Delivery guy Simon pulls up in his piece of crap ford car, grabs his bright orange just eat bag from the car, slamming the door shut as he walks up to your house. All black attire and sporting no mask, never does during deliveries after being told by his boss it unnerves people you can’t wear that man.
You’re already there before he rings the doorbell, opening the door and giving him a bright smile. Eyes full of hunger, you stomach growling as you inhale the smell of McDonalds. After a shitty week at work you just wanted some junk food to binge on and there was no way you were cooking.
Simon clears his throat out of his temporary freeze, “Here y’a go love.” His deep gravelly voice has your focus off the food he’s picking up and holding out to you in an instance.
You actually look at him and fuck he’s gorgeous. He’s got a couple scars and his nose is crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times for it to be fixed. 6ft 7 at least, he’s built like a damn ox, there are scars on his arms too. If you could even call the both of them that, they’re just as huge as the rest of him. Graced with veins and stretch marks from where the muscles have grown bigger.
He’s a whole ass meal, forget the McDonalds. You’d happily eat him for dinner, just as the thought crosses your mind your gaze shoots down to the giant bulge in his trousers. Your mouth waters at the sight and you swear you see it pulse behind the fabric.
Simon happily stands there letting you, fuck you gorgeous little thing in a tank top and short shorts, eye fuck him. A smirk growing on his face as he watches your hungry eyes dart all over his body.
“Hungry love?”
You blush so deep at his words, cheeks and ears burning hot as you mumble out, “Starved.”
Lynx Hybrid Military AU | Monster Romance | Reader Insert
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In a world where hybrid soldiers fight wars humans never see, one silent lynx hybrid decides he wants something more than survival.
He wants someone to come home to.
You answer an ad you’re not even sure is legal.
You never expect him to be gentle.
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Main Story
Chapter One — The Bride in the Trees
You flee your abusive home and travel deep into hybrid territory to meet the military lynx hybrid who ordered a human bride.
[Read here]
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Chapter Two — The First Night
Shadow watches you sleep for the first time and quietly begins to care for you, while you discover the truth behind his silence.
[Read here]
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Chapter Three — The Village in the Trees
Shadow takes you into the village for the first time. You grab his hand without thinking. He realizes you are his true mate. And for the first time, he speaks your name.
[Read here]
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Shadow — Character Post
Shadow: Blurb & Headcanons
Ears that give him away. A tail that betrays him. A soldier who loves through actions, not words.
[Read here]
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Coming Soon
Chapter Four — TBD
Chapter Five — TBD
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About Shadow
• Black and white lynx hybrid
• Military special operations
• Nearly mute — communicates through sign language
• Scarred, stoic, and deeply protective
• Lives in a tree-top cottage in lynx territory
One who has ghostly traits, gives eerie vibes, or is otherwise spirit - like! Please change this definition to best suit you.
Requested by @eyelessraven!
[Plain text start: Ghost-coded. One who has ghostly traits, gives eerie vibes, or is otherwise spirit-like! Please change this definition to best suit you. Requested by eyelessraven .Plain text end]
OBSESSED with the idea of ghost having this & the guys just assuming it’s some cryptic tattoo like all the rest of them but really they just have no idea how down bad simon is for his wifey back at home.
but also, & just dream with me here, bonus points if said secret wifey works with/around the team in some way but hers is always covered up by gloves.
ghost x original female character. 6.1k words
cw: choking, violence, nsfw, sexual acts 18+ mdni
chapter song [freak on a leash - korn]
“Good morning,” A delicate voice whispered into his skin. Fingertips danced over his chest, hand splaying out flat and slipping over the soft muscles of his abdomen, reaching, reaching for him. She moved slowly, lazily, like she had all the time in the world, all the time they wanted to get him there.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
The whole room seemed to shudder, Soap’s words ringing out through the small briefing room that had somehow become the regular meeting place for the 141. The base in Adal had a whole hallway of meeting rooms, adjacent to the administration building, which had hallway after hallway of offices for all superiors, Price and Ghost included. They were assigned at random, but somehow, the 141 always got this room. They were all much the same: white walls, dark floors, a large enough table surrounded by chairs, and a projector over top of it. A whiteboard spanned the other wall, and a few shelves and art littered the other. But this one, this one had a few touches that marked it as theirs. A dent in the wall across from the door where Soap had thrown an apple at Gaz so hard it had indented into the drywall, obviously missing the operator by miles. A few doodles and scribbles on the whiteboard that nobody seemed to wipe away. A drawing of a dog with floppy ears, the words Kyle is a tory scribbled in a corner, the Scottish flag in one corner, BEST MUTTON CHOPS AROUND in another corner with a doodle of Price beneath it, a very detailed drawing of a dick, veins and all and Celtic>ManU in chicken scratch at the bottom. Books from the library and other forgotten things left behind after meetings and debriefs, little collections had started popping up. A pile of books, a small collection of odd-looking rocks from random places around the world, and other things that had somehow become souvenirs from their missions together. A business card from a local restaurant from that one mission in Armenia where Price accidentally ordered the hottest curry the place had and was in pain for the rest of the night, a Guinness coaster from a local Adal bar when Soap was desperate for a pint of the stuff, hunted down the one place that served it within a 100-mile radius and dragged the whole team along to get it. Half the pint had been head and Soap had almost cried when he saw them pour it. Memories from their missions were everywhere; it was no wonder nobody else wanted to use this room. It was rightfully theirs; they had left their mark on the place. Price pressed his lips together, his eyes meeting every man in the room, his fists pressed to the top of the table in front of him.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. Laswell said they think we need an expert to assist us with locating these insurgents.” Price had called them in for debrief. But Ghost knew what this was. It wasn’t a debrief, it was a bollocking. Even though the last mission had been a tactical success, and the rest of the band of AQs had quickly fallen apart after they neutralised the commander, the one lead they had on the new international threat had slipped away. Again.
Gaz sat up in his chair and pulled up to the right of Price, as he always seemed to be. A frustrated sigh punched out of his chest, “It means the pencil pushers are getting nervous with the lack of intel and want to try to get someone fresh to jumpstart the search.”
Price nodded to Gaz, “Right on the money, son.”
Ghost unclenched his jaw before speaking, “Was it Laswell’s call?”
Price shook his head at the Lieutenant, “Higher than her, she’s as pissed off as the rest of us.”
“Shepherd?”
Price considered the suggestion before nodding, sniffing as he did, “Could be. It reeks of his meddling.”
Gaz's brows pulled together in a frown, "Shadows?"
Price looked to the soldier, "Not yet, but soon if we don't begin getting results." His eyes met Ghost's across the room.
Soap stood from his chair, across the table from the two of them, disgust clear in his voice as he scoffed, “Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.”
“To a lot of people.” Ghost, almost forgotten in the corner of the small room. His arms were folded across his chest as he leaned up against the back wall, careful not to smudge any of the doodles on the whiteboard, and watched the others bicker. It was because of him. Shepherd was sending in a watchdog because of him. Because of his failures.
“It’s not the first time we’ve had to work with other operators, and it won’t be the last.” Price looked at every one of the men in the room, his eyes finishing last on Ghost, and staying there, “I’m sure you’ll all be very welcoming .” Soap laughed, and Gaz smirked at Ghost.
Ghost sighed before nodding to the military personnel file in Price’s hands, “Who we getting?”
Price tapped it to his open palm, “Blake Jones. Callsign ‘Angel’.”
Gaz made a face, “Angel?”
“Sounds heavenly.” Soap sighed, going back to assembling the weapon he’d dressed down.
You could see the heaving sigh Price held back, “Arriving 0800 hours with the next C-17”
Ghost knew of the flight that was coming in. Along with the new operator for the 141, there was a plane load of new officers arriving at base in the same C-17. Fresh from graduation, the greenies would be all jump and no thought. Ghost, as well as many other sergeants and lieutenants, would be overseeing the intake and further training for them; they'd all still be smelling of paint. It would be a very loud, very crowded flight to base. Ghost didn’t envy the poor bugger at all.
Soap wriggled his eyebrows over the table at Gaz, “Fresh meat.”
Gaz smirked, crossing his arms, “It’s been a while since we had a new operator join.”
Ghost looked to Johnny as he dropped the barrel of the sniper he was assembling, swearing as it rolled across the room, “Hopefully better than the last one.”
There was a beat before Soap’s eyes swivelled to Ghost, “I was the last one.”
Price nodded, “Exactly.”
Soap laid his weapon down, mouth open, about to argue when Price cut in again.
“Laswell and I will be on the tarmac to do intake and meet and greet, you’ll all meet Jones at the next mission's debrief, if not on base beforehand. Dismissed.”
Everyone moved, Soap quickly gathering the last few pieces of his weapon, throwing them together while Gaz nabbed one and hid it in his pocket. Both men began heading out of the room.
“Gaz, do you think they meant th–”
A groan from Kyle, “No, Johnny, of course not.”
Soap cutting in, “Well, what if th—”
Ghost followed them; the limb on his right leg was almost gone, and it barely hurt to walk on anymore. The viper, as slippery as she was to catch, was good at her job. He could walk because of her, owed his life because of her. He fucking hated it. Wanted to throttle her; he hated it so much. Even though the pain of the wound was long gone, the white-hot anger that burned in his gut remained. It warmed him on those cold nights on base.
Price’s voice echoed through the room, “Simon, a word.”
Ghost hated when Price used his first name. It either meant bad news or worse, a heart-to-heart. Gaz glanced over his shoulder at Ghost before nodding, closing the door behind him. It clicked shut, and Ghost stared at it for a moment before turning and making his way back to Price. The captain eyed him over the desk, his lips pursed slightly. He sucked in a breath before speaking.
“I want to make things clear that none of this is on you.”
The fact that Price was telling him meant the exact opposite. Ghost tried not to break anything. “Twice now she’s slipped through my grasp” His skin crawled with discomfort. With a certain sharp rage. Maybe if he broke his own hand, that would be alright.
Price stared at Ghost for a long time. His moustache twitched as he thought. No. A broken hand meant medical discharge, and the last thing Ghost wanted was to go home. Price shook his head at Ghost before speaking, “You were injured, buried under rubble and as much as Laswell wishes we had gotten her, we are not machines. That is not on you, that is not on any of us.”
“Sir–” Price cut Ghost off.
“I would rather my men come home safe with a failed mission than not come home at all.”
Ghost pressed his lips together at that, swallowing his words. Price kept his eyes on Ghost for a moment before nodding to Ghost, considering the matter closed. He glanced down at the file in front of him, tapping a finger against the manila folder. Sniffing and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, a nervous habit of his that all of them knew, but never mentioned.
“Laswell seems keen on this new operator, worked with ‘em before.” He sniffed again, “I’m not so sure.”
Ghost took a step forward, “Something off about them?”
Price’s eyes locked on Ghosts, “This one, I’ve heard of. Testy doesn’t like authority; it’ll be tough to wrangle em.” Another beat, and he spoke again, “It all happened very quickly, Simon. And things that happen quickly in the army are often bad news.”
“You think there’s foul play?”
He considered his words before speaking, “Foul play, strings being pulled. With Shepherd involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. Keep an eye on this new one for me, will you, Simon?”
Ghost nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“Good lad, dismissed.”
“What are we all standing around for?”
Soap glanced over his shoulder at Ghost, his coffee still steaming out of his mug as he took a sip of it. Early morning, and it was already in the low 30s, Ghost hated every moment he was outside. He could already see the heatwaves rippling over the tarmac as soldiers and vehicles made their way across the hot surface. Summer in Adal was brutal, hot and dry; soldiers found any excuse to be inside. On days like these, Ghost hated the mask; he could already feel the sun beating down on the black material of his head and back. A bead of sweat made its way down the dip of his spine. Gaz glanced over his shoulder as well, smirking at Ghost before turning back around.
“It’s 0800 hours.”
Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, “Thanks for the time check, Garrick.”
He nodded to the plane just docking, “New blood arrives on that plane.”
“That bored, are we?”
Johnny sucked his teeth before speaking, “Away an bile yer heed.”
“English, Johnny.”
He smiled into his mug, “Apologies, sir. I don’t speak wanker this early in the morning.”
The ramp came down, and even though Ghost had better things to do, namely breakfast, he couldn’t get his feet to move from their place behind Soap and Gaz. They all watched as a stream of fresh blood made it out of the plane. Privates, some sergeants, the men and women slowly made their way off the plane, their packs heavy on their backs. Price and Laswell were standing off to the side of the personnel that streamed off the plane, their heads pulled together slightly as if deep in conversation. Price glanced over his shoulder at where they all stood before turning back around. He said something to Laswell, who glanced over at the three operators across base, rolled her eyes, and faced forward again. Ghost watched as the last of the men left the plane, and only then did a lone soldier dressed in black come down the ramp. Ghost didn’t know if it was because there was nobody else to compare them to, but the soldier making their way down the ramp looked… short to him. Short enough for it to be noticeable. Short enough for Ghost to wonder if he met the minimum requirement. Laswell moved first, arm outstretched. It looked like she laughed at something the soldier said before she wrapped her arms around him. His arm seemed to come around her back, and Ghost couldn’t help but blink.
Laswell had lots of friends, but not many she would hug.
He narrowed his eyes at the soldier as they stepped back from one another and then turned to Price.
“God, he’s shorter than Laswell.”
Johnny glanced at Gaz, “Not much taller than you then.”
Kyle tsked, “Bugger off.”
The two continued to bicker, arguing over who was taller, while Ghost stared at the recruit. So Ghost wasn’t the only one to notice it. Not just short, though, everything about him. His hands, his feet, his head. Small. He had to turn his face up to greet Price.
Soap leaned in slightly, squinting over the rim of his mug, “I should have brought my scope.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, “Because that wouldn’t be weird.”
“Maybe I like C-17s.” Soap shrugged.
“That’s even weirder.” Ghost said from behind them. They all watched Price, Laswell and Jones share a few more words. Price’s smile could be seen even from across the base. Ghost watched as Price went to clap the soldier on the shoulder, but then swiftly changed his movement to a gentle pat on the arm. The soldier glanced down at the affectionate pat, not returning it before Price gestured to the base behind them, bowing his head slightly. Price shuffled on his feet, scratched the back of his neck, cheeks red, which he only did when— Ghost’s eyes snapped back to the soldier, to the way his head seemed to tilt to the side, observing Price as keenly as Ghost was observing them. The motion smooth, gentle. Delicate. Small.
“That’s a woman.” Ghost’s voice made both men stop arguing. Johnny tugged on Gaz to go back to back, and they both looked over at Ghost.
“What?”
Ghost nodded to the three figures walking towards the administration buildings. Price surged ahead, while Laswell and the soldier hung back slightly, their stride shorter than Price’s.
“That’s a woman.”
Johnny grinned, turning back to the new soldier, his coffee forgotten.
“My day just gets better and better.”
The three men watched as Price held the door open for Laswell and the other soldier. Ghost didn’t miss the glance Price threw their way, his brow furrowed.
Gaz raised his eyebrows, turning slightly to face Ghost, “No wonder Laswell is keen on her, even the playing field a bit. Girl power and all.”
Soap turned to Ghost as well, his smile a little too eager, “Do you really think he’s a woman? His name was Blake.”
Gaz shrugged, “Blake can be a girl's name.”
Soap’s smile widened. Ghost resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He watched as Soap smirked to himself and downed his coffee in one go, glancing at the two men and handing Ghost his empty mug before saluting them and taking off towards the administration building.
“Lord help whoever she is,” Gaz sighed before heading towards DFAC.
Ghost watched Soap go, skipping as he headed over. A female operative was bad news, not for them, but for her. Johnny was about to become insufferable. He glanced down at the mug in his hand and read the inscription plastered over it.
"I’m not yelling, I’m just Scottish."
Ghost heaved a sigh.
More insufferable.
Warmth enveloped him completely. He could feel the morning sun heating the bare skin of his shoulder, softened by the sheer curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze through a cracked window. Birds chirped, car wheels zipping over wet pavement, the smell of rain still in the air from the night before. Rain and fresh sheets and something sweet, wrapped around him completely. Sunk into his very bones. This was contentment, this was peace. In here, he was warm, he was dry, he was safe. Ghost rolled over in his bed, sheets shuffling and crinkling around him as he turned his face from the sun.
He was in that place between sleep and awake where nothing was real and nothing made sense. Where a dream was a dream, and reality didn’t exist just yet. Where that gaping hole in his chest was full, where he no longer avoided his own eyes in mirrors, where he smiled and laughed, and loved. Arms snaked around his body, soft fingertips slipped over his skin, resting on his chest, over his heart. It beat steady, calm under their fingertips. Those same fingertips started to make idle circles over the skin and scars there. Eyes still closed, a smile curled at his lips, and he wrapped his hand around the small wrist that he found connected to the hand over his heart
"That tickles." He murmured into the bed sheets, pulling them closer to his body. Velvet skin pressed flush to his back, he breathed in, and a gentle voice hummed a soft apology, their voice sleepy, pretty. Legs tangled with his, arms squeezing him tight, nipples pressed to his shoulder blades, a kiss to the base of his neck.
“Good morning,” A delicate voice whispered into his skin. He hummed, pulling her closer again, her body soft and supple and all his. He grumbled something back, and she laughed, the sound skating up his spine, another kiss to his shoulder, her lips warm and wet and smiling into his skin. His body felt heavy next to her, every muscle relaxed, he was melting under her touch, her wandering hands. Fingertips danced over his chest, between the valley of his pecs, hand splaying out flat and slipping over the soft muscles of his abdomen, reaching, reaching for him. A hand wrapped around his cock, and he couldn’t suppress the low moan that escaped his lips as she started slowly, gently, languishing, stroking his cock. Never stopping the wet, open-mouthed kisses she peppered over his skin, his shoulder, where he hurt the most. As if she knew the pain that was buried deep there, like she was healing it one press of her lips at a time. He leaned his head back, eyes closed, his mouth falling open. He was thinking of nothing but her and the firm grip she had around his hard cock. Chest heaving, each gasp more desperate than the next, each of her ministrations had heat pooled deep in his belly, writhing and squirming deliciously. His cock was heavy in her hand as she leisurely tugged him closer and closer to release, like she had all the time in the world to get him there, all the time in the world to focus just on him. He was completely, utterly, happily at her mercy. She squeezed her hand around him, toeing that fine line between pain and pleasure, and sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his shoulder, moaning into his skin. The pained groan he let out, his body bowing into her, was near biblical. She detached her teeth from his skin with a small laugh, a teasing, taunting thing, and laid a gentle kiss over the hurt. Her thumb brushed over the tip of his cock, wet and weeping for her already, and his whole body shuddered at the movement. Trembling and wanting more, he rolled them over, pinning her underneath him and brown eyes met green.
He froze, her mask still pulled tight above her nose, green eyes half-lidded and crinkled in a smile.
“Miss me?” She purred.
Ghost surged forward, jerking himself out of the dream, the nightmare, the dream.
Chest heaving, he scanned his barracks room, knife held high in the air. He didn’t even remember reaching for it. He tried to catch his breath, tried to reorient his body between then and now. Between panic and pleasure. His room was dark and empty. She wasn’t here. He was still at base. She wasn’t here. It was just a nightmare. He squeezes his eyes shut.
She’s not here; it was just a dream.
Eyes snapping open, he glanced at the small alarm clock on his bedside table. The sun wasn’t even near rising yet.
“Fuck sake-“ His body trembled, sheets sticky with sweat.
She's not here; it was just a dream.
She haunted his every waking moment, and now, his dreams as well.
He threw his sheets off his body and trudged into the bathroom. Eyes cast down, he cranked on the shower and twisted the knob til it was as cold as it would go. Stepping under the spray, every muscle tensed, and he hissed through his teeth at the ice-cold water. He stood under the brutal spray, almost as if it were a punishment, a penitence of some kind, not just an excuse to wash away the vivid feeling of her body pressed to his, wash away the physical reaction his body had to her. It didn’t help, not one bit.
She's not here. It was just a dream.
He sighed, pressed his forehead to the tile, and wrapped his hand around his still-aching cock.
She wasn't there.
He was fucked.
A day and a half had gone by before the 141 were called in for their next mission brief. Ghost had spent most of it hiding away in his room or his office. Not to avoid the new operator, who had mysteriously eluded the rest of the 141 for the whole time as well. But for some reason, he felt like they would know. One look from Soap or Gaz or Price and they would know what he had done. What he had done to the thought of her. Cheek pressed to the tile, gasping, back bowing as he had come to the image of his hand tight around her throat, to wet, teary green eyes and those little, desperate gasps she had made when he nearly had her. He was sure of it. That they would take one look at him, and the unrelenting blush that stained his skin, and know he was guilty. Even the recruit would know.
Laswell and Price had remained tight-lipped on the new operator, only offering a “she’s a solid soldier” when Gaz asked about her. Nor was Ghost avoiding Soap, who was still sulking after Price had seen right through his “welcome party” routine and had Johnny returning to DFAC for breakfast with his tail between his legs and three hours of weapon stripping to do. It was mostly to avoid all the fresh meat on base, though.
Over 100 new soldiers had come off the same C-17, and with new blood came the endless staring, endless questions. After the fifth person asked him why he wore the mask on base, Ghost retreated into his office to finish off paperwork. Hiding his crushing guilt was just a bonus. The rumours and whispers about Ghost would eventually make their rounds. Sergeant telling sergeant, greenie telling greenie, until it was okay for him to walk around without eyes glued to him everywhere he went. It made his skin itch. It was enough staring for him while making his way from his office to DFAC to his room for it to be insufferable; he didn’t need any more. But he couldn’t help but do a double-take at every female soldier he came across. They still stared, their eyes wide, or they would avert their gaze entirely. Surely she had been briefed on the 141 beforehand; surely she would know who to look out for. But nobody held his gaze, no flash of recognition in their eyes when he passed them by. Just more wide eyes, more whispers, more questions. There was only one, the only one he had seen standing outside the base with a band of soldiers who hadn’t baulked as Ghost walked by. The rest of the group of soldiers, men and women playing rugby under the hot Adal sun, had stopped their game to stare, to whisper. This one, though, leaned up against the metal sheeting of the gym with a few other soldiers, her arms crossed over her chest, and had simply smiled at him. Her gaze was hidden behind ridiculous-looking, thin sunglasses and what looked like a lollipop sticking out of the side of her mouth. But that smile after she pulled the red sweet from her full lips. It had made Ghost’s steps falter. It had been a knowing smile like they shared a secret. The thought had distracted him so much that he bumped into another soldier when heading to his room. He grunted as they ran into him, and they had squeaked, actually squeaked. He mumbled an apology and sidestepped the small soldier, her eyes again wide and a little frightened. Only when he was safely back in his room and had tried to read the same page of his book three times did he realise how much it bothered him. What bothered him more, he didn’t know. Was it that everyone who looked upon him for the first time looked at him with fear, or that he had finally met someone who hadn’t?
That night, when he was 50 pages away from finishing his fifth book in a week, he heard voices outside his room. His room was at the end of a hallway, just how he liked it. The room opposite him had been empty for the three months he had been here, which was also just how he liked it. So there shouldn’t be anyone down here unless they were here to see him. Ghost got up from his bed and tried not to make a sound as he made his way over to his door.
-normal for every operator on a task force to get their own room? A female voice. It was soft and smooth. She had an accent, but Ghost couldn’t pinpoint where he had heard it before.
Not necessarily. But the work we do grants us special privileges. Price. Ghost could smell the cigar smoke through the door. He must be with the new watchdog.
There was a huff or a laugh, Ghost wasn’t sure. Must be nice.
It is, soldier, don’t think we don’t get it for nothing.
Who’s my neighbour?
Ghost stepped back from his door. Like it would burn him. Like they would rip it open and catch him listening in. Price seemed to laugh, a chuckle under his breath.
Ghost. I think you’ll like him.
I’m sure I will.
There was the distinct sound of keys jingling and a door unlocking, and their voices faded into nothing as her door closed. Ghost stepped back again, his chest heaving for some reason. Not only did they have a watchdog joining the task force, but she would be across from his fucking room. He cracked his neck and tried to return to his book. Price had left a little while later, half explaining how to set the code on the door, and after an hour, Ghost threw his novel down on his bedside table. Every sound, every shuffle of feet, he was hyper-aware of. His usual silence was now interrupted by another living thing across the hallway from him. It was like having a mouse in the roof. He knew she was there, and she was silent enough that he would almost forget about her. Until he would hear a whisper of a voice across the hall, the movement of furniture, water running, and he would be reminded again of the living thing across the hall. He hadn’t gotten a good sleep that night, and it was clear that he hadn’t when he barely made it to briefing the next morning. Johnny and Gaz had both raised their brows at Ghost as he half-jogged down the hallway to catch them.
“Bad sleep, L.T.?” Johnny asked when Ghost finally caught up with them. Ghost glared.
“Anyone seen her?” Gaz bit into an apple and glanced at the two of them. They both shook their heads, Johnny looking a little more upset than Ghost.
“Me neither.”
“She’s probably a burly lass anyways,” Johnny sighed, his voice sounding a little defeated.
Gaz rolled his eyes, “Are you saying there’s something wrong with that?”
Soap glanced over at both of them, “Course not. Just saying, I can count on one hand the number of drop-dead gorgeous women I’ve come across, it would just be our luck we wouldn’t get one of em’.”
“Doesn’t matter what she looks like, as long as she’s good at what she does,” Ghost glanced at both of them, “And Laswell says she’s the best.”
“You’ll be the judge of that, L.T., huh?” Soap nudged Ghost with his elbow, wiggling his brows.
Ghost glanced again at both men, “She’s across the hall from me.”
“She’s your neighbour!” Soap hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes nearly popping out of his head, mouth open to ask more questions. Ghost shrugged. She had been gone before he had dragged himself out of bed this morning, her room quiet and dark when he left. They all came to a stop outside the room. Each one of them stared at the closed door. There were voices that they could hear behind the door, so the new member of 141 could very well already be in there. Price’s booming laugh echoed through the hallway. Gaz glanced at Soap and Ghost before rolling his eyes and pushing the door open.
The three men practically forced their way through, all three at once. Gaz and Johnny made their way into the briefing room, but Ghost lingered by the door as it swung shut behind him. Price was indeed already here, as well as Laswell, who was fiddling with a computer in the corner. The elusive Blake Jones was also already here, and Ghost couldn’t help but drink in every detail of her before she noticed. Cataloguing, assessing, organising, filing away pieces of her for later.
Her back was to him, to everyone in the room, as she stared up at the map on the wall with Price by her side. She was short. Close to not meeting the military minimum, as he had initially thought. She had dark brown hair that trailed down her back in two thick plaits. She wore a standard-issue t-shirt, the black material snug to her body and tucked into her pants. The army green cargo pants were cinched tight around her waist, which just accentuated how small she really was. Ghost would bet he could wrap his hands right around her waist, and his fingers would meet in the middle. She was far from petite, though, short, but stocky. Thick calves and thighs, corded with muscle. Her hips were wide, one side popping out slightly as she shifted from one foot to the other, her waist was the only small thing about her, the muscles of her back fanned out and up over her broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, too. She was tattooed, her arms littered with them, even had one snaking up from the base of her neck, disappearing into her hairline. This was not a gentle little thing in front of them.
Soap leaned over to Gaz, whispering, “So she’s definitely a woman.” He said it matter-of-factly, like they both still doubted that Laswell and Price weren’t pulling their legs.
“I’ll try not to sound too insulted at your surprised tone, Sergeant MacTavish, or do you prefer Soap?” Still, with her back to Soap, she missed the smirk that curled at his mouth.
“You can call me whatever you like, Angel, is it?”
She threw her middle finger over her shoulder, the Scot chuckling. This was something else entirely. She said something to Price, and he laughed again. Her accent was familiar, but Ghost didn’t know where from. It was driving him mad not being able to figure it out.
Price glanced over his shoulder at the new arrivals to the room and turned around. He cleared his throat, gesturing to the woman beside him.
“Boys, I’d like for you to meet Blake Jones of the New Zealand SAS.”
She turned in her place, black laced-up boots squeaking against the linoleum under her feet, and her green eyes zeroed in on Ghost. The whole room seemed to pause. A roaring started in his ears.
Gaz leaned over to a frozen Soap and whispered, “Definitely not burly.”
She glanced at Price, “We prefer Aotearoa SAS, but the higher-ups refuse to change it.”
Turning back to Ghost, she smiled, full lips curling into that same knowing smile.
“We have to stop meeting like this, L.T.”
Price gave her a confused look. Voices faded out, the roaring got louder as Ghost stared across the room at the little devil.
"Miss me?" She purred, and he tried not to shudder at the same words she had whispered in his dream. His nightmare. It was her. Her. The one they were looking for. She was here. This was not a dream. He blinked a few times to make sure.
There was a beat of silence before the room erupted into chaos.
“You fucking bitch. ”
Soap threw the chair in front of him against the wall to get to her. It shattered against the drywall, leaving a new dent. Price’s voice boomed through the room. Gaz dived for Soap, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s middle, and yanking him back. It was her. The viper that had gotten away. Ghost’s fingertips tingled; his whole body was set alight all at once.
There was nothing, like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Then there was everything; it all came rushing back in.
Ghost made for her, shoving chairs out of the way, his heart pounding, his lip pulling back over his teeth as she smiled some more.
“Do you know who that is?!” Soap yelling again. Gaz held him back as he fought. Laswell was to her feet in a flash, her eyes wide as she took in the room, the chaos that filled it. She was here. She was in this room. She wouldn’t get away again. Ghost pushed past Price, his shouts barely heard over the ringing in Ghost's ears. He was going to kill her. He was going to wrap his hands around her pretty pale neck and squeeze until the blood vessels in her eyes burst. Until she was cold under his grip. Hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back from her, but he slipped through. Price was yelling at Soap, at Ghost, Laswell, too. But he couldn’t even hear them through the buzzing in his ears. Couldn’t even see past the snake hiding in the tall grass, taunting him. Twirling one of her braids around her finger. She didn’t even move, didn’t even fight back, and that enraged him even more. Ghost wrapped his hand around her throat, shoving her back into the solid wall behind her. Her head cracked against the wall, straight teeth flashing as she grinned at him. He didn’t even need to think before he started squeezing.
“How’s the leg, Ghost ?” She gasped at him, from one pained breath to the next, he squeezed tighter, the only clue that she was struggling was the slight twitch in her thick eyebrows, pulling together slightly, and her hands, which wrapped around his wrists, trying to tug them away from her. Her skin was soft, so fucking soft against his, and he hated it, he fucking hated it.
He could hear Johnny’s voice, hear Laswell’s questions, hear Price’s shouting in his ear. Ghost gritted his teeth, shaking her slightly in his grip. She fought for every breath she could. Sucking in little gasps of air when he moved her. Price shoved at Ghost’s shoulder, yanking at his arm. His face was red, eyes wild. He shoved at Ghost again, making him stumble slightly, his grip loosening slightly. She sucked in another breath. “I said disengage, are you mad?”
Ghost’s wild eyes met hers; he sneered at her, shoving her once more into the wall, before letting go and stepping back. He watched her with a sick sort of satisfaction when she gasped for air, sucking in a deep breath and leaning back against the wall. Price yanked Ghost back slightly, and the warmth from her body disappeared as fresh air rushed in. Her body folded on itself as she bent at the hips, her hands on the tops of her knees as she sucked down more deep breaths. Laswell eyes the operator before making her way around the table to Jones’ side. The new operator stood up at the intrusion. Laswell reached for Jones's chin, hands gentle, her eyes on her throat, but Jones waved her off. Scrunched her eyebrows together, like she was annoyed by the action, by the attention.
Price stared at Ghost, his eyes wide in shock. He pushed him further away from her, til his thighs hit the table in the middle of the room.
“You–” Price pointed at Ghost, his eyes wild, “-and you—” then pointing to Jones, still sucking in deep breaths, their eyes meeting, “-my office. Now.”
the human brain is fascinating.💖 i’m currently giving birth to a beautiful kidney stone and at the exact same time wondering whether simon ghost riley would carry me bridal style since i can’t fucking walk. nature is beautiful.☺️🌸
