your lip to keep from grinning at the idea. You two were by no means together. Not to say that there wasnât something there that could potentially foster such as relationship, but now wasnât the right time. Neither of you had the time or the means for it. It would only compromise both of your work.Â
And relationships between two soldiers were frowned upon by the higher-ups. Â
You stood up silently, kicking Dutches ankles on your way by.  Â
Ghost slipped out of the room all too silently. You met him just down the hall.
His eyes dipped to your chest and heated. You removed the top of your jumpsuit and tied it around your waist, revealing the plain black tank underneath that did everything right to show off your curves.Â
Then he was looking everywhere but you, his shoulders tensing, before he started to walk down the hallway. You fell into pace beside him.Â
You check over him, looking for any signs of injury. Once satisfied that you couldnât find anything you tilted your face up to his, âYou guys should've had an aircraft on standby for that mission,â you reprimanded, half annoyed with him for getting into danger.Â
He shrugged, âIt was supposed to be covert.â
You analyzed his dark uniform, perfect for blending into the night and the shadows. He didnât have his gun, and he carried his tactical vest in his hand.Â
âYou guys were lucky we had enough fuel to divert our route. What if we werenât there?â you bit out, anger flushing your skin.Â
He opened a door for you. The door to his accommodations, you realized. You couldnât help but notice the space still smelled like you. Or your signature scene of eucalyptus and lavender. Youâve been spending a condemning amount of time here, and with him. Â
âGood thing weâre lucky,â he pulled at the words with his tongue before turning back to you, eyes flashing to your figure again. His hands reached down to the know that kept your jumpsuit tied to your waist and tugged you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. You could still smell the fight on him. Dirt and smoke. A now familiar smell.Â
Your fingers hooked around his belt loops. Heat radiated off of him and warmed your front. Already you were breathless.Â
He shook his head, âItâs a damn good thing you were there.â
A question formed and you tilted your head at him, lips parting, âHow did you know to tell us where you were? How did you know we were already there?â You had made sure your ETA was skewed to disorientate the enemy if they had access to your guysâ comms. Â
âI figured there was a reason you guys were dark,â his hand traced the lines of your body, memorizing the feel of you under his fingers. They twitched impatiently against you. He slowly walked you backwards to the door to his bedroom, taking his time in watching you stumble over your weakening knees. âHow can I thank you?âÂ
If he could read your mind and all the filthy thoughts that popped into your mind, he hid it well. Your ears burned in chagrin. You tugged his shirt out from his pants, diving underneath to touch his skin, âLet me touch you.âÂ
Ghost bit back a hiss when you dug your nails into his abdomen. He kicked the door closed behind him, reaching back only to lock it. Within seconds, his shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor, his muscles on full display as he did so. Your mouth went dry and the sight and the heat that was just at the tips of your ears shot down between your legs. No amount of time would ever tire you of seeing this man undress.Â
Next was his mask, revealing the devilishly beautiful man underneath. The only way you could describe him was as âsinfulâ. Black still smeared across his features but it only accentuated his features.  Â
Fuck, you would eat out of the palm of his hand if he told you to.Â
Whatever he saw on your face made him look away from you with a shy smile, a breath of a laugh escaping him.Â
You brought his face back to yours, and you had to stand on your toes to reach his mouth. Youâd be a fool to think that the kiss was anything but greedy. His mouth immediately opened to yours and he tilted your head with a hand to deepen it. You pressed yourself into him, needing to feel him against every inch of you. A calloused hand reached to touch the bare skin under your tank and traced the line of your spine. Your tongue brushed against him, and you turned to liquid.  Â
He undid the knot of your jumpsuit, and you stepped out of it. Leaving you bare apart from the tank top, a bra, and underwear.
This time, it was your turn to guide him. You took him to his bed, âLay down.â
He didnât waste a second and pulled you down with him. You were a tangle of limbs before you planted your knees on either side of his hips. With shaking fingers, you shamelessly outlined the lines and curves of his abs and chest.   Â
Not once did either of you break the kiss, which had become a mess of breath and lips and teeth.
You pressed your hips into his, finding his own arousal there. He groaned at the pressure, hands flying to your waist, and pulling you harder to him. Already a carnal heat that only showed up when you were with him was building somewhere low in your womb. And even lower still.
God, he felt good. Â Â
He was going to be the death of you. You were going to burn up in his arms until there was nothing left of you but your need for him.Â
He paused for a second, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his pants to readjust himself to better align with your strides. You tested, feeling the full length of him pressed to your core, âCarry on,â before his smile could take form it fell away to a hiss when you began a languid pace. Â
You rolled yourself down on him, your mouth finding the pulse at his throat and licked a stripe it.Â
Simon liked to pride himself on his control over his needs. He wasnât a teenage boy after all. He was a man who was more than capable of asserting some sort of rule over his body.Â
Until just now.Â
Right then, his entire mind went blank.
He wasnât sure if he had inhaled too much smoke or if he over-exerted himself today, but that control was nowhere to be seen. His hands fell to your thighs, allowing you full reign on the speed and intensity.Â
You felt a knot at the apex of your tights tighten, and the liquid arousal that accompanied your desire. You hadnât even cum yet and you were already soaking through your panties and his pants.
Your kisses to his skin turn into hot desperate breaths, and it sent tingles throughout his body. Your moans were like fuel to a flame and it was driving him insane.   Â
You clung to him, his skin slick with yours and his sweat, as you chased after your climax. He let you use him however you needed. Some ludicrous and giddy part of him revelled at the fact that he wasnât even inside you and you were still half-wild for him.Â
Suddenly, your pace stuttered and became erratic. That knot finally loosened and you melted onto him, your body twitching, but you maintained some form of a rhythm.  Â
You pulled back to look at him, his eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lips pulled between his teeth.  Â
You felt him jerk under you, pressing himself impossibly closer to you, his mouth falling open into a downright filthy moan.Â
You welcomed the wet warmth between him and you that followed.Â
You chased after his release with him.Â
You also came back down with him, slowing down to a purr on top of him.Â
He was breathless, his body jolting with every change of direction.
He would have been a little embarrassed for cumming in his pants if it hadnât felt so fucking good.Â
âSo sensitive,â you crooned, drawing a line from his heart to the line of hair that faded into the cover of his pants. At first, you werenât sure he heard you, but then he was growling and flipping you off him. You were face down on the bad, trapped underneath him, his knees moving to spread your legs apart.Â
âShouldnâve said that,â he snarled, his voice dangerous.Â
He pressed himself into your backside.Â
He was still devastatingly hard.Â
You whimpered into his bed, arching your back.
A hand slapped your clothes pussy and you mewled at him in understanding.Â
Do. Not. Move.
Then the fingers of the same hand outlined your folds over the already damp fabric, focusing on your clit. With his weight on top of you giving your lungs little room to expand and the fact that your brain was short-circuiting your breaths become shallow and unproductive.
He pressed his fingers into your cunt, the only thing keeping him from actually entering you was your panties.Â
You writhed, desperate for friction. A second slap against your heat stilled you.Â
âOhmygod,â you breathed, your legs trembling.
He pushed the cursed fabric down your legs, stopping at your knees. His fingers delved into the slickness there. He swore, almost impressed with how wet you actually were.Â
Spread your arousal everywhere, across your folds, the sides of your thighs, up to the rounds of your ass. He wanted you a mess in his bed. And you were. You werenât sure if you were drooling or not, but there was a high chance you were.Â
Then his attention was back at your core, finger sliding into you without so much as a warning. Your greedy pussy tightened around his fingers, milking them as if they were his cock. His approving groan was nearly enough to send you over the edge. He was whispering naughty, impish things into your ear. Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made to want to scream. Â
Still sensitive from before, it didnât take much from him to entice another orgasm from you. Time wrapped but it couldnât have been less than a minute before you were spasming around his fingers, and your mind was momentarily fried.Â
He was whispering in your ear. Your comprehension went out the window so didnât know what he was saying but from the tone of his voice, he was mocking you.Â
You felt him shift so he was behind you. He attempted to knock your legs further apart but your panties were still locked around your knees, tying them together.Â
You felt something warm and velvety soft tap at your entrance. Once, twice. He slid his cock between his fld, coating himself in you.Â
He asked you a question, probably for permission. The thought that you could string together a coherent sentence right now was laughable. You werenât even sure you could be trusted to provide your own name.Â
You could only nod and with your last dregs of will, lift your hips to his.    Â
There was no amount the sex or foreplay that could prepare you for the sheer fucking size of him. He wasnât just long, not that his eight inches was something to roll your eyes at, but he was thick. Thick enough that when you took him into your mouth, your jaw would ache for days afterward. He was always gentle and never shoved himself inside you like an animal, but you still needed a few seconds to catch your breath each time. Â
The broken sound that same out of you was naughty, and Simon had to bite his lip to keep from cumming from the sound alone. You were also impossibly tight, but heâd be damned if he got bested by you a second time tonight.Â
He cruised into a fast pace, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The tip of his dick hit your cervix with every thrust. And with every retreat, he brushed against your g spot. Â
In these moments, there was only him. Only the sounds of his breath, and the feel of his skin. It made him addicting. When with him, especially like this, it was like a moment of reprieve from worries and stresses in life.Â
The world could be ending and you wouldnât care. There could be air raids and a fire outside your door and you would still feel completely safe with him. Death and hurt couldnât reach you when you were in his arms. Â
His rhythm faltered when you squeezed around him, and he cursed, his arms moved from your ass to brace around you. He just arms shook to keep from crushing you. Â
He could feel you quivering, both around him and beneath him as your third orgasm approached.Â
You were going to be the death of him, and he didnât mind one bit.Â
You writhed under him as you reached your undoeing, unsure if you wanted him further in or out of you. Â
You could feel his seed spurt out of him, and coat your inner walls. You could feel his cock twitch with every spray.Â
He started to slow, letting you reel yourself back into your body. You were spooled out across his bed, onto the floor, floating in the air.Â
He slid off the bed, carefully tucking himself back into his pants. Which, only now did you realize he didnât have the patient to remove. He was all wandering eyes and a rueful grin. He was slightly out of breath when he spoke, âSo sensitive.âÂ
Tags/Warnings -Â Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.
A/N -Â This chapter is tuff ngl.
Part 1 â¤ď¸ Part 2 â¤ď¸ Part 3  â¤ď¸ Part 3.5  â¤ď¸ Part 4 â¤ď¸ Part 5 â¤ď¸ Part 6
Masterlist â¤ď¸Â
âBetter,â Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, âBut stop flicking your wrist, itâs unnecessary.âÂ
Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. Heâs had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives heâs so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off.Â
You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, âAre you even watching?âÂ
âYes. Now, throw,â he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a âturnâ gesture.Â
With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground.Â
âI just told you to stop flicking your wrist,â he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines.Â
You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone âYou come over here and throw one.âÂ
He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasnât a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring.Â
You clicked your tongue, âAlright,â you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, âGo away.âÂ
For the last two days, itâs done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work.Â
She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most. Â
Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, âYou never talk about your family,â Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.
âWell, I could say the same about you,â you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family.Â
âThatâs because Iâve got skeletons in my closet,â he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. Youâve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasnât.Â
You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him.Â
âWell,â you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, âMy parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman Iâve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.âÂ
âAnd your father?â He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences.Â
âHeâsâŚâ your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, âHeâs the worst man Iâve ever met. And I was his favourite,â you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, âHeâs estranged now and I havenât heard from since the divorce.â A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. âMy mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, itâs quite adorable,âÂ
âAny siblings?â He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didnât push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.
âTwo,â your heart skipped a beat, âBoth significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,â you didnât give any more detail than that. Didnât think you could handle dredging up old wounds.Â
You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted âIâm sorryâ at the mention of your dead brother.
You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass.Â
Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that.Â
As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed.Â
âIâll be fine. Iâll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,â you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so.Â
The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldnât seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. Youâd grown weary of the cold showers.Â
The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just âletâ you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys?Â
You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.    Â
âWhat are you doing up?â You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table.Â
His cheery blue eyes found yours, âThought Iâd come and keep you company.âÂ
âCouldnât sleep?â you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it.Â
He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, âHave you been able to?â   Â
You shook your head. Truth is, you havenât had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, âYou shuffle,â you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta.Â
He won the first round, and he sighed, âOne more game, Iâm starting to feel bad for you.â Â
âLaswell find anything?â you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasnât going to be coming back until tomorrow.
âNot really,â he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, âSheâs stressing. So is Price.âÂ
âI donât blame them,â you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that theyâd think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, âAre we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?â Â
He blinked at you, âOur job?â then his expression softened in realization. Youâd been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, âWhen we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses weâll be handed medals.â He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, âThere are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for âespionageâ.â He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. âWeâve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they havenât gotten rid of us.âÂ
The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.    Â
âThat makes this a little less stressful,â You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. âYou want tea?â the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer.Â
âAbsolutely,â he replied.Â
You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, âAre you joking?â you threw up your hands in disbelief. Youâve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.
He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin.Â
âIâm not making you tea anymore,â you glowered over at him, âYou can make your own.â
You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive âNo, you little crook.âÂ
After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school.Â
The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong.Â
Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling. Â
A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldnât place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt.Â
âUgh,â your eyes began to water, âWhat is that?âÂ
A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.  Â
So he feels the unease too.Â
That thought alone was alarming.Â
As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spotsâwith dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.
âThey killed off all their livestock,â Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago.Â
âIsnât this a war crime?âÂ
He nodded, features hardening.Â
You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them.Â
In fact, as you neared, there wasnât anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs.Â
As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, âRileyââ
âI see it,â he grunted.
Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall.Â
Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, âThatâs my informant's wife.â   Â
If you hadnât known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words.Â
You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, âDidââ you shook your head in disbelief, âWhy would they do this?â It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal.Â
Beside you, he didnât answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one.Â
âTake me to the school,â you breathed, worry piling up inside you.Â
He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it.Â
He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, âAre you sure youâll be fine?âÂ
You nodded, but you couldnât find it within you to smile at him.
âYou just need to click twice on your radio and Iâll be right back,â he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high. Â
He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.  Â
The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around.Â
You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there.Â
Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasnât shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open.Â
The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard.Â
Along with the angry rushed words, âYour sympathizers will be killed.âÂ
You didnât need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson.Â
You picked up one of the books, examining it.Â
Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.
You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.
The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didnât even hear it fall.Â
Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasnât much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face.Â
A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat.Â
The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun.Â
A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate.Â
It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm.Â
Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldnât understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didnât need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying.Â
âThis is your fault. You killed her. Youâre a monster. A killer.âÂ
There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours.Â
Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying sheâd remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed.Â
I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.    Â
âRun,â you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window.Â
She didnât turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors.Â
You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post.Â
But there was someone else here.Â
You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from.Â
Wrong.Â
At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that werenât here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you.Â
Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice. Â
âWhat are you doing here?â one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They werenât the enemy, they were here following orders.Â
You cleared your throat, âI was told to meet the lieutenant here,â you could only hope they didnât ask for a name.
They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, âLieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.â
Welp.
You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, âI donât want to have to hurt you,â you swore.Â
But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here. Â
The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasnât going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadnât sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere.Â
The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure.Â
Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest.Â
An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision.Â
You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.
âBitch,â he missed in your ear.
Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you.Â
He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again.Â
There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet.Â
The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you.Â
There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldnât find the strength to so much as look up.Â
The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones. Â
Alarm flashed across his face, âShit. Can you walk?â, his arm slipped under and around you.Â
âYes, I think,â You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, âI canât see.â
âYouâve got blood everywhere,â Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were. Â
âWas it just them?â He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you.Â
Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, âI didnât see anyone else.âÂ
He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasnât going to stick around to find out.Â
He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You werenât sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers.Â
He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.
âYouâll never get the blood stains out,â you half joked as you wiped at your face. Â
âIâm not too attached,â he ground out but you could tell he wasnât in the mood for jests right now.Â
âDid you find your informant?â you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar.Â
âHe was dead.âÂ
Nausea gripped your stomach and you werenât sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what youâd seen at the school. Most likely both, âRiley,â you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, âPull over.â
âWhat?âÂ
Saliva flooded your mouth, âPull over.âÂ
He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.
âStay in the truck,â you ordered, before slipping out your door.Â
You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldnât anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless. Â
He didnât say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel.Â
He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, âWe canât involve any more civilians,â even to your ears you sounded defeated, âThey will hunt them down. They did. TheyâŚcalled her a sympathizer,â you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. âDid you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?â
He stiffened, âNo and yes. He wasnât aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,â  Â
We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more.Â
He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, âWe canât go back to camp just yet,â he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.
You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping weâd bring them back to everyone else.Â
âAgreed,âÂ
âDress in your civiâs,â he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, âThe closest safe house isnât as secure as the last,â He looked over your face and removed his vest, âI can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.âÂ
Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked.Â
And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.
Hey can I make a request, Simon is screaming like bloody screaming loud as he stands with the vibrator in him because we know he isnât sitting or bending heâs just standing as itâs in him! And his tears thickly falling and as he cries he slaps his own ass at least 6 time and then after that he slams his hands on his ass and digs his nails in HARD that it draws blood but heâs just screaming. And then he digs his nails up and gives a little shake
ummm, in all honestly it looks like youâve got this one coveredâŚimma sit this one out
| When He Comes Home - Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
Masterlist â¤ď¸Â
Inspired by this art is by Chimamonbun on X
When he arrived, he didnât say a word. His eyes remained wide and unfocused. His chest slowly gave rise and fell to disjointed breaths. He was still covered in dirt and blood, and he smelt like gunpowder and sweat. Â
âSimon,â you murmured, careful not to startle him. He was still standing in the boot room, his pack slung over one shoulder. His eyes slid over to you but he remained deathly still. He was looking at you but you werenât entirely sure he was seeing you. You reached out a hand but stopped yourself before you could touch him, âDo you want me to run you a bath?â
His nod was nearly imperceptible. He followed you into the bathroom and watched your every move, his mind and body still stuck in fight mode. When you ducked under the sink to look for a towel and realized there wasnât one you turned to him, âIâll be right back. Iâm going to get you a towel.â  Â
You hesitated before leaving him.
And when you returned your heart sank. Â
Heâd already climbed into the tub, still in his clothes and gear. Aside from his still-masked face, he was fully submerged in the hot water.
The water was still running and steam wafted up. Â
Blood was already staining the water in tendrils around him. You couldnât see any major injuries and he wasnât acting wounded so you knew none of it was his.Â
Red rimmed his eyes and they were glossy. His pupils were blown as he stared up at the ceiling.Â
âSimonâŚare you okay?â you padded over to him and sat on the edge of the bed.Â
He didnât react.Â
You reached for his mask, scared that the fabric would soak and he was going to accidentally waterboard himself.
His hand snapped to yours, squeezing your wrist until you whimpered.Â
âLet me help you,â you pleaded, your chest aching at the sight of him like this.Â
After a minute of silence, his grip on your wrist loosed.    Â
A/N - This takes place after the end of the MW3(2023) campaign.
| His Foresight - Simon âGhostâ Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 6)
Word Count -Â 3k
Summary -Â TF 141 has regrouped at their safe house, and in the past two weeks they have been of trying to figure out their next move. Doc and Ghost finally have a little talk about their night together.
Tags/Warnings -Â Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn
A/N -Â hi
Part 1 â¤ď¸ Part 2 â¤ď¸ Part 3  â¤ď¸ Part 3.5  â¤ď¸ Part 4 â¤ď¸ Part 5 â¤ď¸ Part 7
Masterlist Â
The two of you were back in the garage the next morning. Ghost getting up significantly earlier than you did; leaving you to wake up alone and slightly chilled from the morning air.Â
There was also a delicious ache between your legs that wasnât normally there.Â
Ghost was servicing one of the armoured vehicles to make sure it was ready to go when the squad needed to move. Itâs matte tan painting normally nothing significant but you couldnât help but feel some sort of familiarity with the vehicle. While taking stock of your medical supplies you stared at the lettering on the side of the vehicle trying to pinpoint where you had seen it before.Â
âRiley,â you called out, eyes still locked on the bolded lettering on the side of the hood. He paused what he was doing to look up at you. With narrowed eyes, you said, âWhy do I feel like Iâve read about this ATV before?â You recalled reading about a vehicle being swiped from a convoy a few months ago in one of the weekly newsletters the military put out.Â
âUhh,â you couldâve sworn there was a slight blush underneath that mask, âYeah, we stole it. Wasnât our intent at first, but figured it would be a waste of an opportunity if we returned it.â Â
You made your way to the stool beside him, ââWeâ as in?â
âSoap and IâŚâ he thought for a second, searching for the right word, âcommandeered it on our way into an active combat zone. In the report, we said it was a hostile.â he shrugged. Everything here was stolen, sure, but it was mostly little things like rations and ammo; which he had mentioned took forever to compile. The other vehicle was just a modified truck. This was an Oshkosh MPAP; equipped with a turret, and bulletproof windows, and was worth a million dollars.
And these goons just took it.  Â
Despite his seemingly nonchalance demeanour, there was clear pride in the set of his shoulders. You also knew he and Soap chuckled about it on their way here to stash it.  Â
âWhat did Price have to say about it?â you inspected the manual for the ATV to see all it came with. There was a hesitance from him and you lifted a brow at him, âWhat will Price have to say about it?â you reworded the question, getting the sense that Price doesnât know.Â
âI doubt heâll even notice,â Simon set back to work, reaching for something and tightening it with a wrench.Â
The rest of the squad arrived later in the morning and Price undoubtedly noticed. In fact, he pointed right at it, eyebrows raised but didnât say a word.Â
Soap pretended to be just as shocked, âHow did this get in here?âÂ
Ghost did a good job of redirecting everyoneâs attention, âWeâve got almost a week's worth of food reserves.â
Gaz swung his gear over his shoulder heading towards the makeshift barracks, âYou leave any hot water for us?â he asked Ghost.Â
âNope,â he shot back dryly, failing to mention there was never any hot water to begin with. He shoved a finger in Soapâs direction, âYou better get in there next. I can smell you.âÂ
âItâs a musk,â Soap retorted, feigning offence. Â
âGo stand downwind of me,â Ghost strained as he looked an ammo crate into one of the trucks. Â
You couldnât smell Soap from where you sat but you were sure every one of them smelt like a little ripe from all the traveling. They looked weary from it.Â
A strange feeling of unspoken uneasiness hung overhead all of you. Everyone was purposefully avoiding the obvious fact that we didnât have a solid plan.   Â
When Gaz returned from his shower, he had a strange look on his face. A mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He had pulled a a pack of cigarettes from his pocket throwing them to Soap, âYou win,â he said bitterly.Â
âReally?â Soap caught the pack, immediately putting one in his mouth. He turned to Ghost, âYouâve just made me a very happy man.âÂ
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â Ghost looked genuinely confused. He glanced at you with questioning eyes, wondering if you had any insight into their exchange.
You offered him a subtle shrug. Â
Price was talking quietly with Laswell outside the garage. With dark bags weighing down his eyes, accompanied by a frown, Price looked uncharacteristically tired. Knowing him, he probably didnât get the best sleep last night. It was us against the world right now, and since he was our captain every single one of us was looking to him for direction. It was a lot of pressure for one man. But there was a good reason he was Captain. He was level-headed and experienced. This probably wasnât the first time he found himself in this situation either. This was just another Wednesday for him. For all of them.Â
Except you.Â
You donât belong on a task force like this. You werenât even sure you were meant for the medic life anymore. Lord knew you couldnât save anyone when it mattered.Â
Your teeth sank into your lip as you pondered your life choices so far. The hair on the back of your neck began to tingle and when you looked up to see Ghost watching you from across the room. His eyes revealed nothing before he dragged his attention back to Soap.              Â
Price called for a meeting after everyone was a little more settled in, âWeâll need to lie low for the next few weeks. Keep our footprint to a minimum,â Price took a seat on the bench next to you, swiping a hand down his face, âLaswell said that the brasses have been keeping it tight-lipped about our situation. So either they donât know and someone is working on this alone or they do know and donât want it getting out,â he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, âWhich one is worse? I donât know.âÂ
If they do know we risk giving ourselves away by trying to make contact. This was going to be a waiting game.Â
We were in this alone and the thought of the world being completely oblivious to our disappearance was frightening. The idea of your family never knowing what happened to you left just as fast as it came.Â
âUntil we come up with a plan?â Gaz sneered, his eyes hardening making it evident it was hardly a question.Â
âHow long will that take?â You asked, your knee bouncing in a clear show of anxiety.Â
Laswell cleared her throat, eyes peeking over the laptop she was sitting in front of, âIâve got a few contacts on US soil who are doing some internal investigations. I wonât be able to exchange information with them as often as Iâd like but theyâre good at what they do,â She assured, this usually perfect braid falling loose down her shoulder. âI trust that theyâll be able to find some leads.â
âHow long with that take?â Ghost repeated your question.
Laswell huffed, âI have no idea.âÂ
âLetâs aim for a few weeks at the very least,â Price said, lifting a fresh unlit cigar to his mouth.Â
âWeâve only got a weekâs worth of food,â you exchanged a look with Ghost, who was already looking at you, his dark eyes unreadable. Before the rest of the team got here he had donned his mask, making it all the harder to gauge what exactly he was thinking.Â
âAhh,â Laswell flipped her laptop to face the rest of us. You leaned forward and squinted at the bright screen with multiple windows pulled up, âThereâs a little townlet three hours from here with no military presence. We can go into town to stock up when the time arrives.â
Two weeks. Two whole weeks passed and Laswells werenât any closer to finding out who Specter was, and everyone was getting antsy. She did, however, discover that we have all been flagged as deserters.Â
Price and Gaz were out doing recon every morning, and every time they came back with the same news. Which was no news. Â
You and Ghost had gone into the little town Laswell aforementioned nearly every day since that first week. You spent most of your time at one of the schools there. It was a symbiotic relationship where you were providing medical services wherever you were needed in exchange for more medical supplies. All the while Ghost went off on his own sometimes coming back with food other times with information on the movements of the military. âFor your safetyâ he wasnât able to tell you who exactly he was meeting with for this information.Â
You were cleaning the wound of a smaller child, her dark hair and wide glassy eyes flitting to everything that moved. Considering how her wound looked a week ago she was healing well. In a few more days there will be nothing left but a pink scar. You couldnât understand each other because of a language barrier but there was mutual respect between you two. She couldnât have been older than 10 but her eyes showed she had seen more than her years. Her eyes would sometimes glaze over and would stare far beyond what you could see. Her mouth would loosen and she would murmur to herself. A prayer, you were later told by a woman who spoke English. It was unsettling to see someone so young so grown.Â
Thatâs what growing up in a warzone will do to you. You chastised yourself, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
âHere,â you secured her bandage showing off your work to her. Her delicate hand grazed it, her face void of emotion. With a slight bow of her head, she left. You watched as she disappeared back out the school door.Â
You felt someone take a seat beside you, her identity easily discerned by her scent of pepper and rosemary. âHer mother would have been so devastated to see her like this,â she spoke softly, her accent almost undetectable. She was one of the teachers at the school, and also the one who let you use her classroom as a makeshift station when she didnât have any classes.Â
She seemed like a great teacher, artwork and previous school projects lined her classroom walls.Â
It didnât go unnoticed that she was using the past tense. Your mouth opened and closed as you fought to find the right words, âSheâs too young,â too young for this kind of life. Too young to be seeing death. Too young to be this broken.Â
âIs anyone ever old enough?â She began helping you pack your supplies, offering you a new medical kit for todayâs services, âWe are having trouble getting shipments in so this is going to be the last time weâll be able to pay you back.âÂ
You tilted your head at her, âWhat do you mean by troubles?â   Â
She smoothed out the wrinkles from her shirt, âTheyâve put up checkpoints at every roading leading in and out of eastern borders. It is almost impossible to get transport trucks through,â Her blue eyes had grown tired in the last few days.
You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, âThank you. For everything youâve done for me. If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, let me know.â
She smiled and shook her head, âYouâve done more than enough,â she leaves you to turn her attention to a group of students coming in for her next class.Â
Ghost returned to the school a few hours earlier than he usually did, his pace hurried, âGrab your stuff. Weâre getting out of here,â he panted like heâd run the entire way back to the school but he was already moving to pack your supplies back into your pack.Â
You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together, âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
âA convoy was sighted three hundred kilometres to the east,â he didnât wait for your reply before he slung ur pack over his shoulder and strode for the door, âAnd they arenât insurgents.âÂ
Which means theyâre American. And they couldnât know we were here. They would take us all back in, and the last thing we wanted was to be getting into gunfights with our own.Â
Ghost opened your door for you, âGet in.âÂ
You gave him a side glance before stepping up into the truck and letting him slam it shut behind you. Apart from the sound of the rocky road underneath the wheels and the whir of the engine the ride back was silent. You watched out your window, turning thoughts over in your head, debating whether the conversation youâve been wanting to have with him but never the time, was worth it.Â
Since that first night, nothing more has happened between you too. There hasnât been the time for a conversation about it. Let alone actual sex. Still, a conversation needed to be had at some point. You wanted to know what he was thinking. He was always difficult to read and never shared his thoughts and feelings with anyone. Â
âWhatâs on your mind?â Ghost spoke first, sensing your hesitation, his eyes flickering between you and the road.Â
âA lot,â you tried laughing but it came out more like a sigh, then shrugged, âI guess mostlyâŚabout that night,â you started off.
His eyes widened before he quickly turned to face the road again, âGo on.âÂ
âWe havenât discussed it, or⌠havenât really had the time to explore what it means. If it does mean anything. Donât get me wrong,â you caught yourself, âThere really isnât a worse time for something like this,â it wasnât like things had grown awkward between the two of you in the last few weeks, but you werenât sure how you were supposed to be feeling. Or how he was feeling. Doubt had crept into the corners of your mind in the last few weeks.Â
Maybe it was just a distraction for him.Â
Your breakfast soured in your stomach at the idea.     Â
The clouds overhead began to turn a sombre grey, bringing with it the threats of a storm.Â
Beside you, heâd grown impossibly still. His shoulders were taut with discomfort, âIf youâre going to say it was a mistake just do us both a favour and say it.âÂ
Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, âWas itââ you swallowed, âWas it a mistake for you?âÂ
âNo,â he spoke with conviction, âNo, it wasnât.âÂ
Just as fast as the air left your lungs, they were filled, âOhh,â you released a sigh, your head falling back onto the seat.Â
âOnce we get ourselves out of this we can talk about it all you want, butââ
âBut, now isnât a good time,â you finished for him, agreeing with the statement. Â
âI donât want you to think I used you like some sex-crazed caveman,â he shifted, the light of the day dwindling as we rolled down the road, the shadows from the trees creeping closer and closer to the truck.Â
âI dontâŚâ you started but he was already pulling the truck over to the side of the road.Â
âI need you to know that the moment we get back to society that this,â he unbuckled his seatbelt and gestured between the two of you, âIsnât going to end. I care for you but I need you to stay alive. So, Iâm deciding for us to put things on hold because neither of us needs the distraction. It wasnât a mistake. Do I wish I had waited until I was able to fuck you in a real bed? Kinda.âÂ
The first few drops of rain splattered onto the windshield, fat and heavy.Â
He released the strap on his bulletproof vest to his chest and reached for my hand, âFeel this,â he brought my hand, dwarfed in his, to his racing heart. The heat radiated off his body, âThat is what you do to me. Every time you look at me, or speak, or enter a room. I feel like IÂ canât breathe around you. Iâm terrified of you, and the possibilities that come with you,â he squeezed your hand, and he took in a shuttering breath, âAnd when you look at me like that,â his voice dropped and his eyes searched yours before bringing your hand lower, where you felt his member hardening.Â
Your cheeks heated and you felt your own heart quicken its pace.Â
The sounds of the rain became a rhythmic beat as it began to downpour, and without the windshield wipers to wipe away the downfall it was nearly impossible to see to the outside.Â
He let out a low, agonizing sound when you gave him an experimental squeezeÂ
His attention flicked to the clock on the dash, his eyes darkening, âIf I had been a smart man I wouldnât have told Price we were leaving early. So if we take much longer itâll raise questions,â he pulled away from you, slowly, like it was taking every sane part of him to do so, âAnd Iâm sure you donât want that.âÂ
You shook your head. You did not want to talk with Price about your extracurriculars.Â
He took one last look at you, âFuck sake,â he lifted the bottom half of his mask and pulled your lips to his. It was a chaste, desperate, open-mouth kiss. One where his hands dipped your head back to gain better access. His thumbs cradled your jaw, his fingers curling in your hair.Â
It was just like the last time you kissed him. He was all fire and heat. He was explosive.Â
When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet and rosy, his eyes half-lidded, âPromise me you wonât go anywhere?â he said lowly.Â
You couldnât help the sheepish smile, âIâm here.â Â
| Rolling Credits - Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Word Count -Â 1.2k
Summary -Â Just a movie night turn into a hot night
Tags/Warnings -Â MDNI, explicit language and content, soft sex, fingering, switch -> soft dom, P in V , he whimpers
A/N - I'm going to have a lot more time on my hands again so maybe ill get back into regular posts.
MasterlistÂ
The night started off with you and Simon watching a movie, an older movie that youâve rewatched more times than youâd care to admit. It took you a whole week of convincing to get him to sit down and watch it with you. It was about three-quarters into the movie when you looked over to see he was knocked out. He attempted to hide himself from your view with a pillow so you wouldnât catch him slacking on you.Â
Slowly, you crawled towards him and with your knees on either side of his hips, leaned over him and flicked on the lamp. With the sudden change in light, his eyes popped open. His glossy, groggy eyes finding yours, âWha,â
âYou were asleep,â you tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing.Â
His large hands came to wrap around your hips, the heat from him warming your skin, âNo, I wasnât. I was just resting my eyes,â his thumbs made slow circles, slipping them underneath the fabric of your shirt.
âYou were snoring,â you teased, even though he wasnât.
He flashed a knowing smile, âNo I wasnât. I was as quiet as a mouse.â
You hummed, shifting lower down his body, Youâve never been one to be quiet,â you turned down the sound of the movie. You rested your hands on his bare chest and dug your nails into the hard muscles underneath.Â
He hissed at the sensation, his pupils blowing.
âSee?â you rolled your hips down on him, eliciting more low strained sounds from him.Â
His fingers curled into your skin, holding you closer to him. He nodded, his eyes shutting and his mouth opening ever so slightly to let out a sigh. He moved his hips in tandem with yours. There was a light blush dusting his cheeks, most likey overtly aware of the sounds coming out of him. He was tired and didnât have the resolve to try and hold anything back. You reached up and placed a hand around his throat, your fingers finding his pulse.Â
His heart was thrashing against his heated skin.
âShit,â he breathed, his brows knitting together, âJust like that, baby,â his hands guided you and his head fell back into armrest, âYou feel so good.âÂ
Underneath you, you could feel his hard cock brushing up against your clit, and the whimper that slipped from your throat was so lewd.Â
âYou had a long day at work?â you asked.Â
He nodded, but you had a feeling if you told him the sky was red heâd agree with you right now.Â
âWant me to take care of you?â you pressed a kiss to his jaw, to his neck, and to his chest. You felt him nod again, âUse your words.âÂ
It wasnât often he let you take the lead, and it was even more rare for him to let you speak to him like this. This was a real treat. His dark eyes flashed you a warning looking, âYes.âÂ
A hand reached between you two and dipped under the elastic waistband of his pants. He was large and heavy in your hand and the moment you touched him his entire body stiffened. You dragged your thumb along the slit of his tip, precum already leaking from it.Â
Oh. Oh, he was about to be a mess.Â
You licked up the exspance of his chest, dragging your teeth and leaving goosebumps behind. At some point his hands had dropped to your thighs, his fingernails leaving little crescents behind.Â
You stroked him, so very slowly. Setting a leisurely pace, tugging moans out of him like threads, âI love making you sound like this,â you pressed your mouth to his only to pull away when he tried kissing you back. When he attempted to chase after you you pushed your free hand into his hair to hold him back.Â
âYouâre getting real bold,â you quipped at you but made no move to take over.Â
You kept up with your agonizingly slow pace and he began to squirm against you. His breaths coming in faster.Â
âSo close already?â you taunted.Â
That was it. You were done. It was his turn now.
With an annoyed growl, he flips you guys. He was pushing up your shirt and tugging your underwear to the side. He dragged a finger up your slick heat, coating his fingers before dipping inside your cunt. You immediately gripped around him, whispering.Â
âOpen,â he ordered with his usual no-nonsense tone.Â
As soon as you opened your mouth the same fingers that were just inside you were shoved inside your mouth. Far enough that you gagged around them.Â
âBusy that filthy mouth of yours, huh?â he tsked. Then he was sliding his cock between your folds, getting himself ready for you. He rocked his hips and the both of you groaned in unison. You felt the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten âGood?â
This time it was your turn to nod.Â
âGood,â he said again. He watched and slowly guided himself into you, âShh shhâ he hushed you when you started moaning against his fingers, which he had started thrusting into your mouth in time with his hips. Drool dripped down the side of your mouth bc you were imagining they were his hard, thick member instead.Â
He moved just as unhurried as you were. He loved the way you writhed under him and chased something only he could give you.Â
You could feel him twitch inside you, feel his struggle to keep his composure.Â
âBe a good girl and cum for me,â he brought his finger out of your mouth to bring them to his before rubbing circles into your clit.Â
âOhmygod,â you rushed, your finger marking his arm with harsh red lines. You clung to him, arching your back into him in search of just the right angle.Â
Still, he was moving so goddamn slow. Too fucking slow.Â
You felt the knot tighten to a nearly uncomfortable sensation.Â
You reached up, cupping his face and held eye contact with him.
âCum for me, baby,â he cooed.  Â
âMove faster,â you gasped, frustration building.Â
âYouâll have exactly what I give you,â the borderline sneer he gave you assured you that he would not be going any faster.Â
Sweat coated both your bodies in a light sheen, but there was nothing better than the feel of his bare skin against yours.   Â
That ever-burning heat between ur legs slipped and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan. Finger gripped at his hair as he leaned down to suck at the supple skin of your neck. You gripped at him, feeling as he twitched inside you.Â
He quickly followed, his breath hot against you. He...whimpered against you.Â
âFuck sake,â he groaned, half in embarrassment.Â
âOh, I like that,â you giggle, scratching at his head.Â
This time when you looked back at the tv screen, the ending credits were rolling, âYou missed the movie,â Simon quipped, pulling away from you to get a better look at his handiwork.
