Simon catches you in the middle of the night in the empty lounge pilfering a couple protein bars from the cabinets.
He walks over to you on quiet feet. He greets you silently with his big warm hand on your lower back, slowly dragging it up the length of your spine and back down again. You've noticed he kind of pets you like a cat sometimes. And like a cat, you lean into his warmth, looking over your shoulder at him with a smile.
"Hey," you say.
"Hey," he echoes. "Heard you're being sent out."
"Yeah, quick grab-n-go. Need to corroborate some intel for Laswell."
"Wanted to catch you before you left." His hand slides off of you. The call had come in at some godforsaken hour of the night, waking you up with mission details. You had intended to shoot Simon a text before you took off but it seems like word already got to him somehow.
"You're just in time, I was just finishing up here." You pocket the protein bars.
"Good. I'll see you when you get backloveyou." And then he's gone.
By the time you whip your head over to him, all you catch is a glimpse of his back disappearing around the door frame. You rush over, your legs working on autopilot, stumbling into the hallway but he's already gone.
Did he just? No, he absolutely did. It may have been an awkward mumble under his breath, but he absolutely did.
It replays in your mind, his voice curling around the syllables.
Love you.
Hell, but you love him too. Even when he leaves you grinning like an idiot all alone in the hallway with protein bars melting in your pockets.
Basket seastar!hybrid reader who is used to being a little...left out. Too many branching limbs, the standard human-like trunk and shoulders extending at the elbow in not a single arm but multiple splits, a vast fern-like explosion of arm/hand/finger things, constantly shifting and exploring. A nightmare to manage with clothes so you often modify your uniform to be sleeveless, which means everyone gets a direct view of your limbs.
And none of them like it.
Too creepy, too weird and the movement freaks people out, the way the tiniest of phalanges curls and twists. You train yourself to wind the fronds tight together, make a single or double limb, but inevitably you lose control and it all explodes out again.
You learn to stay in the back of the room, to hide when possible, and even the skills that brought you to the 141- the way you can type a code, write a message, and field strip a weapon all simultaneously- are better off in the shadows, where your new team can't get too...upset. Can't snap and sneer, wiping off their arms and hands if they accidentally touch you, shoving you away if your fronds start to reach for them or anything they're holding.
"The fuck're you doin' back here?"
You look up at your lieutenant. Ghost is glaring down at you, dark eyes scowling out of his balaclava. "Um...eating?" Your hand-frond curls around another French fry. Salt, oil, potato, a preservative in the potato. Greasy fingers that prepped it all onto the tray.
"Yeah, and why alone? Team eats together, that's the rule," he says, and jerks his thumb over to the table he and the sergeants are at. He grabs your tray, and you don't have a choice but to follow.
The other men welcome you warmly, and to your astonishment, they don't skitter away as your phalanges spread over the table, touching their trays, an instinct you can't fully reign in. Soap's drink slides across the table towards you, and you wince, fronds peeling away from it. Aluminum, paint, fresh water in the condensation, and your microscopic hooks leave little marks in the logo.
"Sorry! Sorry, I can...get you a new one..." You trail off, because he's shrugging and taking his drink back, touching it easily.
"Eh, if I was that worried about it, I'd get it myself. You're fine, love," he adds, and your throat is tight. Is this really all it takes? One tiny kindness?
Gaz grins. "Look, I know you're worried, but we really do not give a shit about all- this," he gestures to your wide, branching baskets of arms, "outside of what it means for our missions. Do you know how many weird bugs that one has brought home?"
He nods to your left, and you look over to Ghost, where he's examining the delicate phalanges that have spread over his arm with the care and focus of a master watchmaker. He strips off a glove, and your breath catches in your chest as he touches the very tip of a frond with his finger- a tiny burst of taste, salt-skin-oil-cotton, the base building blocks of the man called Ghost- and shakes it solemnly, like he's meeting you for the first time.
Soap pats your shoulder, and doesn't twitch when your arm splits in surprise. "Not that you're a bug! But, y'know, when you get two hours in a transport home being told all about the way this beetle works and lives, you start to see the beauty in the strange. And nothing's stranger than our LT!"
He's grinning, easy and relaxed even as your arms start to steal his spoon. Stainless steel, oils from his skin, cheap plastic handle. Gaz loses a couple of his own French fries, and takes a few of yours in return, and you sit there with your arms wide open, a basket getting bigger with every surprised, delighted thump of your heart.
here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.
let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3
thank you again!
after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.
it never ends, does it?
apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.
it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.
you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.
you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.
your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.
it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“hello?” you say as you answer the call.
“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”
you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”
you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.
“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.
she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:
“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”
you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.
why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?
your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.
laswell is coming here to do damage control.
you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.
you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.
but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?
you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.
and when you start something, you see it through.
you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.
price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.
“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”
“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.
“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.
“whatever she told you—”
“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”
price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.
“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”
“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.
“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.
“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.
and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.
you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.
like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.
on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.
in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.
when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.
it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.
it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.
and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.
what they condemned you to.
what he condemned you to.
he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.
price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.
“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.
“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.
he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.
instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.
“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.
“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.
and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.
but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?
you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.
more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.
blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.
you would’ve thrown it away anyways.
you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.
his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.
you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.
“done?”
and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.
it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.
because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.
and yet he didn’t stop you.
“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.
he shrugs. “you needed it.”
he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.
“least I could do,” he says.
you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?
“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.
maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.
“no,” he says, and you know he means it.
he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.
he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”
that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.
and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.
“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.
the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.
“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.
“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”
“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.
“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”
you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.
“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.
he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”
“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”
you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.
“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.
“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”
you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”
his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.
those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.
you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.
their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.
“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”
you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”
finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”
you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”
none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.
a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.
you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.
the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.
none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.
(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)
the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.
you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.
you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.
you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.
“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”
you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.
you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.
you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.
you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.
nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.
your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.
how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?
you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.
the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.
a new beginning, you think.
you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.
the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.
eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.
who else knows you’re here?
perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.
you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.
its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.
[Y/N]: *Checks their personal phone* Ugh, another message from my folks.
Soap: Wot? Family trouble, sarge?
[Y/N]: No. They’re sending me profiles of potential candidates to marry. Reviewing them and what not.
Gaz: An arranged marriage?
[Y/N]: I know how it sounds, but it’s just dating profiles. Four of my siblings already found and married their mates. My parents, especially my mom, is worried if I’m having trouble with my personal life.
Price: Well, tell them you’re busy saving lives everyday.
[Y/N]: I already told them that. My mom said, “Still, find a partner who you can connect with.” Wish I can fake one to relieve their stress.
Soap: *Looks over at Ghost and directs back to [Y/N]*
[Y/N]: *Followed his direction* Are you for real? He’s our lieutenant.
Price: You two are chummy together lately.
[Y/N]: Because we settled any possible issues.
Soap: You play wit’ each other in your shifted forms durin’ down time.
[Y/N]: More like training together.
Gaz: And shared a sheep carcass at the canteen.
[Y/N]: Okay, I see what you mean. Except, I can’t ask Ghost to be my fake boyfriend. He’s L.T., pretty inappropriate outside of work.
Gaz: I guess the wolf and snow leopard rivalry is another concern.
[Y/N]: Not really. We kind of resolved that a while back. Call it a truce for the time being. My folks are fine with any of us dating outside of our group.
Soap: Wot are ya waitin’ for? Ask him.
[Y/N]: *Sighs* I owe him big time after this.
[Later]
[Y/N]: *Knocks at Ghost’s office door*
“Come in.”
[Y/N]: *Enters in his office* Evening, lieutenant.
Ghost: This about your family’s meddlin’?
[Y/N]: You overheard from earlier. I’m trying to get a fake partner to calm my family down.
Ghost: …
[Y/N]: Soap told me you would be the best option since they saw us as “inseparable”.
Ghost: …
[Y/N]: So, this is inappropriate coming from a teammate. Would you be my fake partner the next time we’re on leave and visit my family?
Ghost: …Alrigh’.
[Y/N]: *Stunned* Really? I mean, thank you for filling in this “upcoming operation”. I owe you big time.
[Next Time, on leave.]
[Toronto, Canada]
[Y/N]: Now, remember. This is their first time meeting you, so they’ll start “interrogating” you and about our relationship.
Ghost: I’ll handle it. Remember our cover story?
[Y/N]: I do. Like any briefing. *Buzzes the doorbell*
[The front door opens, two older snow leopard hybrids greeting them.]
[Y/N]: Mama! Papa!
Mama: My little cub! *Hugs them and rubs her head on theirs*
[Y/N]: *Greets her the same*
[Both chuff while Papa stares at Ghost.]
Papa: Who is this you brought over?
[Y/N]: Oh, he’s my boyfriend, “Henry Hughes”.
Papa: Ah, Henry. *Offers a handshake* Been a long time since any of our grown children brought a partner home.
Ghost: *Carefully shakes his hand* Pleasure meeting you.
Mama: Come in, come in. You two must be freezing outside.
[Everyone heads inside the house. [Y/N] and their mom brought out tea for everyone to the living room.]
Papa: Henry, what do you do for work?
Ghost: Work as a butcher back in England.
Papa: *Nods* Sounds like decent work.
[Y/N]: Papa.
Mama: Aaah, England. The first time [Y/N] told us they’re moving out there for work, we were scared for their safety.
Papa: Especially involving military.
[Y/N]: I’m okay. Still in one piece and met the most handsome man during my stay.
Papa: How did you two meet?
Ghost: Met when [Y/N] came to the shop for some cuts. They tried to chat up while waitin’ for their order.
[Y/N]: I came to his store so often during leave that we eventually connected.
Mama: Aw, that’s lovely. Just out of curiosity and mean no harm, what kind of hybrid are you?
Ghost: Gray Wolf.
Mama: Oh, gray wolf.
Papa: A wolf?
[Y/N]: Papa…
Mama: No more negative energy here. As long as our precious little cub is happy.
Ghost: *Wraps his arm around their shoulders* No need to worry too much.
[Y/N]: *Blushes by the unexpected gesture*
[After visiting has finished and left the house.]
Ghost: “Henry Hughes”?
[Y/N]: You’re supposed to be dead and can’t compromise your existence outside of base.
Ghost: Hm. Your folks seem nice. Especially your mom.
[Y/N]: She is. Sorry about my dad. He still has some animosity towards wolves and hybrids alike. My mom is disciplining him for that.
Ghost: Sounds like she’s workin’ on that.
[Y/N]: Yeah…About what happened back there. You slung your arm around my shoulders. You’re really good at acting for a fake boyfriend. Guess it comes with the job during ops.
Ghost: “You have no idea.”
[Y/N]: Since I owe you big time, I’ll tour you around Toronto. Getting some Timmies, visiting stores, stopping at my favorite spots. Oh! Definitely getting you some fried Beaver tails.
Ghost: *Stares at them* …
[Y/N]: They’re not made of actual tail. It’s fried dough covered in sugar and other toppings.
Ghost: *Faces closer to their face*
[Y/N]: *Getting flustered* Simon…
Ghost: *His covered nose gently touches theirs* Would like that. *Pulls back and walks ahead*
[Y/N]: *Blushes in embarrassment* That’s so unprofessional! *Chases behind his tail*
it'd all started not even an hour ago, after you'd all touched down on base again from the last mission. exhaustion weighed down your bones, dark circles rimmed your eyes. now was the time for a hot cup of tea, a kiss on the forehead, and a very long nap.
"aye, y'alright?" your boyfriend asks, his eyes filled with a loving sort of knowing concern. he gets it, gets the weariness you're experiencing.
you barely have the chance to shake your head no when he notices your pouted lips, the downturn of your face. a big arm swoops behind your back, pulling you to him.
somehow you missed the way he locked the door behind him as you stumbled in for something you can’t even remember anymore.
“lemme help ya,” he says, his lips dragging open-mouthed, burning kisses up your neck, your jaw.
his arms draw tighter around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. in turn, you intertwine your fingers into the crop of hair at the nape of his neck. playing it cool, you tug, much to his delight and subsequent pleasure: his hips rut into yours, cock already hardening underneath his fatigues.
“there ya are, girl.”
just like clockwork, his attention has you flustered. heat crawls up your neck as surely as his eyes read hungry.
it’s an undeniable fact of your relationship, since before its inception—the two of you just cannot get enough of each other.
before you know it, johnny’s bullying a thumb against your clit as he rubs himself hard, eyes glued to the slick gathering at your entrance.
the cheap, worn leather of the common room couch squeaks behind your back as you tense up, thighs spasming.
“johnny, ‘m gonna—,” the words fall from your lips like melting honey, warm, your voice thick. your boyfriend watches the way you clench, pussy flutting around nothing, ready to fix that for you.
“i kno’, love,” he replies, spitting from above you, the glob landing on your cunt. two fingers quickly follow, pushing their way inside of you as you shudder, shaking at the way he curls them against your sweet spot.
johnny’s face grows hot as he watches you come apart around him, just like it always does. it feels unreal, the way it’s so picture perfect every time.
if the two of you were back in the barracks, in bed, he’d be letting you, making you ride out your orgasm, giving you two more. but today he’s too impatient. today, he’s fucking you on the shared couch.
barely biting back a moan, your eyes flutter shut as he bottoms out. the pleasure’s like a warm cup of tea on a cold night, sinking into your bones as it settles into you. the sheer girth of your boyfriend’s cock used to make you nervous, the lead up to sex filled with clammy hands and reminders to breathe deeply from johnny. now? you were more than used to it, and you reckon both him and the way he uses it has ruined sex for you permanently.
“jus’ wanna make ya feel better, lovely,” johnny groans, his cock seated fully inside of you.
you moan out, nodding nonsensically at everything he’s saying.
you know him well enough to know what he’s not saying: that he needs this too.
that he needs to wind down from the bleeding brutality of the last mission too. born to die as a soldier—but human nonetheless. not immune to anything, even if he acts like it.
“looked so gorgeous when y’were watchin’ my flank earlier, lass.”
you giggle, your nose crinkling as the sound bubbles from your throat.
“oh, yeah?” you challenge, eyes zeroed in on his.
“course. i‘d trust you w’me life.”
his sturdy hands press your legs to your chest, your thighs together as he kneels over you. it’s not enough, not deep enough, and he can read it in the way you mewl, the pleading in your eyes. johnny lifts a leg, planting his boot on the couch beside your head as he plunges himself deeper into you. somehow your leg’s ended up over his shoulder, the sting of your muscles nothing but delicious.
“there ya are.”
you can barely breathe. you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“j’needed tae be fucked righ’ n’ good,” your teammate murmurs, half to himself.
“my girl, so happy tae be b’neath me,” he trails off, snarling as you clench around him. “takin’ my cock so damn well, aren’t ya?”
nodding, you whimper, folded up like a contortionist as johnny’s balls slap against your ass with every thrust.
it’s unbearable, a thin layer of sweat coating your back as you lay there and take it, letting johnny fuck into you. the look in your eyes, heavy-lidded and sultry despite the surroundings, has him gritting his teeth as he fights not to come too early.
the angle is awkward, but the objective is achievable. with one hand, you grab johnny’s ass, nails biting at the plush skin. that alone would do it, you’re aware, but there’s a glint in your eye that he’s a little scared of as the other hand reaches down between your bodies and grabs at his balls.
it takes him by surprise, and you pulse around him as he comes inside of you, hard and hot.
“aye,” he rasps, face tight as he shudders above you, sweaty forehead falling into the crook of your neck. “tha’ was a,” he stops, panting, swallowing hard. “cheap trick.”
༄ first time writing for soap, what’d we think!?!? shoutout birthday girl for giving this a read, love u big time 🤍🤍
Summary: A tech expert lends her expertise to the 141 for a mission. It’s not her fault that she’s tall, beautiful, and perfect. But it is her fault that she can’t keep her goddamn hands to herself. How else are you supposed to react when you walk in to find her lips on your Ghost?
Warnings: allusions to cheating (not Ghost’s fault!! Sweet man has never done anything wrong in his life), swearing, angst (does it make it better if I promise all the fluff in the next chapter?)
A/N: Well this has been on my brain for a while. I’m so thrilled to finally have this out into the world! The OGs know that this was one of my first prompts I came up with when I was first writing for Simon Riley. I guess we’ve come full circle <3 Thank you for all your support. Remember, your comments, tags, and messages mean the world to us writers!
It’s surprising that the harsh grinding of your teeth isn’t audible given how hard you’re clenching your jaw. You watch in irritated silence as a tall curvy redhead named Bex leans over Ghost’s shoulder to peer down at the encrypted computer.
She’s always so fucking close to him, to your Ghost.
You steady your growing impatience by taking a swig of water, the thin plastic crinkling under your touch.
“Hmm.” She leans in closer and you could tell Ghost is on edge. He wasn’t exactly the sort who tolerated too many people encroaching on his personal space.
Clearly he makes an exception when it comes to gorgeous redheads though, you think to yourself before mentally chastising the thought.
The rational side of your brain knows that he’s more than likely just putting on a brave face because Bex is new to the team. Technically, you correct yourself, not an actual part of the team. She’s more like a short term contractor. Even you had to begrudgingly admit that the 141 needed her level of expertise to crack through the firewalls and get the intel needed to ensure success for the next part of your mission. After all, you risked your life getting the damn laptop. What good is it if you can’t even get into it?
You knew all of this. Logically. It made sense. Your team needed a military-grade computer expert. She was the most qualified for the job—the “best of the best” Price had said. Done. Fin.
Except…
Except you just couldn’t get over the way her eyes always seemed to linger on Ghost. The way she’d accidentally brush up against him as they walked side by side through the hallway. The way she laughed a little too loud at his terrible Army jokes. And right now, the way her hand rests on his shoulder as she studies the screen.
Your fist unconsciously clenches around your water bottle causing the ice cold water to gush over the loosened cap, spilling all over your lap.
You let out a shout, jumping to your feet as the cold water soaks through your layers. Bex jumps as well, surprised by the outburst, stepping back from the mess.
Simon is on his feet in a heartbeat.
“You okay?” But not even his deep baritone, usually instantly calming, could soothe your irritation, now at an all time high.
“I’m fine,” you snap, crossing the briefing room in strides to toss the empty bottle in the bin. Ghost watches you with careful eyes. Though his face is covered by his signature skull balaclava, you didn’t miss his appraising gaze as he tries to assess the situation—ever the tactician.
You take a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you try again, aiming for a more pleasant tone. “Really. Just a slip of the hand.”
“Well,” Bex scoffs, “You really should be more careful. We are dealing with electronics here, you know.” Her snarky tone has you nearly seeing red again, but you clench your jaw tight and plaster the friendliest smile you could muster, though you’re certain it must look more like a grimace.
“Noted,” you grit out before turning your attention back to Ghost. “I’m gonna head to the barracks and grab a shower. Catch you later?”
Ghost’s head bobs in a subtle nod, but his eyes are still looking at you with that quizzical expression on his face. He knows something is wrong.
You just subtly shake your head in response, doing your best to a convey a “not now. We’ll talk later” with just a glance. Turning back to the door, you leave the two of them behind to tackle the task at hand. The sooner you crack the encryption and figured out where your target is, the sooner Bex can get the fuck out of here.
Walking across the base, you pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, internally scolding yourself for letting your temper get the best of you. The fresh, cool evening air helps calm your sour mood, and you do your best to reassure yourself.
I’m sure it’s nothing.
It’s all in your head.
He probably doesn’t even like redheads.
You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even see where you were going, which is exactly how you find yourself running face first into the brick wall of Johnny.
Oomph. The air whooshes out of your lungs as two broad hands reach up to steady you.
“Easy there, lass,” the Scottsman chuckles. “Watch where yer goin’ bonnie.”
“Sorry Soap,” your cheeks feel warm with embarrassment. “Didn’t see you there. Lost in my own head.”
“I’ll say!” Johnny claps a hand on your shoulder, the other balancing a stack of folders. “Hey, while I have you here, have ye seen LT?”
“Yeah, he’s with Bex in the briefing room. They’re trying to tackle that computer we lifted from the last mission.”
Soap nods. “More power to her. That shite doesn’t make any fucking sense to me.”
“Yeah. She’s a real blessing to the team,” you grumble, unable to withhold your eye roll.
“There’s that fiery sergeant I love so much,” Soap teases. “Am I getting a whiff a jealousy, hen?”
“Don’t even get me started Soap or I swear to god—“
“Alright, alright,” Soap laughs good naturally, his free hand coming up in mock surrender. “But hey, would you mind dropping off these files to LT? He needs to review them before our meeting with Laswell in a couple hours and I’ve got to meet up with Price now, don’t have time to trek all the way to the briefing room.”
“Sure,” you do manage to hold back your sigh this time. “Happy to help.” And you are happy to help Soap—he’s a great friend to both you and Simon—you just aren’t too happy at the thought of seeing your new BFF Bex again so soon. At least the short walk had served its purpose in cooling your temper a bit.
“You’re a treat, bonnie, I owe you one,” Soap smiles, giving your shoulder a firm pat before taking off in the opposite direction towards price’s office.
You adjust the stack of sealed papers in your hands as your turned back around towards the briefing room and head across base.
You quick steps have you approaching the briefing room soon enough. Surprisingly, the door is left slightly ajar—you must not have shut it all the way when you stormed out of the room earlier, you reason.
You approach silently, softening your footsteps to avoid any kind of noise, a small voice in the back of your mind goading you to surreptitiously see how Bex might behave without an audience. You peer in the room to find Bex and Simon standing at the table, the computer screen lighting up in front of them.
“We’re in!” Bex exclaims, her voice high pitched with excitement.
You watch the scene unfold before you and it feels like the world is moving in slow motion. Bex turns her radiant expression up to face Simon, her hands moving upwards and tucking up under his balaclava, and then—in the blink of an eye—she raises it above his chin and presses a kiss to his lips. Simon’s hands reach up to grasp her wrists, already beginning to pull away, but it’s too late.
You see everything.
The papers fall to the floor with a crash, and both Simon and Bex jump apart, eyes flashing to the door.
Bex at least has the good sense to look embarrassed by her actions, her face flushing bright red, eyes cast to the ground.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Simon urges, pulling his mask back down in place. “Wait—“
You turn and walked out the door, the scene playing on a loop in your head.
Her lips. Pressed up against Simon. Your Simon. His lips…kissing her back? The memory already warps, tinged with shades of red matching the shades of anger running through you.
The rage fuels your steps as you run from the briefing room, desperate to get away.
Simon blinks at the empty space in the doorway, the space where you stood just a second ago, before this colossal shit storm descended.
“Well, sorry we got interrupted,” Bex’s sultry voice breaks the silence, her small hand reaching towards Ghost’s glove. “Should we continue where we left off?”
“Touch me again, and you lose the whole goddamn hand,” Simon’s hardened voice is laced with the threat of violence. “Keep your bloody hands to yourself.”
The blood drains from Bex’s face.
With that, he storms out the door, following your trail. One thought playing on repeat in his mind: I can’t lose her.
Ghost: What do you want for dinner, Y/N?
Reader: Your dick
Ghost:
Reader: *Your pick. Sorry, that damn auto correct
Ghost: Y/N, we're having a verbal conversation-
It wouldn't be the first time Simon made it difficult for you to walk the next day, but never quite like this.
Leg day found you in the gym on base. Squat racks and dead lifts, knee raises and lunges. You enter a flow state until it's just you and the heat building in your muscles.
You start to end off your gym session with the leg press machine, choosing something that you can sit down for before you finish for the day with stretches.
The sound of the weights rattling as you go through your sets acts like white noise. By the time you're done, your chest heaves and a good, deep burn settles in from your calves to your hips.
After your last one, you lean over to grab your water sitting on the floor next to you. As you take a swig you see the shape of a person walk up to the front of the machine. You don't have to look at them to know it's Simon.
"You're here late," he says. You wipe the sweat from your temple.
"Just finishing up." He looks you over and hums. You start to sit up, getting ready to take your feet from the board and put them on the ground.
Until he steps onto the weight bar.
"Show me what you got, sergeant."
All 6'4 nearly 300 pounds of him looms over you.
You're already exhausted just looking at him.
"Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
The skin around his eyes crinkle a little bit and you can tell he's smirking at you behind that mask.
"You piss me off sometimes, you know that?"
He snorts. "Yeah. What're you gonna do 'bout it?"
You plant your feet firmly on the kick board. The resistance is nearly outrageous and it makes your already taxed muscles burn like road rash. Not even halfway through and it feels like you're trying to uproot a brick building from its foundation. The breath is punched from you as you manage to lift both Simon and the weights already hooked on as far away from you as the machine allows. It takes everything in you to control his descent back.
"Tha's it," he purrs down at you.
It's always intense when Simon looks you in the eye, and now is no different. His chest rises with a deep breath as the look in his eyes sinks into the very core of you.
"Again."
You let out an exhausted laugh. "Yeah, right. You're out of your mind."
"You can take it. Come on."
The sight of him standing over you looking at you like that makes you forget the pain for a moment, just long enough to brace and push back once more. When your knees straighten, your entire body is shaking.
"Atta fuckin' girl," he barks out, pride roughing out the edges of his already gruff voice til you feel his growl in your own chest.
You slowly lower him back down, legs instantly numb when your muscles relax. You feel like you just lifted a damn humvee with nothing but your thighs.
"One more," he says, eyes two burning pits lasered down at you. The veins in his forearms bulge from how hard he grips the machine.
"Fuck no," is your knee-jerk reaction to that.
"Fuck yes. Now give me another."
You're not even sure you can flex your ankles right now let alone do another max leg press. "Si, I ca-"
"Yes, you bloody can. Do another one for me. Just one more, sweet girl, c'mon."
Oh, this bastard never plays fair.
You let out a groan that tell him exactly how you feel about the situation. He just chuckles at it.
Every movement is a battle, every muscle revolting against you. The exertion is so much that you barely feel the sound that it drags out of your throat.
"Up, up, up," he urges when you start to stall. "Almost there."
The burn is astronomical and your entire body trembles. Your knees feel like they're about to burst by the time you straighten them.
The return back is not controlled at all, the bar slamming back down into place rattles through the floor. You slump back in the seat. Your leg day just became an everything-and-more day.
Simon steps off and comes around the side of the leg press over to you. He kneels down, grabbing your water. He twists off the top before handing it to you. You have to grab it with both hands from how much you shake. He watches you take a little sip that you heavily breathe around.
His big paw of a hand lifts up to cup the back of your sweaty neck. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes an inferno.
