#simon ghost riley fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucid-loves · 3 months

Note

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely.

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target.

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost.

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand.

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance.

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier.

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you.

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over.

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet.

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate.

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel.

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil.

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you.

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it.

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain.

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there.

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought.

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive.

This was your clear victory. And he hated it.

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something.

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team.

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world.

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books.

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily.

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch.

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech.

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts.

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good.

You hated everything about him too.

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes.

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment.

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process.

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be.

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to.

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time.

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?”

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you.

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied.

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm.

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great.

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details.

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower.

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought.

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today.

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours.

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden.

Only Ghost knew the answer to that.

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead.

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold.

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring.

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department.

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet.

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time.

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder.

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart.

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper.

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake.

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too.

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out.

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you.

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.”

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late.

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much.

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all.

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears.

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it.

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts.

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words.

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think.

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you.

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you.

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons.

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not.

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it.

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you.

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission.

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power.

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent.

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life.

He suddenly wondered if you would like it.

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous.

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons.

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . .

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought.

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were.

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it.

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his.

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . .

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with.

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars.

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer.

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details.

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that.

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time.

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air.

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up.

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife.

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on.

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm.

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this.

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet.

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced.

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained.

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past.

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one.

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet.

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice.

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other?

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust.

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered.

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips.

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces.

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it.

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite.

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody.

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue.

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so.

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen.

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!”

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not.

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it.

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off.

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you.

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little.

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance.

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on.

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric.

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer.

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place.

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight.

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was.

It honestly turned you on.

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more.

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance.

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him.

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak.

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team.

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down.

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name.

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips.

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more.

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?”

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed.

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers.

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight.

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy.

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it.

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever.

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning.

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze.

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life.

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous.

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy.

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum.

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again.

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind.

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted.

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves.

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet.

He could never imagine letting you go now.

#ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut

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writersdrug · 23 days

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Tea and Cigarettes

Chapter 1. Tea Party

Masterlist

Summary: Out for a late-night walk to clear his head, Simon stumbles across an open bakery. All he wants is a tea. Instead, he gets a tea party.

Warnings: mild cursing, reader doesn't do the smartest thing in this situation

It was a common thought in Simon’s head, if not the most common. He shouldn’t have survived that mission.

It’s what was engrained into his head from the very first mission he’d been a part of. It’s what he repeated to himself at the end of every mission thereafter. Lady Luck was too forgiving and magnanimous to him – he should have been killed long ago, well before he reached his thirties and climbed up the ranks to lieutenant. It’s one thing when you have something to fight for, to come home to – it’s another when you have nothing but an undecorated flat.

And, for tonight, a cup of tea.

It was another night between missions; another restless moment in time where Simon found himself walking the streets of the city, rather than trying to get some shut eye. It wouldn’t have worked anyways – it never did. His neurons were too busy firing off at every mistake, every memory, every single thing that haunts him, for him to get a restful sleep.

So that’s what brought him here: standing inside a bakery late at night, staring at the toddler behind the cashier’s counter. His overactive thoughts had certainly taken a backseat to the one, prominent question in his mind; who the hell is this kid, and where is her mother?!

“Hello.” She said, standing on her toes, already balancing herself on a small step-stool. Her head barely poked over the counter for her to look at Simon.

“… ‘ello…” he said cautiously, eyeing the girl like she was a ticking time bomb. “Where are your parents?”

“Mummy’s in the back with Sean.” She said, turning her head and pointing to the doorway to the left. Simon leaned his head over the counter to follow her line of sight – he heard the sound of some sort of machinery echoing from the kitchen-like backroom, but he didn’t see anyone.

“She’s making biscuits!” The girl said, looking back at Simon.

He was utterly baffled. Who would leave a kid at the front of a shop? After hours, with the bloody door unlocked?! “Where’s your dad?”

“He lives with Nancy!”

“Nancy?”

“Yes – she used to stay at home with us, when Mommy had to work – then she took daddy home with him!”

Oh… that’s unfortunate.

He sighed. “Sorry ‘bout-“

“Would you like tea?”

Simon stared blankly back at the girl. This is ridiculous. “D’you have black tea?”

The girl nodded. She hopped off the step stool – Simon followed her little ponytail as it barely bobbed above the surface of the countertops. She rounded the corner and headed to a small, pink play kitchen. She grabbed two cups, one pink and one a royal purple, before carrying them over to a sink back behind the counter. She placed them on the countertop, then trotted back to the cashier area to grab her stool.

“I’m sorry.” she said with a giggle.

“’S fine, take your time…” Simon mumbled, stupefied by the whole situation. He watched the girl as she dragged her stool to the sink and clamored up onto it, filling the two cups with water. This was a very… unnatural situation. He wouldn’t be entertaining it, if it wasn’t for the fact that this girl was clearly alone. He would have gone back to the kitchen to see where her mum was, but he didn’t want anyone to think he was robbing the place and pull a gun on him. If anything, the least he could do was watch over this little girl until someone came around to claim responsibility for her.

So, there he was. Five minutes later, sitting at one of the tables in the bakery with this toddler. “Eating” a fake croissant and drinking “tea” from the little plastic cup (he got pink; purple was her favorite color).

“Do you want butter?” she asked, holding him a plastic plate and knife, with a plastic slab of butter on it.

“Yea, why not.” He replied. He picked up the tiny knife and pretended to slather butter over the one half of his croissant (it intrigued him that the manufacturer of the toy had thought to make the damn thing dividable into two pieces). “Ya got a name, kid?”

“Mummy says I can’t tell strangers my name.” she replied, looking at him with the same stern expression her mother had most likely given when telling her the same thing.

Simon nodded. “Your mum’s smart.” He said, taking a sip of his tea.

“You can call me Pony Princess!” she offered instead, biting into her croissant rather realistically.

Simon held back a laugh. “Pony Princess it is, then.” He said, clinking his cup against hers when she held it up for a toast.

You sighed, shoving the third and final tray of biscuits into the commercial oven. It was hot and humid in the kitchen, and you were thankful that the most toiling part of the batch was over. Glancing at your watch made you grimace at how late it was – Christopher was for sure going to complain about how late you had him stay, especially past closing. You knew he was most likely out for a smoke, but you didn’t have the energy to reprimand him tonight. As long as the doors were locked behind him and the front lights were off, you didn’t care. No one would be trying to enter a bakery this late at night.

You looked to your left, fanning the heat from your flushed face. Sean was fast asleep in his carrier, his little mouth open and fingers twitching as he dreamed. You gently scooped him into your arms and wiped his nose clean with your apron, before maneuvering your way through the kitchen to the front. It had been a while since Christopher came to nag you about hurrying up, and you wondered how long he’d been out smoking – or if he’d come back at all. Ellie wasn’t in her usual spot, coloring in the office chair in front of the computer… you frowned a bit, speed walking into the café as an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

“Christpher, are you in here?” you called, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Ellie? Where are-“

You audibly gasped when you walked into the seating area. A man, a brutish man, was seated at one of your tables, after closing. He was dressed in all black, with a black surgical mask dangling from one ear, and his hood up. He stared back at you with a shocked expression on his face, holding an absurdly tiny, pink plastic cup in his hand, and a toy croissant on the table in front of him. Right across from him was your daughter, Ellie, with an aloof grin on her face.

“Hi Mummy!” she exclaimed. “We’re having a tea party!”

A million questions were running through your head. Where the fuck is Christopher? Who is this man? Is he robbing you? Is he trying to steal your child?!

“Ellie…” you said, a slight waiver in your voice. “Sweetheart, come here please.”

“But I’m having tea with him!”

You sent another fearful glance to the behemoth of a man at the table. He looked back at you, seemingly just as taken aback by the situation as you were. He looked back down at the table and cleared his throat, taking a tiny sip from the hot pink plastic cup.

Your daughter was having tea and crumpets with a fucking burglar.

“Ellie. Now, please.” You repeated sternly, holding your free arm out to her.

She reluctantly slid down from her chair and padded over to you. As soon as she was within arm’s length, you grabbed her tiny hand and dragged her into the back kitchen.

“Ellie, what are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled, kneeling down to her level and looking into her eyes. You tried to stress the importance of the situation. “Who is that man?!”

“He’s a customer, Mummy!” she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

“What did he want from you?!”

“He wanted tea.”

“What else? Did he ask for your name?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She said, resolve thick in her tone. “Just like you told me not to.”

You sighed frustratedly, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Where is Christopher?”

“He went outside.”

Un-fuckin-believable.

You pulled her close to you and planted a kiss to her forehead, then looked her in the eyes once more. “Listen to me, sweetie. Go to the desk and color for now, ok? I’m gonna talk to the man. I’ll be right back. And if you hear Mommy yelling or crying-“

“- use the phone and call 9-9-9.” She said.

“Good girl – now go on.” You ushered her further into the kitchen, then stood upright. With Sean still sound asleep, cradled tightly into your side, you grabbed the phone from the wall mount and slowly tiptoed back into the café.

Simon was still at the table, except now both of his palms were flat against the wooden surface. He watched as you emerged back into the lobby; maybe it was an inappropriate time to admire someone, but he couldn’t help himself.

You. Fierce you, you mustering the angriest face you could make (it was quite cute, by the way – you really need to work on it if you’re trying to intimidate anyone). You with your hair hastily pulled back into a messy updo, you with that baby boy on your hip, you with batter on your face that Simon was just dying to lick up. You stayed behind the counter

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“Simon.” He answered. He could tell you were a bit disappointed in that response, given you didn’t know who the hell Simon was. “Not a burglar.” He added after a few seconds.

You pouted even more. “Why are you in here? How did you get in here? We’re closed.”

Simon looked towards the blinking “open” sign by the front door. “Well… mam, the sign says otherwise. And the doors were unlocked.”

You looked at the sign and cursed internally, taking another peek into the back kitchen. Ellie was still back there. Good. Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Fuck.

“I’m sorry about the confusion…” you said, looking back at Simon and adjusting Sean on your hip, “but we’re closed. My clerk should’ve turned that sign off hours ago, and locked the door behind him. In fact, when he gets in here, I’m about to give him a piece of my-“

“Mam, please-“ Simon said, starting to stand up. Your eyes widened a bit and you took a step back; he held his hands up as a peace offering, before stretching up to his full height. You gulped – you’d never seen anyone so large before. How did he fit through the damn door?

“I didn’t mean t’ cause any fuss.” He spoke quietly, slowly approaching the counter you stood behind. “I really am sorry – I thought th’ place was open, n’ I was out lookin’ for a tea. ‘Lil squirt back there was very hospitable. I jus’ stuck around to see where ‘er mum was.”

He pulled his hood down to seem more approachable, and lord, was he. You couldn’t fight the way you were immediately attracted to the cropped, blonde hair, the strong jaw, the few scars that marked up his face… fuck, the way he could’ve been a building next to you, with how much he shaded you from the light…

Didn’t you think this man was a burglar not five minutes ago? You thought. You quickly forgave yourself, once you remembered how long it had been since you were with a man.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, I just- you know, with two kids, you freak out about everything-“

“Perfectly understandable.” He interjected. “But I’ve caused enough trouble for one night. ‘ll be out of your hair-“

“Could I at least get you a tea?” you asked. “Since you’re here.”

“You really don’t need-“

“No, I insist- just, give me a moment-“ frazzled, you disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind you.

Simon exhaled heavily, clearing his throat. He tried to recuperate himself – he couldn’t be falling for the woman he nearly frightened to death, let alone a woman he’d never met before. You were probably scared shitless of him. The way your wide, glossy eyes had stared at him, those pouting lips… and Christ, the way that baby boy fit perfectly on your hips. He imagined his hands tracing over them –

He huffed, glancing around the café to distract himself. Should’ve listened to Price and gotten a hobby-

You came back out, baby-free, and snagged a paper cup off of a stack near the drip machine. “Just had to put him back with Ellie. Don’t like them being near the- the urns, and such-“ you fumbled, looking for a cup sleeve, before sliding it on and reaching for the tea cabinet. “Black or green?”

“Black’s fine – please and thank you.” Simon grunted out. He shoved his fidgety hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, watching as you grabbed a tea back and dropped it into his cup.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“None, thanks.”

“Do you always roam around this late at night?” you asked, pouring the water into the travel cup. Steam billowed up and in front of your face, and you scrunched your nose from the heat. “None of the shops are open this late – tea shops, I mean. Or, they shouldn’t be, but most of them have a clerk who knows how to turn off the “open” sign and lock the damn doors.”

Simon huffed. “Figured something was off. I jus’ couldn’t sleep.” He said, accepting the cup as you handed it to him. “Never can get much after comin’ home. Takes a while t’ get used to civilian life.”

“Military?” You asked, placing a hand on your hip as Simon nodded. “I get that. Nick used to have the same problem.”

“Nick?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, an embarrassed flush on your face. “Nothing. Ex-husband. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Simon mumbled, taking a sip of the tea. Don’t be sorry at all…

The two of you stood there a moment, a bit of awkward silence hanging in between you like a thick wall of glass. You cleared your throat – Simon saw the time on the clock hanging on the wall behind you, and decided he had taken up enough of your time.

“Well” – he said, fishing in to his pocket.

You smiled. “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to. I’m paying you back for assuming you were a burglar – and for watching my daughter. Which, honestly, I really do appreciate.”

“Nonsense.” He said, pulling out a waded up bill. “’S what any good man should do. And I insist – if anything, give it t’ the little squirt for the excellent customer service.”

You chuckled, smiling as he handed the bill to you. “I can’t thank you eno-“ you stopped, glancing at the two £50’s he’d just given you. Words failed to come to you, your tongue tripping over itself as you tried to get past the initial shock.

“Th- I- wait, Simon!” you called, swinging around the edge of the counter – but he was already at the door. “I can’t accept this!”

He held up a hand. “’M not takin’ it back. And it’s not for you – give it to Ellie.”

You huffed. “What’s a five-year-old going to do with one hundred pounds?!”

He shrugged. “Start a college fund. Or get herself a handful of biscuits from the store.”

A chuckle escaped your lips – the sound warmed Simon’s soul. “Yeah, sure. When she’s got plenty of biscuits here. I don’t-“

You stopped, just as the bell above the door chimed. Simon followed your narrowed, angry gaze to the bloke who had just entered. He was tying an apron around his middle, reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor. He jumped when his eyes landed on Simon – he could see the gears turning in the man’s head as his face suddenly fell, right before he turned to you. Simon read the name on the tag pinned to the man’s apron.

Christopher.

A deep, throaty laugh escaped his throat as he clapped the man on the shoulder. “You’re in trouble, mate. ‘N lock the door behind ya.” He then exited the café, sipping his tea and shoving a hand into his pocket, chuckling as your angry voice echoed through the doors.

Thankfully, the nagging voices in his head didn’t return that night.

#SImon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #cod #call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley cod #cod x reader #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfic

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vilsoo · 1 year

Text

𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑮𝑨𝑺𝑴.𝑪𝑶𝑴 ⌇GHOST, KÖNIG

ghost x fem!reader x könig || WC: 3,852

𖤐 SYNOPSIS. the dark web was a place every sane person stayed away from. too many horror stories and dark content that barely a few dared to venture in. but you’d rather not be anywhere else than in the hands of two masked strangers…

𖤐 WARNINGS. dubcon, kidnapping, drugging, sadism, voyeurism, bondage (blindfolding, ropes, torture), sex toys, livestream sex, manhandling, exhibitionism, forced creampie, mind break, double penetration, mask kink, impact play.

HORRORLAND/KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

[HAUNTED HOUSE ANNOUNCER] You are now entering the Deathgasm live venue. This haunted house attraction depicts scenes of violence, intense loud audio, special effects, and content warnings posted. For a fun and safe experience, please follow our code of conduct: no touching live performers and decorations, no flash photography, and no eating. Do not block passageways, or this will result in expulsion. Smoking and drinking are permitted for our haunted houses only. We hope you enjoy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The last time you ever saw broad daylight was ripped apart before your eyes.

It was just a relaxing morning stroll. You were always, always aware of your surroundings, especially during the night. But you shouldn’t have underestimated what happens in the day. Things became unsettling when you noticed a white van lurking in your peripheral vision, feeling your skin crawl and your body tense up with paranoia when the doors opened.

At first, you thought you were overthinking about it. Stop being so fucking paranoid, you scolded to yourself. Maybe they’re just contractors or something. Nothing sketchy at all.

You just kept walking that day continuing to embrace the warmth of the sun, sometimes looking over your shoulders just to be sure. But that unsettling, turmoil gut-feeling just couldn’t go away. As if you really were being followed. As if that van parked all the way out here for you.

“Quickly.”

It wasn’t until in just half a heartbeat, a brawny, masked man clung his arm around you, rendering you motionless as he presses a cloth over your nose and your mouth. With all your strength you tried to fight back and escape his grasp but your struggle was to no avail. Your screams were muffled and your vision grew hazy, causing your eyes to flutter as your numb body was pulled backwards, backwards, and backwards... And that was when your world was swallowed away by darkness.

“Shh, shh… We got you now. We’ll be taking care of you now...”

“…Told you she’d be easy, Ghost. We’ll have her all to ourselves…”

On that sinister day, you were the one with the shiny price tag. A beautiful woman walking all alone near a remote area, suddenly kidnapped by two masked men in a white van who had special, ominous plans for you. You could hear their conversations reverberating in your head, trying to register what the hell even happened. With your body temporarily limp and weakened, you could still feel the sensation of their caresses all over you.

Usually kidnappers would be so aggressive handling their female victims. At least, in the movies you’ve seen. The men would rush and scamper out of impatience and impulse as they tie their victims up, desperate to get down to business like it was their last meal on Earth. And even though your brain was foggy, you could register that you were being downed by a drug and abducted. Yet, it all felt… oddly tantalizing.

There was no rush. No sign of impulse nor rough treatment from these mysterious masked men. Instead of this predator-prey dynamic, instead of fear and terror seizing every fiber of your being, the men handled your motionless body like having a cupped hand of water, that not a drop would enter gravity's pull. In the back of a van, you laid on a blanket as gloved hands roamed about your skin, your waist, your face, your thighs… The men cut off your clothes with scissors, ever so gently trying not to hurt you. With your hazy eyes drifting side to side, you caught glimpse of one of them holding rope and the other holding your arms above your head.

“Look at her. So fucking cute when she’s all spaced out like that…”

“She’s so obedient for us already. You’re gonna be a perfect little pornstar for us, aren’t ya’?”

…Pornstar?

Before you knew it, your heavy eyes started to sulk. You were slowing down while the world around blurred, completely losing your coherence as the masked men moved you around like a lifeless doll. You couldn’t stop sighing, babbling nonsense, and whimpering when their large hands just couldn’t keep off of you, hanging your wrists on some metal hook attached to the van’s ceiling so they could caress your body. Your numb legs were then spread open, revealing the soaked fabric of your panties that you heard one of them coo in your ears. You whined when one of them slid their hand down to toy with your slit, aching and so swollen, out of your own fear and arousal. It was futile to even try and close your legs from this violation, yet the heat pooling in between was saying otherwise…

“Fuck, she’s already so wet just by being tied up. Makes me wanna take her here right now.”

“…We have to go now, König. Just keep playing with her clit until she falls asleep…”

The anticipation from such a forbidden desire worsened the ache in your cunt. At this fleeting moment you didn’t know what exactly you wanted anymore; how to choose what was good or what was bad for you. Your foggy brain couldn’t even articulate anything except this writhing sensation, this urge to submit yourself and melt onto the man’s chest just to let him use you. Encircling his fingers on your throbbing clit that you were bashfully moaning and whining, knowing that they were getting off to a pathetic, brainless, helpless woman who’s good for nothing but a fuck…

It was too bad that before you could even build up your orgasm, you were already passed out…

“… And we’re live. Wake her up.”

You had no idea how long you’ve been out. At least your coherence was starting to gauge, but your body was still weakened and frail from the drug. You struggled to open your debilitated eyes, vision hazy and blurry as if you hit your head. And when you tried to move, your wrists were still bound above your head.

Your breathing grew rapid, eyes darting every corner as you were scanning the new environment. Tied in a darkened room with red lighting, followed by a camera on a tripod right in front of you. Your mind immediately thought of this setup as a sex dungeon, hence the chains on the walls and a bed neatly made behind you. Recalling what had happened earlier, you tried to look for the men in masks, creating noises by dangling the metal hook above you and whimpering to let them know you’re awake. But as far as you could tell, you couldn’t make out any other presence lingering in the room…

Your heart was a pounding loud drum in your chest. Panic scorches in your brain, but your touch-starved body betrays your inhibitions… You were completely naked, exposing yourself in front of the camera. In your mouth, a red ball gag pooling with drool that dripped down to your stomach and on the floor. Your legs were free from the rope, however, you were on your tippie toes— the rope holding your wrists were too high that it was a struggle to relax them or you’d injure yourself. Dangling on rope, gagging and drooling on a ball, naked in front of a camera that you assumed to be recording already… how much more lewd could this be?

A gloved hand emerging from the shadows makes you flinch as it caresses you from behind. Your skin tingled when you felt the man’s body heat transmit onto your back, hearing him breathe deeply. You were able to study him up close— an alluring, mysterious man wearing a balaclava with a skull design, recalling him being called “Ghost.” Another pair of gloved hands greet you by massaging your breasts, your body immediately succumbing to this white-hot wave of sensation, desperate to be handled like this that more heat pooled between your legs. You turn your head and meet his gaze; piercing, forest green eyes and a draped mask, the other man with the German accent known as “König.”

“You’re not gonna struggle and try to resist us, are you?” Ghost teased, his voice so intoxicating than any alcohol you’ve ever consumed. He had this husky, sultry British accent; something you’ve never expected coming from a stranger like him. It only turned you on more.

You shake your head at him meekly, replying with a faint moan when he suddenly grips your ass. Ghost immediately catches the doe-eyes you gave him, the right kind of heat and lust pooling in your eyes. This was all so, so wrong… to be abducted and chained in the dark, to be turned on by strangers in tactical gear who drugged you and had sinister plans for you… But yet, you couldn’t fight this brain-fazing sensation from the anticipation quivering inside, wondering what was going to happen to you as you were in the hands of these men. And your aching cunt couldn’t stop furtively pounding and throbbing, having to hold back a whimper from how needy and slutty you really were...

“Good girl,” Ghost praised as he held your face with one hand. “Tonight, everything we do to you is gonna be livestreamed. You’re not here just to please us— you’ll have to please our audience, too. You like being shown off, pretty girl?”

“Mhm.” You nodded like you were already made for this, allowing what your body was secretly ravenous for. A little enthusiasm, but also bashfulness— the epitome of submission. Perhaps deep down, you adored being showed off; basking in the limelight of being a free use in front of thousands of strangers…

König’s hand slithers down your back and onto your ass, yelping when he spanked it so abruptly that it left a throbbing sting. Your back involuntarily arched and when his fingers just fit right in between your thighs, chafing your swollen, wet cunt that it was hard holding back your pathetic whines and moans.

“Getting off to this already?” he coaxed, now increasing the speed of his fingers teasing your folds that you threw your head back on his shoulder. Immediately writhing on his fingers playing with your swollen clit, unable to respond properly when Ghost wrapped his hand around your throat.

“They wanna hear you scream,” Ghost muttered into your ears, slightly smirking under his mask. “You can’t be enjoying all this without a little bit of pain.”

As much as you wanted to resist, you couldn’t. The panic and anticipation spiraled into shameless arousal. Without warning, König eased two of his fingers knuckles deep inside your wet cunt so easily, thrusting insanely fast that your eyes fell half-lidded, convulsing around his fingers hitting that spot that made you squirm. Shamelessly spreading your legs as Ghost kept playing with your tits, squeezing both of your nipples so tight that your loud squeal reverberated off the walls of the room.

That mix of pleasure and pain; you’d be lying to yourself if you truly enjoyed it… It was torturous, it was too brutal to endure, but your skin was flashing hotter than ever, your clit throbbing erratically with a heartbeat of its own. König felt his cock stirring in his suit, getting off to your helpless state that he thrusted his fingers so hard, curling them to abuse your g-spot. Denying your own orgasm was painfully inevitable. The two men could see it pooling in your eyes like it was unobtainable, watching your body constantly squirming under their touches.

“You think she deserves to come?” taunted Ghost.

“We’ll make her come as many times as she can. Even if she can’t handle it.” You could feel König’s other hand slithering down to your inner thigh as if he was about to grab it, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “And we’re not gonna fucking stop no matter how many times you beg. You’re our little fucktoy now and you’re gonna be treated just like one.”

Lust speared through you from their words. The men were unpredictable in their own sinister ways; it caught you off guard from the way König abruptly lifted your left leg and held it in the air as Ghost takes a vibrator onto your clit. Fingers still fucking into your cunt and your sensitive clit getting overstimulated had you yanking the rope, your body writhing and squirming that they tell you to “shut the fuck up and take it,” and forced you in place. Electric sensations skyrocket through you before you could even register it all, your glossy eyes welling with tears and your face all ravished and wanton beyond comprehension.

Never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight. It was a fleeting second after you realize your orgasm had already washed over you, your hips stuttering like a riptide from this delirious torment. Knowing that there were thousands of strangers getting off to this, getting off to a helpless slut tied up and tortured by masked men that can’t do anything except enjoy it, you basked in it. Forced multiple orgasms, stinging pain, lewd noises, and loud screams… this was all related to the dark web you’ve been hearing recently.

After collecting yourself, a wave of clarity hit you so suddenly that things were starting to make sense. There were recent kidnappings of women who were found later on a livestream website called Deathgasm.com, where numerous videos of gangbangs with these women and masked men in tactical gear are recorded live. They take place in either the back of a van or in a dark room, which viewers assume as a sex dungeon.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. As sick and twisted this was, your body couldn’t help but succumb to this indescribable feeling of pleasure and torture. There were even times out of curiosity you’d search the site and realize how attractive the men in masks and tactical gear are. Toying and playing with a tied up woman who also secretly succumb to this, their quivering fear and terror surrendering into arousal and tantalization. Having no choice but to orgasm over and over even though it’s too much, looking into the men’s faces with lingering dark anonymity and their brawny, large bodies looming over them just to fulfil their filthy, dark plans. And you would not trade this for anything in the world.

Perhaps you adored being showed off. Basking in the limelight of being used like a fucktoy and watched by strangers online that are fucked up in the head, like an exhibitionist. Or maybe you’ve been brainwashed to even think this way— maybe you just have little, fucked up fantasies of your own... It didn’t even matter anymore; your thoughts became mush when Ghost and König suspended you up in the air this time, your wrists and ankles bound behind you with your legs also tied apart. The gag was finally off but a blindfold had covered your eyes, not being able to tell who’s who and what the men plan to do to you now.

You were already a mess; strings of saliva and drool hanging off your chin that dripped onto König’s cock, slowly easing it in your widened mouth. It was Ghost’s turn to play with your pussy and ass, moaning and yelping when he spanked your cheeks so harshly. Nothing could compare to this amount of excitement pounding in your pussy, practically whining on Konig’s fat cock in your mouth as Ghost kept teasing you.

To describe the comments in the live chat as obscene is an understatement— the men were greedy, ravenous, filthy. Shamelessly admitting their own raunchy, fucked up scenarios with you tied up like that. Degrading you like a worthless whore, admiring your body and pussy that’s good for fucking, or sending money to get Ghost and König to fulfill their requests:

[ $20 ] both of you fuck her pussy and ass at the same time. stretch out that tight asshole

[ $25 ] carve the word “slut” on her thigh i want that bitch bloody and screaming in pain

[ $22 ] make her squirt i wanna see that pussy juice all over the camera lens

And though you couldn’t read the comments or see the camera, you just indulged into this and presented yourself as a horny, free-use slut that’s made for fucking. You can feel Ghost’s cockhead brushing the folds of your cunt, coating it with your juices. König thrusted his cock straight inside your throat that it was too much for you to handle, gagging and moaning pathetically as Ghost kept teasing you it felt like utter torture. But that blissful feeling blossoming in your stomach was saying otherwise…

You were so desperate for more friction; Ghost took sick pleasure in seeing you like this, writhing and bucking your hips for him to slide inside your cunt already. When he finally eased his cock so deep, you were given no warning as he pounded so hard and rough into you. The sensation of your cunt getting stretched out from his size, grabbing your hips and pulling you back and forth on his cock... You were a wrecked mess already; your face streaked with tears, your chin dripping with drool, and your skin all slick and sweaty. The thought of being reduced to a free use fuck-slut that thrives off from only cock and orgasms as you were suspended mid-air… you could no longer think for yourself anymore.

“Look at you. Getting all dumb and brainless over our cocks,” Ghost cooed, harshly spanking your ass. “You like being our little pornstar? Knowing that a bunch of strangers online jerk off to you being used like this?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as the men kept pounding and thrusting, hearing König pant heavily and Ghost grunt when you kept squeezing ever so tightly around him. In just a minute, another orgasm. But that didn’t stop Ghost mercilessly pounding into you like an animal gone wild and König fucking your throat so relentlessly. Your screams and moans form into gags urging out, drips of precum and drool seeping on your chin that König smeared all over your glossy face. The more they sensed that you were taking pleasure from all this, the more brutal they were with you.

It felt like you were in the air for hours as the men switched around and took turns. Your cunt was becoming overly slick with the copious amounts of cum that was being pumped into it, some left on your ass and some dripping onto the floor. Even when they weren’t inside you, the continual pounding and the oozing cum throbbed in your walls. You still couldn’t see anything and you were still bound. It wasn’t until your eyes started feeling heavy again and your body fell numb; the men didn’t like that.

“We didn’t say you could fucking sleep,” König chided as he harshly grabbed your face and slipped off the blindfold.

“That drug is still hitting you, huh?” teased Ghost as he messing around with the ropes that held you in the air. “For that, we’ll make her do the work this time. Untie her and get her on top of me on the bed so she’ll ride me. Leave her arms tied only.”

You couldn’t protest, for your words started to slur and your mouth was only used for moaning pathetically. Once König brought you down from the air, he shoved you onto the bed, holding your legs in the air as Ghost laid underneath you. There was another camera facing the bed that you noticed, the light burning into your retinas as you stare into it. Although you were half awake, a weak smile stretches on your lips, wanting to the viewers know how prideful you were of this and how good Ghost and König make you feel.

When Ghost slowly settled inside your ass, you’ve felt a stirring sensation in your stomach. Never have you thought about losing your anal virginity so soon, but it had you throwing your head back and whining. He had the ball gag from before in his hands and wrapped it back around your opened mouth, telling you to keep staring into the camera and ride him like the dirty, messy slut that you are. With your feet on the bed and your legs spread, you slowly settle down on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and your body contorting from how intense it all felt.

You knew that you didn’t wanna go painfully slow; you wanted Ghost to feel good as well. To the point where he’d finally hold your hips in the air and fuck his cock into your ass and König can finally slide himself in your pussy, overstimulating you so greatly. It was hard to keep balance with your hands bound behind your back and your staggering strength. But you kept telling yourself that this was all that you wanted, grinding your hips and bouncing your ass up and down, emitting juddering grunts from Ghost.

“Keep your legs spread open for me,” König ordered. “Show to the camera how good you take two cocks inside of you.”

Before you knew it, you were sandwiched between the two masked men, filling your holes and stuffing you harshly. Sitting on Ghost’s cock as your legs were wide open, letting them both pound into you… You lost the feeling of stability in your entire body, your inhibition being taken over by the desperate sensation of cock. It broke your mind, but that was what you craved for. It was pure euphoria, rapturing you in a burning enticement that you were bound in. Nearly knocked out of air, your vision becomes hazy as Ghost and König fucks you through your third orgasm, past the point where you're crying two octaves higher than you're used to.

such a hot fucking slut taking both dicks

i wish i could fuck her cunt and put that dumb bitch in her place

how many times did she come already 😂

You enjoyed it. You enjoyed it all. The mind-wrecking, the overstimulation, the humiliation, the pain, the thought of being watched and masturbated to by perverts… It felt as if your life had been reformed. You were now a slutty whore that was good for nothing but a fuck. A depository for cum, just holes for fucking and a toy to torture. Your cunt was now battered and bruised, ass stinging and throbbing from being slapped multiple times, and both of your holes stretched and aching from how deep and rough they fucked you out. All those sensitive, velvet tissues that should never see the light of day, for they were property of Ghost and König only. Your poor cunt couldn’t stop flexing over nothing, yearning for that feeling of fullness again.

The next few hours after you were done being used, you were tied up in a strappado position with a vibrating dildo tied to your cunt. Left alone in the dark with the camera still on and recording, still blindfolded and gagged. Forced orgasms over and over, stranded like this throughout the rest of your days and nights until they felt like using you again. From what Ghost told you, the viewers seemed to favor you. They wanted to see more of you on Deathgasm, never to return to your old life and remain a free-use.

“Next time, I’ll make it hurt real good for you,” he forewarned before. “They can watch and cum as many times as they please, but you… You only cum for me now.”

𖤐 TAGS. @kyumimii @aft0nsimp @crysugu @atinystaypixie @rinshoe @cran-berry-vodka @apwing @daddyzzlittlewhore @kimekioo @mqfuyuu @strawberrymilk4k @strvwberrymilk @maidenssymphony @shycoffeetaco @zippertwat @killzenin @titantears @migueloharacumslut @hayati17 @palefuckinghost @maddietries @nanananamiiii @bookmark-anon @blackhoodlea @bru1sedclavicle @dollicries @hehehehesthings @oneofthesevensins

#🕸️. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 #codmw2 smut #codmw2 #cod x you #cod x reader #ghost x you #konig x you #ghost smut #konig smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty mw2 smut #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost x reader #konig call of duty #konig codmw2

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writingfromasgard · 2 months

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Masterlist

Au where Soap's ghost is attached to Simon and he's got no clue. He meets a new girl who mistakes Soap for Ghost's roommate and she talks to him once. Soap is internally freaking out - she can see him! - but calmly talks to her.

He hears Simon and says he's gotta go to work, heads out. He's careful about talking to her, telling her they're fighting and that's why he's not talking to Simon.

Simon asks her to move in and she says, "What about Soap? Is he okay with it?"

Yall have fun with what his reaction would be.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost #soap #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish soap #ghost!Soap AU #medium!Au

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shadow-riley · 2 months

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<3Simon "Ghost" Riley Head canons<3

Pt. 1 You're Wounded Fluff!Ghost gn!reader

please dont copy<3

would usually pat a man on the back and tell him 'good job' if the man was dying, but you were different.

never showed any care or remorse until he meet you and you two started dating.

he talks to you through coms, running to you, not stopping to take a breath. honestly goes mad trying to get to you, shooting any of the enemies in his way.

when he finds you bleeding out he gets down on his knees and applies pressure to your wound, forcing you to stay awake.

when you get out of surgery hes sitting next to your bed, mask off, laying his head on your thigh.

wont sleep until you wake up

once you wake up hes very emotional, maybe even cries as you hold his head in your hands

blames himself for not protecting you

still wearing the bloody uniform from the day of the incident, he hasn't left your side.

takes a lot of convincing for him to leave your side and take care of himself.

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kkvqwrites · 1 year

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Bedside Manner

Reader goes into labor while Simon's away and calls the first person she can think of. The task force (and some other friends in high places) rally around the couple on the most important day of their lives.

Word Count: 2,587

Characters (in order of appearance): fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Capt. John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kate Laswell

CW: childbirth, hospital setting, medical procedures

A/N: Am I a Ghost girlie? Absolutely. Am I also a sucker for the found family trope? Til I die. This idea wouldn't leave me alone and I'm so glad I stuck with it. I love the way this came out and hope you like it!

"Dear? Everything okay?"

The captain's voice on the other end of the line sounded worried. Both he and Simon had drilled it into you to never hesitate to call Price if you needed anything while your husband was away, but you couldn't help feeling a bit guilty.

"Um, I think so," you began, willing your voice to stay level and upbeat. "I think I just - oof.." Another contraction hit, stealing the air from your lungs. They were coming more consistently now, and hard enough to stop you in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

"What's wrong? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" You could hear movement in the background, him gathering his things to be out the door and on his way to you.

"I'm fine, John. I just didn't know who else to call. I think the baby might be coming?" The words came out pinched as you worked through the tail end of the contraction. The captain swore loudly.

"Stay put, love. I'm on the way - everything will be alright. Want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, no, that's fine. Stay safe and I'll see you when you get here." You hung up before he could argue and fuss like a mother hen.

______________________________________________________________

The knock at the door startled you. You looked at the clock - surely that couldn't be John already. The man lived across town. Not trusting yourself to make it to the door, you called out.

"It's open!"

Turns out it wasn't Price, but Gaz, who stepped into your living room and began taking in the scene. It was a sight to be sure: you, doubled over sitting on your yoga ball, rocking back and forth to try to alleviate some of the pressure in your hips, towel around your neck because you were sweating like a pig, ambient white noise filtering through the bluetooth speaker to keep you calm. For all his usual swagger and poise, Gaz looked a bit frightened.

"Kyle, did John call you? I'm so sorry - I'm sure you were busy-"

"Not at all, I rushed over as soon as I got word." The sergeant came to your side and knelt until he was eye level. "The captain's on his way but I was closer. We didn't want you to be alone any longer than necessary."

"You and your task force are worse than a quilting circle." The jab came with a joking smile, but the smile was cut short by the stab of another contraction. At the sight of your face screwing up in pain, Kyle's eyes got big.

"Can I do something? Do you need anything?" He wrung his hands as he fussed, seemingly unsure whether to touch you or whether you'd bite him if he tried. Admittedly, you weren't too sure yourself.

"Need you to reset - the timer." The words came out through clenched teeth as your muscles tensed and screamed. "Contractions - need to time them."

"The timer - right." He sprung into action, undoubtedly happy to have a defined task to accomplish. As he was fiddling with the device, Price stormed through the door, his demeanor all-business.

"Gaz? What's the situation?" The sergeant hopped to attention as if he was at roll call.

"Got here not long ago myself, Cap. Just reset the timer for contractions."

"Where are we at?"

"Thirteen minutes, sir."

The captain turned to you, assessing you from top to bottom. His expression and his voice softened considerably as he spoke.

"Ready to get to the hospital, love?"

"Can't - they told me to wait until they're five minutes apart." The man looked bewildered.

"And just let you sit here and suffer? Not on my watch. Gaz, grab my keys - "

"John," you interrupted. "I already called. They won't admit me yet. We just need to wait it out."

"Nonsense, love. You wait til I get someone's ear over there. Five minutes my arse." He moved to help you stand, but stopped in his tracks as he took in your face, your lip trembling. "Is there something else?" As if on cue, a fat tear rolled down your cheek, the first of its kind since the pains began.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," you squeaked out. "Not for a few more weeks. Simon's supposed to be here."

The men shared a glance, looking stricken. Price leaned down next to you, a broad hand gently squeezing your shoulder. His voice was soft when he spoke, a renewed slowness replacing his prior rushed pace.

"I know, love. I know it's not ideal, and I know you're scared. I know Simon would give anything to be here, that he'd split heaven and earth to be with you right now. But I also know he'd want you and your little one taken care of, yeah? He wouldn't want you to wait."

You nodded, despite more tears threatening. "Doesn't change the fact they won't admit me yet."

The captain's mouth quirked defiantly. "You let me worry about that. Gaz, help her up. I'll drive."

______________________________________________________________

Simon was tired down to his bones, feeling like a wrung out rag after the most recent mission. Despite that, the man was a ball of energy as he hopped off the plane, desperate to get back to you.

"Someone's antsy," Soap drawled, taking a more leisurely pace. He slid his sunglasses on as Simon switched on his cell phone anxiously. "Got somewhere to be, LT?"

"'Matter of fact I do - home." Simon impatiently hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "See my wife, eat a real meal. Finally build that godforsaken changing table. Who knew a baby needs so much furniture?"

Soap barked a laugh, but Simon tuned him out as he put his phone to his ear. He'd gotten a voicemail from you, and everything else ceased to matter.

"Hey babe, it's me. I'm not sure when you'll get this, and I hate to worry you. I'm sure it's fine. It's just... I've been feeling some contractions-"

Simon didn't hear the rest, nearly dropping his phone as he broke into a run.

______________________________________________________________

True to his word, Price argued with the hospital staff until you were taken up to a room. You were sure he must have pulled rank, threatened to call people, but he refused to let you worry about it.

The ride had been smooth, despite John driving like a bat out of hell. Gaz stayed in the back seat with you, clinging to your hand and fussing. Later, you'd think it was funny how he seemed to need more encouragement and support than he offered, but at that moment very little was funny.

You had been able to stay in denial for an admirably long time. The past few days, you were able to tell yourself it was just Braxton-Hicks contractions, not the real thing. That even when it became evident the real thing was starting, that it wouldn't progress quickly. That even though it was progressing, that Simon would walk in the door just at the right moment and sweep you into the car and off to the hospital and all would be well. Even when your gut told you to pick up the phone and call the captain, you had managed to make yourself believe that you were wrong, that it was a false alarm, that you still had more time.

Now, here you were, connected to monitors and being poked and prodded by nurses. Medical history, allergies, birth plan, you felt like you were in interrogation rather than a patient receiving care. And if it wasn't the nurses it was the two men standing off to the side, one wringing his hands in worry and one watching the nurses like a hawk and barking questions. The contractions were closer to eight minutes apart now, progressing quickly. Now the situation was very real, and as thankful as you were from the support from Price and Gaz, your heart threatened to shatter at the absence of the one person who mattered most.

______________________________________________________________

"Bloody fuckin' hell, no one will answer their phone!" Ghost barked, ready to throw his out the window. He'd had radio silence other than a second voicemail, this one from the Captain:

"Simon, Price here. Just got word from the missus that the baby's on the way. I'm headed there now. I don't want you to worry about a thing, I won't leave her side. I'll update you as I'm able."

"She knew to call the captain; he's probably with her now," Soap offered from the driver's seat. He'd practically had to arm wrestle Simon for the keys, but ended up convincing him that he'd be able to call for updates if he wasn't worried about driving. Silently, he thanked the saints Simon had agreed; who knows what carnage he'd unleash on the roads as worked up as he was.

"He better be, or I'll - not now, Laswell!" Simon rejected the third call from the station chief since landing and tried Price again. He was sure he'd hear about it for skipping debrief and jumping in the car, but right now he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. When Price's phone again went to voicemail, he was about to go nuclear when the car's Bluetooth lit up with Laswell's number.

"Shite; let me answer it LT." Soap pushed the button. "Laswell, it's Soap. Here with Ghost."

"I know," she said impatiently, her voice filling the space. "I've been trying to call all afternoon. I know what's happening and I'm here to help."

"What? How do you know?"

"Price called me as soon as he got word, asked me to find you. Anyway, you're wasting time heading in that direction; there's a lane closure ahead and you're about to be neck deep in traffic. I've mapped an alternate route for you. Take the next left."

The two men looked at each other in confusion before both starting to speak at the same time.

"Left? That takes us the wrong way-" "How do you know where we're at?"

"Boys! Boys, listen," she continued, exasperated. "Don't worry about how I know, just do as I say. We're gonna get you there as fast as possible. Now turn left!"

Soap cut the car to the left, ignoring the indignant honks of other drivers as he began to cut through the city under Laswell's watchful eye.

______________________________________________________________

"The doctor says you'll be ready to start pushing soon. How are you feeling?" The nurse was genuinely trying to be nice, so you bit back on your retort of how the fuck does it look like I'm feeling? My insides are exploding! and instead chose a weak smile and a head nod.

Once the nurse whisked away, Price was back at your side. You could tell by his expression he wanted to give you a pep talk like you were one of his soldiers about to head into battle, but he was searching for the right thing to say. You broke the silence first.

"I'm scared." Your voice sounded small, the words escaping almost of their own volition. The captain took your hand, blessedly avoiding sugarcoating the situation.

"I know. But you're doing great - a real trooper. Even with the needle in the back! Simon's gonna be so proud of you, love. And Gaz and I are gonna be right here. Right Gaz?"

"Right, Cap." The sergeant slid back into the room, cup of ice in hand. While the captain had taken point and begun advocating for you with the hospital staff and asking a million questions, Gaz had been dutifully making sure you were comfortable. Anything from getting you an extra pillow for your back, to helping you tie your hair back, to getting you ice chips since you couldn't have food or drink during labor, he was on it. If either man was uneasy about what was about to happen, they dutifully kept it under wraps and maintained their game faces.

One by one, the care team took up positions around you to get started. Price and Gaz got next to you, each taking one of your hands, ready to offer what support they could. You shamed yourself, one last time, for being ungrateful for their presence. A lot of people give birth with less, you tried to tell yourself. He’d be here if he could.

The doctor walked in, donning gloves and getting a quick status update from one of the nurses before meeting your eyes. “Evening, ma’am. We’re going to-”

Her words were cut off by a commotion in the hall, a door slamming and what sounded like some raised voices. Everyone in the room exchanged confused glances, and Price motioned for Gaz to go investigate. He poked his head out into the hall for only a moment before returning with a big grin.

“You’re not gonna believe who’s here."

Then your husband was in the doorway, and then he was at your side, and suddenly those honey brown eyes drowned out every ounce of pain and fear you’d been holding onto, and that warm, calloused hand took yours, and you were ready.

______________________________________________________________

You would have thought it would be difficult to fall asleep under fluorescent lights, with monitors beeping and staff bustling around. But you had never known tiredness like this, and wanted to take the nurse’s advice and rest while the pain meds were still working their magic. The delivery had been uneventful once the show was on the road, and Simon never left your side, his steady presence grounding and his voice in your ear keeping you calm. Then there she was, a baby girl, the most precious tiny thing you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d stared at her and cried for hours, stroking her tiny hand and welcoming her to the world until you could barely keep your eyes open. And so, with a squeeze of your hand and a kiss on your forehead from Simon, you found yourself drifting off. You were aware, as you floated off, of his slow pacing back and forth with your newborn daughter in his arms, of his whispers to her that were too low for you to hear. Of the guys popping in, as unobtrusively as possible lest the lieutenant tear them limb from limb for disturbing you and the baby, bringing him food and coffee and admiring the bundle of joy.

“Doesn’t look a thing like you, Simon,” said Soap.

“Thank God for that,” he replied.

“You should have seen it, Simon really - needle this long, right in the spine!” Price remarked, not for the first time. “She didn’t even flinch.”

“I’m just glad you made it for the gross stuff,” mumbled Gaz.

“Kyle, you’re in the military. You’ve seen arms and legs blown off.”

“Completely different, Johnny. Not the same at all.”

On and on they bantered, brothers in arms stepping into their role as uncles for your baby girl with delight. One of the last things you heard was Simon, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here. For today.”

“Oh come off it Simon,” replied the Captain. “These girls mean something to you, so they mean something to us. That’s what a family is. Now quit hogging her and let Uncle John have a turn.”

You wouldn’t remember this conversation when you woke up, wouldn’t be able to articulate where it came from, but you’d carry with you the bone-deep feeling of connection with this little makeshift family forever.

#cod ghost #cod ghost fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mwii ghost #task force 141 #john price #soap mactavish #gaz garrick #kate laswell #mwii fanfic

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blackoutspoetry · 3 months

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What if Ghost's tattoo is a scar cover up...

He gets it done over a particularly extensive burn or ugly knife wound and decides he wants to make it look a little softer on the eyes. So he gets a sleeve tattoo. He has no one to talk him out of it because its a bad idea or whatever, because all his people are dead and what does it matter? After Roba, he doesn't care about what state his body is in, as long as that state isn't agony, he's content to allow himself to be used up until his bones give in and his back aches and he's forced to retire. What else has he got left anyway?

He refuses to acknowledge the real reason he wants to get the tattoo is because of some buried childhood memories, where he's sitting with little Tommy, letting Tommy draw smiley faces and stick men over his bruises because he insists it makes them heal faster. He grimaced when Tommy pressed the pen a bit too hard into his tender skin, but smiled anyway, because there was someone in this world that wanted him to feel better, to heal.

Now he's in his 20s, getting his arm tattooed because he wants to emulate the feeling of being cared for again. He doesn't make eye contact with the tattoo artist and he closes his eyes, scarred skin numb to the feeling of the tattoo machine. He can almost imagine its Tommy sitting there, drawing little wobbly shapes over his pains.

But those bruises healed, and the ink washed off. Tommy Riley grew older and died. But this? The scar he knows will never fade sits under that fresh ink, smothered by the memory of love Ghost thinks he'll never feel again.

But he tries to force himself, a poor attempt at self love and all that bullshit they're always talking about in therapy, he gets that tattoo so that the needle will force the ink to stay with him forever, and with it, keep the memory of Tommy Riley from fading from his mind in the coming weeks that progress into lonely years.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod #fanfiction #fanfic #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley headcanon #simon and tommy riley #tommy riley #simon ghost riley fanfic #my writing

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ghostlychief · 6 months

Text

paper hearts

simon "ghost" riley x gen!reader

summary: ghost loves you, but you're tired

warnings: bittersweet angst?

---

“Don’t look at me like that.” Your arms are crossed over your chest and you cast your gaze downwards, your eyes locking onto your socks. They must have become the most interesting thing, because your eyes wander along the blue swirls covering your toes, trying to find anything to anchor on to, anything besides Simon.

“How am I looking at you?” His voice comes out gentle, making your chest pinch.

“Like you love me.”

Your eyes travel back up to him, and you instantly regret it. When you meet his gaze, you notice that his lips are downturned and he’s missing the usual creases by his eyes that always appear whenever he’s looking at you. Instead, his under eyes seem to have darkened.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I just don’t know anymore,”

“That’s okay.” His acquiescence tightens the pinch that rests under your heart.

You shift your weight onto your right leg. “Is it though?” You feel like you’re going in circles with him.

You give yourself the excuse that if it was raining, you would let him in. Though tonight, the sky is clear and filled with stars, and there’s not a breeze in the air, so you keep the imaginary boundary up, somewhat shielding yourself from the intangible grief that fills the air.

He takes a half step back and runs his hand through his messy hair. You figure he hasn’t been deployed in some time, since you can see the slightest of curls starting to form in his hair. His hair was always an indicator of when he was leaving, before he would set off to wherever the hell he goes when he leaves you for months on end.

“I thought you died, Simon. And then I didn’t hear from you or anyone for over two weeks. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it either because even I’m not supposed to know what your job is.”

You shift to your other leg. “Do you know how exhausting that is?” You refuse to let any tears fall from your waterline.

You keep going, “Every time you smile at me, I memorize it. Or when you hug me, I memorize the feeling of it. I remember each moment that I have with you because whenever you walk out that door, I have no way of knowing whether that was our last moment together and you take a piece of me with you each time you leave.”

The damn cold has made your nose runny so you let out a sniff. “I feel like I’m falling apart, Simon.” Your voice cracks and you hate yourself for it. You curl your hands tighter around your middle.

Simon brings his hand up to gently cup your elbow and he starts to say something but you hold your hand up, “I know what I got myself into, Si, I do. And I’m sorry that I’m being selfish right now.” He starts shaking his head.

“I can’t imagine what you go through during your missions; all the horrors you are privy to everyday,” You look out behind him, to the street light that keeps flickering, threatening to burn out completely. “But this is hard for me, just as I know it's hard for you.” Your eyes are back on his and they look watery.

His hand is still on your arm, the warmth seeping into your skin. When he replies, his hand softly squeezes you, “You’re the love of my life, but I’m fine with not being the love of yours.”

The pinch in your chest grows even more, and you no longer know if you can contain your tears or not. “That’s not the problem, Simon.” Your eyes flicker back to the street light; it’s still flickering ever so slightly. “I just need some time, okay?”

You take a step back, and his hand drops from you. He’s still looking at you like you held up the stars and the moon for him, but he nods, “Okay.”

Once he’s off your porch and has driven away, you look towards the lamppost, only to notice that the bulb finally burned out.

430 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 1 month

Note

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

2K notes · View notes

secretlovezz · 5 days

Text

----------♡

Simon "Ghost" Riley who's such a shitty communicator.

He is almost always late to things with not even a text to let you know, whether it's a date or movie night, and no matter how many times you try to bring it up how many times you borderline plead with him to just listen to you or tell you things he always brushes it off claiming that he's "busy" or that "you knew what you were getting into."

Sometimes Simon won't let you know he's back home until days or weeks after he returns because "he'll see you whenever."

It's almost the end of your relationship before you finally get it into his head that your so fucking tired of it. His eyes go wide when you snap and yell and point all the while tears run down your cheeks, you retell him every moment where he's been in the wrong and you make it crystal clear that if he isn't gonna put in any effort then you won't either.

For the first time in a while, Simon feels his heart crack and shatter when you walk out the door without looking back and he finally realizes that he needs to fix this before he loses you for real.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley headcanons #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley angst #cod angst #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x reader

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diejager · 10 months

Note

GIRLLLL THAT BROTHER!GHOST X LIL SISTER!READER IS SO YUMMYYY😻😻

You already know imma ask for more👀 but i’ll let you surprise me, you can write whatever as long as Ghost is readers brother and i mean WHATEVER

you never disappoint youre gonna eat up every time u write 🤞🏻🤞🏻

You’re giving me FAR too much credit here 😳

Protect Cw: physical abuse, drunk/high, mention of child abuse, tell me if I missed any.

“The fucks your problem?!”

Ghost stood between you and the man, his chest pushed out and shoulders braced to seem bigger, wider than he already was —a tactic to scare off the man who dared to put his hand on you

“You are my fucking problem,” Ghost spat, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a deep scowl underneath his balaclava, his warm brow turned cold as I hell had frozen over with he coldest winter ever.

You let out a shuddered breath, cheek pulsing with stinging pain from being struck. You clung to Ghost, fingers digging into the soft and old texture of his hoodie, you hid behind him, his broad shoulder and wide stance protected you from the vile bastard’s view. You had one too many drinks, losing yourself somewhere around the last few pints and suddenly finding yourself in a dark corner of the street fighting off a man who didn’t understand that a no meant a hard no.

You were lucky Simon had found you before he took it a step further, mind too drunk and body too sluggish to lift a hand and defend yourself. He might’ve heard your yelp and cry for him, whimpering out his name for help when you help your swollen cheek and bleeding lip. He rushed to your side without a second thought, pushing the man away from you with a hard shove.

“Find your own bitch!” The man smelled drunk, the pungent odour of booze blowing off of him in waves and his eyes dilated with a slurred speech but erratic and unpredictable mind, he wasn’t only drunk, he was probably high as well, “I was here first!”

“She’s not an object, you fucking bloke,” Ghost hissed, fist closing tightly with little self-control left to stop himself from decking the bastard for calling you a bitch, his sweet, precious sister being touched by a man like him. “When she says no, it bloody means no.”

Ghost took a step forward, his hulking figure seeming bigger than nature in the darkness of the alley, glaring down at the high and drunk man that dared to approach you. Even with an inebriated conscience, he knew when he was outmatched, yelping and backing away in fright, eyes wide and brows risen high.

“Sod off,” he sent him a curt nod, his chin pointing outwards, down to the alley’s entrance.

Once the man was off, stumbling away and tripping on air, Simon turned to you, arms pulling you to his chest, cradling your pained cheeks and trembling body. You shook, tremor wreaking your body as you whispered his name, body and mind still numb from being hit, it reminded you of before, when you were still a kid, hiding behind Simon for protection against you father.

He whispered sweet, comforting words, calling your name in the softest tone he had, featherlight and loving, hand climbing to wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks and made you look at him, into his calm and warm eyes. They were the warmest chocolate brown you ever knew, the right shade that made you melt in his arms, tuning out the world for him, the man who’s protected you all your life.

“There you go,” he mumbled, a smile stretching the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling and eyes gleam confidently when you gave him a gentle nod, tentatively smiling back at him, “That’s the (Name) I know.”

“It hurts, Si,” you pouted, one hand holding his against your cheek, the one left untouched from the man.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, bowing to press a kiss on your nose, unwilling to let you go. “Let’s get you home and treated, yeah?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots

756 notes · View notes

lucid-loves · 2 months

Note

Reader getting kidnapped and tortured for information, when Simon and the team save the reader and take them back to base and Simon helps her recover mentally and physically, Simon swears to protect her at all costs? And they fall in love?! ❤️❤️

Thank you for waiting! 🤍

What a Time To Be Alive

Pairing: Ghost x POW!reader (fem!reader, 141!reader, callsign “Spite”)

Word Count: 13.7k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, scars, blood, wounds, killing, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, fingering, hickeys, mirror sex, passionate sex, gentleness, compliments, praise

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You were caught by the enemy during a crucial mission. The 141 team had no choice but to leave you, thinking you were dead already. For a year and a half, you were held prisoner and tortured for information. When the 141 finally gets you back, Ghost volunteers to take care of you during your recovery, having felt responsible for your capture. Both of your feelings blossom into something more as you both realize how much you care about one another.

You were dead. At least, that’s what everyone thought when they watched you get shot in the head. You didn’t blame them for leaving. You would have probably thought the same thing if it was one of them.

No, you were still alive. The metal plate that doctors put in your head after a bad car accident as a teenager saved your life. You were knocked out cold upon bullet impact, but still very much alive. Not that you were doing well, though.

With a headache and tired eyes, you looked at your cold, stone wall marked with tally marks for the passing days. 547 days were marked, give or take. There were days where you didn’t wake up so you forgot to mark them. You didn’t wake up until some time after you were captured too. Those days weren’t marked.

Your stomach grumbled, making your body’s ache amplify all over. You couldn’t remember the last time your body didn’t hurt. What was once lean military muscle was now skin and bones. You were constantly hungry for food, a combination of you refusing to eat out of spite and being underserved overcooked rice to the point that it was just mush.

They kept you weak. Underfed and dehydrated. It was probably a good thing they did because otherwise you would rip your warden apart with your bare hands.

When you first came to after being captured, you had the honor to meet your warden right away. A man that was on the hit list for the 141, Bill Porakov. but made a surprise appearance at the mission. He was the one that lifted his gun just as everyone was boarding the helicopter to go home.

It was one of the memories you still remembered so vividly. The dirt kicking up from the ground, the blades whipping around the wind, the look back you happened to give by chance before the gun went off. You saw the aim. You traced it back. And before the bullet could hit him, you had pushed Ghost hard. The last sight you saw of them was Ghost falling forward towards the chopper, the rest of the team that was already grabbing his arms to pull him in.

You saw the brief expressions he gave you when he looked back. At first, he was annoyed, but it didn’t take long for his annoyance to morph into pure horror as the bullet meant for him hit your skull.

When you awoke, you were strapped to a chair. Your head pounded, you were in your underwear, and you were meeting your warden.

No matter what he did, you never talked. Even when he cut your skin with knives. Even when he dislocated your jaw with a hammer. Even when he took your pinkie finger and a few of your teeth, you never talked. All you did was give a human snarl, angry firecrackers in your eyes.

It wasn’t until the third month when he realized that nothing was going to make you talk that he switched tactics to solitary confinement. He came by every now and then to try physical torture again. Waterboarding, electric shock.

It felt like he did it more so for fun than to fish information out of you after a certain point.

You snapped to attention when you heard whispers down the hall. A few guards were whispering to each other. Trying to ignore the pain of your body, you attempted to eavesdrop.

“-said to be extra careful today. Maintenance work will have the cameras down for a little bit.”

“Like anything is gonna happen. Her brain is too scrambled to do anything. You know what she did last week?”

“What?”

“She threw her food out. Managed to sling the bowl through the bars and shattered the thing. Then, she just sat in the corner. Didn’t even realize that the food she got was actually good that day. The bitch is paranoid and out of it. One too many things to that thick skull of hers.”

“Damn, really? When do think the warden is gonna let her go now that she’s fucked in the head?”

“Probably never. After that incident was reported, he just shrugged. Said she was still a prize, even starving.”

As the guards approached your cell, you pretended that you were asleep. It wasn’t hard to do since you often found yourself pretending to be asleep to avoid guard confrontation. When you heard the sound of your cell door unlocking and opening, you stirred as if just becoming awake.

“Dinner. Don’t make me clean your mess like last week.”

You slowly got up and limped towards the silver tray, your porcelain dishware exchanged for silver since last week.

You threw the food against the wall last week because it looked good. Too good. You did get paranoid and thought it was poisoned. A last meal. You didn’t care if it made you look crazy. In fact, you liked how they thought you went crazy. They would underestimate you, especially now that the time was right for your plan.

On your tray was the usual mush of rice mixed together with cut deli meat. The smallest amount of protein and carbs that would make the grumbling stop, but your body still weak.

Slowly, you ate, trying to ignore the fact that you had to eat with your fingers that were covered in sweat and dirt. They only let you take a cold shower once a month. One that only lasted thirty seconds.

God, you hoped that today really would be the day you could start your plans of escape.

“Prison Fight in Cell Block D! Personnel in Cell Block E and F report to Cell Block D immediately!” a strong voice announced over the speakers just as one of the guards was relocking your cell. They both sighed, but then hurried out to see what the commotion was.

Except, they forgot to lock your door properly. You’ve gotten used to all the sounds of the prison like a pattern. The sound of your cell door locking was a familiar that never missed, until today. Waiting a few minutes, you made sure that the guards were gone and busy. If this was going to work, you had to be careful. Play your cards right.

You were lucky that you were Cell Block F’s only prisoner.

Slowly, you pushed the door to avoid the whining creak it always gave. Slipping through, you could feel your hands shake and your head spin. Jesus, you were in bad shape. This was the most amount of moving you had done in a while.

Carefully, you headed down the hall toward the front desk of the block. Luck really was on your side today. As you peeked through the door window, you noticed that there was no one manning the desk. All that was left was a radio, a cell phone, a transmitter, a computer, and walkie talkies on chargers. You pushed the door open, the task taking more effort than it should have, and you picked up the phone.

Dialing the secret number you knew by heart, you prayed that it would go through. It rang several times before you reached a voicemail prompt. You nearly wept when you heard Kate’s voice asking you to leave a message. You missed her.

Your voice cracked as you tried to summon it. It’s been a long time since you’ve used it for talking. Nowadays you’ve only used it for screaming. It was hoarse and broken. It hurt to speak. “Th-This is Spite. 5286. I’ve been a prisoner all this time. I-I don’t know where. I haven’t seen the light of day. . .”

“Please, bring me home. If that can’t happen. . .”

You swallowed hard and thought about your next words carefully. “I will hold out for two weeks. If no one comes for me, then I will take my own life by taking Bill Porakov’s life. I won’t go to the other side empty handed.”

Leaving the message at that, you hung up, erased the call history, and cautiously retreated back to your cell. Crawling into your concrete slab of a bed, you curled up and closed your eyes. You felt your cheeks become wet as you now waited for someone or no one to help you.

Just before you began to drift off. You heard sounds coming down your hallway again. Heavy footsteps that identified your visitor. The warden.

You felt his eyes on you, sizing you up in the corner of your cell. When he attempted to unlock the door, he noticed that it was unlocked already. Instead of becoming angry at his employees, he simply began to laugh. The other guards nervously began to join in. “Unlocked door and still a stationary prisoner. Have you lost hope finally? Good. It’ll make taming you a lot easier.”

The 141 team was getting out of a meeting. A boring one. One that went over statistics and facts about their own work that nearly put them to sleep. They never really cared about their accomplishments or results from a numbers perspective. Besides that, all the accomplishments they made nowadays felt tasteless. Ever since you died, all of their success never felt as good as before.

The team was quiet, walking through base together under a bright afternoon sun. Soap was the first to speak in that thick Scottish accent of his. “How about the bar tonight, lads? I could go for a drink.”

There was no answer for a moment, everyone hesitant to accept the offer. The last time they went out to the usual bar, they did have a good time. Until Ghost glanced over at what used to be your chair. He always did that when he went out to the bar. When he noticed the absence, everybody else did too.

Ghost took your death the hardest. You gave your life to save his. It was a debt that he could never repay. Besides that, you were one of the best of them. The wittiest sense of humor, the most encouraging and supportive in and outside the battlefield. The best cook too when you were sick of the base’s cafeteria food.

Drinking only made him forget about you for a short while, but it was always an offer he took up when he was invited out to the bar. “Sure, Johnny.”

“Count me in then too.” Gaz chimed in. Price nodded as well, the both of them having had formulated a plan for the next bar outing. Something that would hopefully bring all of them a little more closure, especially Ghost.

They were going to propose a memorial. They held one a week after you died, yet it didn’t feel quite right. It was too formal. Too stiff. It was organized by the military. Ghost didn’t even go. They needed to organize one themselves. One that you would approve of better.

They just had to make sure Ghost would attend. A discussion that would be saved for the bar tonight.

Just before Soap could open his mouth to say something, Price spotted Kate running full speed towards them, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking and breathing so hard that it looked like she was close to a panic attack.

“Kate?! What’s wrong? What happened?” Price already began to ask, the team ready to spring into action.

She took a few deep breaths, working up the courage to reveal the truth that almost had her faint when she first heard it. “S-Spite. . . She’s alive. . . She’s alive!”

Ghost felt his heart drop. His blood ran contradictory temperatures. Hot and cold. His breath was stuck in his lungs. He lost color under his mask. Then, he clenched his teeth. No, this couldn’t be true. You got shot in the head. There was no way you could have survived that.

“Are you sure Kate? How do you know?” Price calmly tried to reason, not wanting to hold out for false hope either.

Laswell just nodded and opened her phone. In a single tap, your voice came out broken but alive.

The team was frozen as they listened to your cry for help followed by your fearless determination. If they had any doubts before that it was really you, those doubts no longer existed as you said something only you would say. That you wouldn’t die empty handed.

“Spite. . . you spiteful bastard. . .” Soap choked, not afraid to shed a tear.

Kate put her phone back in her pocket and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll have my people trace the call back to the location.”

Price nodded before turning to his men. “Gear up! We got a soldier to save!”

As soon as the order was given, Ghost left the group to go to his room in the barracks. He had to pack. His mind was racing as he began taking a few extra socks from his dresser. He could hardly believe it. You were alive. You, the person always on his mind even after all this time had passed, was still living.

He couldn’t imagine the shit you were going through. And he felt like it was his fault.

No matter what, he promised himself, he would bring you back home. Even if it cost him his life this time.

You didn’t know how many days had passed. Porakov took you out of your solitary cell to keep in a new prison located in his office. It was a beautiful office with fresh flowers, polished furniture, and a white carpet. In your new cell, a modern door that needed keycard access locked you in the room. The room was all white except for one wall made out of bullet-proof glass for Porakov’s viewing pleasure.

Somehow, you missed your old cell.

As you sat in the corner of your new room, you watched Porakov through the glass. He was chatting with someone new. Someone that looked out of place with their white coat and round glasses. A doctor perhaps?

Your captor finally looked at you, making your skin crawl. He gave a malicious grin like a wolf that trapped its prey. The stranger looked at you too, a curious quirk in his brow.

They approached your door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. You kept to the corner, shrinking yourself as much as you could. “Well? What do you think? Can you do it?”

The doctor examined you further, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I think so. It’s going to take some time, though. Can you have this room ready for me within two hours with everything I need?”

“We actually have everything ready to roll out.” The warden smirked before leaning into his walkie talkie and summoning workers to bring out rolling tables of medical equipment into the room.

You watched with steel eyes as they set the room up with all the medical equipment. A metal slab as if it came from a vet’s room took up the center. Microchips, a bonesaw, scalpels, and tweezers decorated the various trays. It took nearly no time at all to get whatever torture method Porakov planned set up.

The doctor began to sanitize his hands. “Such diligence isn’t even demonstrated in regular hospitals.”

“This is a special day.” Your captor responded before leaving the room only to watch behind the glass. As the doctor approached, you braced yourself like a cornered wild animal.

The doctor eased back, treating you as such. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix you up. Make you feel better. You want that, don’t you? I know you’ve been in pain for a long time.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You simply warned, refusing to believe a single word he said. If he was working for Porakov, that was enough of a reason not to trust him. No self-respecting doctor would even entertain the idea of working for a vile man like him.

The doctor frowned at your disobedience. “If you fight this, it’s going to hurt way more.”

As his hand inched closer to you, you sprung forward and attempted to bite. He pulled back just in time before you could bite a finger off. He cursed and turned to the glass. “You said she was broken!”

“Seems like she still has a little fight left in her. Apologies, doctor. It’s okay if you have to be rough with her. Teach her who’s boss.” The warden simply encouraged.

With a sigh, he revealed a small gun strapped to his belt. It wasn’t a regular gun. It was a tranquilizer gun. Realizing what was about to happen, you tried to get to your feet as quickly as you could, but it was too late. Your lack of proper body care made you lose your balance. A sharp pain hit your shoulder, a dart sticking out of you. Your vision already began to haze over, your body feeling heavier than ever before. Whatever was in the tranquilizer was enough to make you ragdoll, but not enough to put you to sleep.

They wanted you awake for this.

Your limp body was lifted onto the table, giving Porakov a clear view of the show that was about to begin.

It felt like you were beginning to disassociate. Tears escaped as you wished that you were dead instead of being here. Being treated like a rabid animal and a personal show made you sick. Dying alone in your cell would be better than this.

Something caught Porakov’s attention for a moment. He seemed to be yelling at someone. It looked urgent. Before he left to handle business, he told the doctor to continue his work.

The doctor simply shrugged and focused back on you. He took a scalpel and began to make an incision along the palm of your hand. You felt the chill of the blade meet your hot blood, nerves going off as if you were touching a hot stove. You hissed and groaned at the pain, refusing to give him anymore than this if you could help it.

But then, he began to dig around under your skin using the tweezers, shredding nerves and muscles like pulling apart thread. As he pinched your nerves directly, you screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that ripped apart your vocal chords.

Ignoring your cries, he took a microchip and settled it between your flesh. It suddenly clicked for you. He was rewiring you. Finding your nerves like hidden wires to connect to microchips that were programmed to do god knows what to your body.

Your mind went berserk, screaming at you to get out of there. To fight back. Adrenaline fought tranquilizer for control as your hand was being ripped apart from the inside. Your heart beated within your ears as you find the energy to grab a spare scalpel from the tray and swipe it along the doctor’s neck, letting gravity and momentum carry out your attack.

You heard the sound of him choking on blood, his tools clattering to the floor as he struggled to get his bleeding under control. Rolling off the table, you hit the ground hard with your hip. The breath that was knocked out of you made your head spin. You used to take most pain like a champ. Now, everything felt like your were getting hit by a truck.

It didn’t stop you from trying to reorientate yourself, your bleeding, open hand clutching your head. When you finally managed to stand back up, the doctor was staggering to get out of the room. Taking advantage of his state of weakness, you took the bonesaw and prepared to ruin his hand like he tried to do to yours.

The doctor stumbled onto the pristine carpet of Porakov, staining it with his blood. As you got closer with the saw, his gurgles became more strained. Begging for mercy. Adrenaline was kicking in full swing now as you became engulfed in rageful flames. You took a flower vase to your left and threw it, hitting him square in the knees. While he was knocked down, you stepped on one of his wrists.

He had no choice but to take it unless he wanted to bleed out, his other hand still holding the wound. Without remorse, you began sawing off his left hand. Within a few seconds, you didn’t even hear the strained mixture of gurgles and screams anymore. You didn’t hear anything anymore as you just sawed away, taking out your time of suffering out on someone you thought deserved to die.

By the time the hand was detached, the doctor was already long gone. Your hands were shaking and you were exhausted. Everything was still mute, the sound of your heavy breath taking over your ears.

It was the smell of gunpowder that snapped your attention to the exit. It was an undeniable scent. Something big was going on. Perhaps you were finally getting rescued.

You took a step towards the door before stopping altogether, the door suddenly slammed open to reveal a bloody, panicked Porakov. He clutched his side that was staining his uniform in blood. The strap he usually carried was missing.

Adrenaline came rushing back as you were presented with your chance for revenge. Your step forward brought his attention to you. His eyes widened in fear. The animal was out of her cage.

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached. The door slammed open again, this time revealing a face that you never thought you’d get to see again. Blue eyes behind a dark skull. Your heart almost collapsed in on itself as you took him in. Even with the black paint around his eyes, you could tell that he was tired despite the rage.

Most of his anger melted away as Ghost saw you. Dehydrated and malnourished beyond belief. Bloody and sunken in. Eyes full of a mix of emotions that he wished he could ask about.

You looked back at your warden, shaking in his boots like a coward. This pathetic man that tortured you to the point of such weakness was now silently praying for mercy.

“Hold him down for me.” You ordered Ghost, your voice darker than the depths of the ocean.

He didn’t think you should be exerting yourself over anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny your order. You needed this. He wanted to give it to you.

A bullet hit Porakov’s knee, making sure he wouldn’t struggle too much for what you were about to do. As he screamed, Ghost settled himself in his office chair, tying him down with some spare duct tape he always kept on him.

You approached the desk, steadying yourself with your hands. Your left hand was beginning to feel numb by the second, nerves shredded like old newspaper after using both hands to work the saw. Your right hand was missing your pinkie finger.

“I’m going to make you wish you’ve never been born.” You simply stated, taking back up the bonesaw. Ghost silently watched you bring the serrated blades down on Porakov’s fingers, amazed that your desire for revenge was enough to give your body energy. He supposed that that was one of the things he missed about you. Your unwavering determination to see something through.

For this, you made sure to tune in in order to hear all the cries your warden had as you took all of his fingers. It was a sound you dreamed of hearing. This moment was what you’ve been waiting for.

Yet, your heart seemed to remain empty as you watched his fingers fall to the rug. You didn’t stop until all of his fingers were gone, but it all still felt so hollow. You thought if you could get your revenge, you would get your closure. So why wasn’t this as enjoyable as you thought it would be?

Sobs filled the space when you were done. The man you resented shriveled in his seat as he wept for his lost body parts. You clenched your jaw, feeling yourself fill with a cold, angry flame. “Lock him in the cell over there.”

“Wh-What?! Y-You can’t! What about food and water?!” He began to shout, squirming in his chair as Ghost rolled him into the cell. You were lucky that he couldn’t care less about doing the military-right thing. To both of you, this was the right thing to do.

“You are going to die cold, sad, and alone in that cell. I’ll guarantee it.” You promised, watching Ghost situate him in the far corner. He noticed the medical tools scattered around along with the metal medical table. The thought of you strapped down, screaming and losing pieces of your life with each cut made him want to beat the shit out of Porakov. But, it wasn’t what you wanted for him.

He left and closed the room before giving you space to lock it. As the both of you looked through the glass, taking one last sight of Porkav, you said your final goodbye. “Fuck you, Warden.”

Ghost followed behind as you began to leave, your adrenaline dying back down much faster than you expected. You were downright lethargic when you closed the door to the office, locking it behind you. “Break that shit. Make sure it will be locked for good.”

“Spi-”

“Now, Simon!” You snapped, not meaning to take your pain out on him. In response, he bit his tongue and followed your order. He just wished he could hear you call his name without so much hurt behind it.

As you heard him break the locking mechanism, you leaned against the wall, your vision swirling. Everything began to get hazy and dark, something pulling you into either death or sleep. You couldn’t fight it this time, your body exhausted from all the fighting you’ve spent months doing.

Ghost turned around as soon as he heard your body hit the floor, out cold. “Spite? Y/n?!”

He took you up in his arms and felt your pulse. Slow, but alive. He didn’t know where your blood began and enemy blood ended. You were so much lighter than what he remembered too.

It should’ve been him to get caught.

Carrying you in his arms, he radioed for evac. This time, you would get on that helicopter and be taken home, safe and sound. He would make sure of it.

You didn’t wake up for a while. A long while. By the time you did, you were a fraction into recovering from surgeries already. They fixed up your hand as best the doctors could, they got you on IVs and nourishment. They even had a dentist come in to replace any missing teeth.

The only thing they couldn’t fix or replace was your pinkie finger. That was something you had to live with for the rest of your life now. A constant reminder of what happened. At least you could wear certain clothes to cover up your numerous scars. It was impossible to comfortably hide a missing finger.

Ghost never left your room. Everyone took turns visiting you, even in your unconscious state. He stayed, though, the entire time.

He did everything for you that the nurses couldn’t. Making sure you were comfortable with blankets and pillow changes, making sure you had fresh flowers in your hospital room. He even played music he knew you liked, just in case you could somehow hear the world around you.

Anything to make up for being the one to take his bullet, he would do.

It was a sight for sore eyes when you finally opened them and saw him. Your throat was parched and sore, but you still spoke out to get his attention from a book he was reading. “Ghost?”

“Spite.” He immediately looked up. Jesus, you could cry. In fact, you did start to cry.

Tears began to travel down your cheeks. “I. . . I thought I’d never see you again. . .”

He took your right hand in his, a gesture that he has never done before, but not unwelcome. His hand was large, warm, and. . . perfect. “Me too, dove. We thought we lost you.”

“I did get shot in the head.” You justified, already trying to bring some easiness back with some dark humor.

Ghost missed your humor so much. It was easy to match. “You’ll have to show me how to do that party trick.”

You gave a short snicker. “You just gotta get a metal plate installed in your head. Wouldn’t recommend it, though. Hurts like hell.”

He finally gave a laugh, the first time since he lost you. Squeezing your hand tighter, he prepared the words that he actually wanted to say for when you woke up. “You took that bullet for me. It should have been me, but you took it. I-”

You interrupted him, already knowing where this was going. “Stop. You would’ve done the same for any of us. That’s what it means to trust each other with our lives. You don’t owe me shit for it, okay?”

Before Ghost could reply, the door to your hospital room opened. Your nurse stepped in with some new IV bags and blankets. She was taken aback as she noticed that you were awake. It didn’t take long for the doctor to rush in and for Ghost to get kicked out.

While he waited, he contacted the team to let them know that you were finally awake. They wasted no time in rushing over to see how you were doing, eager to see who they thought was dead. As soon as the doctor gave them the all clear, you were bombarded with the affection of your team.

For a moment, it made you forget about the horrors of your capture.

The fun was spoiled when the doctor came back into the room. The immediate question on everyone’s mind was regarding your stay.

“How long until I can get discharged?” You asked, eager to go back home without thinking too much about it. After the words left your mouth though, you realized that you probably didn’t have a home to go back to. Shit, all of your stuff was probably gone since you were declared dead. . .

“If everything goes smoothly, we can send you out tomorrow. However, you’ll need a lot of time to recover. We’re going to recommend physical therapy, some new medications, and a therapy recommendation. What you went through is something you should process with time. Do you have anyone that could help take care of you at home?”

You became silent and bit your lip. Before you were assumed to be dead, you didn’t really get along with your family. Knowing your family, they probably rejoiced over your death before immediately going over your will. You would’ve loved to be a fly on that wall.

And now that you were apparently still alive, you wondered how they would respond to asking for your stuff back. That was going to be something.

With no family, no home, and a list of things to do now that you were back, you began to get a headache. Just as you were about to explain the situation, though, Ghost chimed up.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Your eyes widened at the idea of Ghost being by your side for essentially twenty-four hours a day. “I already told you that you don’t owe me shit.”

He shook his head. “I’m not volunteering because of guilt.”

Now Price was the one to speak up. “It won’t have to be all on Ghost. We can take turns visiting and keeping an eye on you. Hell, we’ll take care of the hard tasks too while you recover.”

Feeling your headache become stronger triggered by new stress, you give up quickly. You were too tired to argue. “Fine.”

“Great! We’ll continue to monitor you and ensure you’ll be ready for discharge soon.”

You awkwardly waited in Ghost’s car as he prepared your wheelchair. Your legs were weak, but not unusable. For a brief moment, you argued with him about using a cane to help you walk. He was pretty insistent that you still took it very easy to the point that it was hard to say no.

Once he opened your car door, you got into the chair and looked up at the tall apartment complex. You wondered which floor was Ghost’s as he wheeled you in.

“You’ll be using my room while I sleep on the pullout couch. If you need help getting around anywhere, just ask. Price and Kate will visit later to discuss some options.” He explained as if he was going through a checklist.

“Options?”

He shrugged. “Job options. Living options.”

As he pushed you into the elevator, you began to panic. Job options? Did they intend on letting you go? Yeah, you were pretty fucked at the moment, but you just needed some time to get back in shape. You really don’t want to lose your job. Despite everything that happened, you still wanted to be part of the team.

With each ding of the elevator indicating a passing floor, you got more and more nervous. Ghost looked down at you, noticing how hard you were gripping your seat. His eyes couldn’t help but notice your missing finger on one hand and limp strength for the other. A sting in his chest had him look away.

He wasn’t letting you live with him out of guilt, but he was still sorry that this happened to you.

The elevator doors finally opened on the highest floor, revealing a long hallway leading to only a few doors. At the farthest end of the corridor, Ghost reached the apartment. A blast of refreshing A/C hit your senses first. The further he wheeled you in, the more you began to notice more.

His whole place was tidy and organized, a fact that contradicted what you remember about him. From what you remember, the guy was a mess. His desk at work was always crowded with paperwork, empty mugs of tea, and sticky notes meant to remind him on what to do next.

The sweet smell of pipe tobacco and vanilla spread across the environment, a few plug-in air fresheners scattered around. It made your anxiety melt as you became more familiar with the scent you used to smell everyday on Ghost.

He parked you near his polished dining table and placed a laptop in front of you. Your old laptop. “I’m gonna get some lunch started. I figure that you want some time to see what you missed?”

You nodded and booted up the laptop with your better hand. Your hand with damaged nerves needed some therapy focus before it could be fully functional again. “Thanks, Ghost. I appreciate this.”

“Of course.” He responded as he wandered off into his kitchen. A little window viewing the dining room allowed him to monitor you while he cooked. As we figured out what to make, he stared at you from a distance.

Color was returning back to your face. You were still light, but he would put some meat back on those bones soon. There was a shine back in your eyes that brought him back to those fun nights at the bar with you. He remembered your smile, your laugh, your gaze.

He remembered how you used to talk about cooking, one of your favorite things to do, whenever he had a moment alone with you. It was one of the things that made you light up. Ghost would sit there for hours, listening to you talk about what you’ve made, what you want to make, a new technique you want to try, how you should be in charge of the mess hall.

Deciding lunch, he shifted his focus on cooking, already predicting that it wasn’t going to be half as good as your cooking.

While you heard the sound of pots and pans clanging together, your hands ached. There was a phantom knife in your hand, waiting to start chopping vegetables that didn’t exist. For a moment, you willed your hands to move like you were entering prep-mode.

Your wrist quickly gave out within a few motions of pretend chopping. Not to mention that your left hand refused to curl your fingers in right.

When will you be able to cook like you did again?

When will everything feel normal again?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your pity party. Ghost answered it and directed Price and Kate to you, as promised. Kate gave you a pearly smile and Price gave you a warm pat on the shoulder.

They took their seats and then immediately dived into the grit. Ghost eavesdropped from the kitchen. “We don’t want to bullshit you, Spite. There are a lot of things that need to happen before you can return to your job. We can’t even give you desk duty until you do a few things first.”

You crossed your arms over her chest, not liking where this was going. “Like what?”

Kate passed over a manilla folder containing various paperwork sheets and tests. “First, we would need to interview you. Ask you about what happened while you were imprisoned.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “You wanna know if I opened my mouth about anything.”

“We know you didn’t and you never would. A team sent with us when we came to rescue you collected whatever evidence and intel they could get their hands on. They found recordings of your interrogations. We’re going through them now to make sure you kept certain things confidential.” Price reassured, already sensing that you were beginning to stress out.

You understood why it had to be done. It just made you sick to your stomach that your torture was being looked at solely for the purpose of checking to see if you were a good soldier. “Who’s reviewing the recordings?”

“Professionals. But they want your testimony too.” Kate vaguely elaborated, trying to move past this already.

You didn’t let up, though. Instead, you asked for something that shocked the both of them. Even Ghost who was chopping onions paused mid-cut. “Can I choose someone from the team to review them instead?”

“Why would you want that?”

“I don’t want a couple of strangers viewing something as intimate as my torture. I would rather have someone I know I can trust see those recordings.” You justified, not thinking much about the weight of that request.

Kate and Price looked between each other, silently debating on if they should honor your request. There was a concern of conflict of interest, but then again, the 141 got a few special privileges. Price cleared his throat. “Who would you want to see the recordings?”

The obvious answer should have been Kate, but it wasn’t. In fact, you really didn’t want Kate to look at any part of your torture. You didn’t even think she could stomach it. She was capable and tough like the rest of you, but she worked more from the shadows to save her from horrendous bloodshed.

There were only three people that you felt like could handle it. Price, Ghost, and yourself. Like hell they were going to let you see your own footage though. “Would you and Ghost mind?”

Price gave it some deep thought before nodding. “I can do it if that’s what you want. Ghost?”

Ghost wasn’t surprised that Price knew he was eavesdropping. “I’ll do it.”

Kate immediately closed that part of the conversation. “Well that’s that. Next, we have to retest you in multiple areas. Physical, mental, shooting range, the whole works. Some of the intelligence based tests can be done sooner, but the rest will have to wait until you are physically fit again.”

“That could take weeks.” You grumbled, already getting impatient with your recovery process.

“We have time. Outside of work tasks, anything that should take priority in your personal life. Besides the basics, of course.” Price switched topics, hoping that will brighten your mood a little.

You did like bossing them around when you had the chance. With a smirk, you began rattling off all the things you needed them to do for you. “Contact my lawyer and family. Gotta get that sorted out and hopefully get some stuff back if my folks haven’t tossed anything out yet. And if I don’t have to be the one to do it, the better. That’s probably the first major errand. Most of the other things will have to wait until the basics are done.”

“I do want my favorite brand of coffee here. Sorry, Ghost, but your coffee is shit.” You spoke a little louder, making sure that Ghost could hear you. Doing so made your throat already feel sore, but it was worth it when you got to here a chuckle back.

“Tell me how you really feel.” He smiled beneath the mask as he pushed the diced veggies into a large pot filled with chicken stock. The aroma of chicken soup was making you salivate.

Kate and Price eased up from your humor too as they added your coffee request to their list. After a few more minutes of chatter, they said goodbye so you could enjoy lunch. It was a good thing too because you were hungry and your voice was getting sore.

Ghost finished up the simple chicken noodle soup. Carrots, onions, celery, leftover shredded chicken melded together in a stock that was sure to be nutritious yet easy on your recovering stomach. When he served you a bowl, you nearly cried at how good it looked.

With a shaky hand, you lifted your spoon and took a taste. Before you knew it, you began to silently cry. Ghost, who returned to the table with his own bowl, began to panic at your tears. “It doesn’t taste good?”

“This is the best meal I’ve ever had.” You sobbed, recalling all of the shitty, bland food and starvation you had to deal with. To you, this simple chicken soup was heaven on earth.

Ghost didn’t know what to say, think, or feel for a moment. He didn’t expect such high praise, even if your reasoning was something he could guess. He settled for a proud, simple response. “Thanks. Take your time.”

Silently, you ate, savoring every ounce of flavor that graced your tastebuds. The egg noodles were perfectly al dente, the carrots were tender, and the chicken pieces were easy to swallow. Miraculously, it sparked a deep hunger for more food. But, you still needed to take it easy. If you ate the portion size you did before capture now, you would lose such a delicious lunch.

“Why did you choose me to review your footage?” Ghost suddenly asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was content with watching you eat so gratefully, yet the memories of the conversation before lunch still haunted him.

Your hand stopped moving the spoon within the bowl. You didn’t expect him to ask something like that. Normally, he just followed orders. “I think you would handle seeing it better than others. Not gonna lie, there is probably some gnarly stuff on those tapes.”

His stomach twisted into knots at the mention. He would still do this for you, of course, but he probably wasn’t going to be as strong as you thought he was about it.

It was your torture after all.

Adjustment was going smoothly. There were some hiccups here and there, but you soon got used to Ghost taking care of you. He got used to relinquishing more control over to you as well. You quickly graduated to only needing a walking cane occasionally thanks to your dedication to physical therapy. Your hands needed more work, but at least you could get around the apartment with ease.

When you earned your achievement of free walking, you got more bossy and impatient. It was something Ghost was able to handle it since you delivered it with humor and hard work, but he soon began to notice dips in your mood here and there.

He has been adamant about sleeping on the couch while you took his room. Since you began walking, you have tried to change that sleeping arrangement to no avail. Everytime you looked at the couch, a brief flash of guilt went over your face.

He would catch you looking at your hands a lot, willing them to do more than just twitch and shake. Your brow would furrow in frustration when you practiced holding different movements and weights. Occasionally, you would hiss from pain as you tried to force progress. It became routine for him to end up holding your hands to make sure you gave yourself a break.

The other issue that was hard to resolve was your night terrors. Ghost thought his nightmares were bad, but they seemed like nothing compared to how you would scream in the middle of the night. It would always startle him awake. He would always rush to the door to calm you down. You would always tremble and cry in his arms.

You couldn’t go back to sleep unless Ghost was with you, his arms tight around your body and holding you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat became a lullaby that always made you regain your breathing.

The more he took care of you, the more he began to notice things about you. He was getting closer to you than ever before as he spent time with you every day. Sure, he was looking out for you, but it didn’t feel like a chore. Having you live with him became such a natural sight to him. It was like you always belonged there.

So it really unnerved him when he was finally called to review your footage.

You said goodbye to him when he left for base. For the first time, you were alone. Ghost gave you strict instructions to take it easy, forbidding you from certain activities while he was gone. However, you paid no mind to his warning, eager to normalize your life even more.

The feeling of the chef’s knife in your palm was a familiar weight that brought back so many memories. You had been wanting to get back into cooking earlier, but Ghost always scolded you and said you weren’t ready yet.

You planned on proving him wrong by cooking dinner for tonight. Something simple and comforting. Pasta with a homemade sauce.

Your dreams felt like they were shattering as you struggled to open the tomato can with the opener though. The strength it took made your hands ache almost immediately. Having the strength to push the weight of the blade down into the garlic was agony too. Even with a sharp knife, you were having such a hard time doing what was meant to be easy.

Only thirty minutes had passed after Ghost left when you ended up lying on the kitchen floor, crying for your hands to work again and for a life you lost.

Meanwhile, Ghost was just arriving on base. He wondered if you were doing alright. He hoped you weren’t pushing yourself while he was gone. Damn, he should’ve asked Gaz or Soap to watch you. He didn’t want to treat you like a child, but he knew you well enough that you were probably doing something you weren’t supposed to.

That’s how you got your call sign in the first place.

“Lieutenant Ghost, you ready?” Price ushered him into a secured, private room. Soundproof, dark, and void of any windows. Various tapes sat on a table next to a small TV. Ghost grabbed a chair and settled in, trying to relax as much as he can.

“Pay attention, try to stay unbiased, and keep this confidential. We can only talk about this with each other, Spite, and the investigation leaders.” Price ordered like a captain. Resolute and sharp. Despite the confidence in his voice, your captain was afraid. He didn’t want to see one of his best sergeants get tortured.

Ghost was trying to steel himself for it too. “Yes, Captain.”

With that, Price hit play and took the small seat next to Ghost. The footage began with the first day you were captured. You were stirring unconscious, strapped to a chair, and bleeding out of the side of your head where you got shot. The scene already had Ghost simmering with rage and sorrow.

He watched as you woke up, met your warden, and then immediately took a molar from you with swift punches to the jaw. He watched you spit the blood back in his face, growl threats he could never repeat, and then have your knees shattered with a sledgehammer.

It was clear that it hurt. That it was agony. The way your lungs gasped for air. The way you bit back your screams only to echo within your throat. The way you lost consciousness for a moment only to wake up from immense pain as they cut you.

And yet, you didn’t say a word. You never mentioned your name. Never revealed who you were with and why. You didn’t let anything get past your locked lips.

Porakov punished your resilience with more torture. Ten minutes in and it was already getting too much for Ghost to handle. How could anyone survive this? How did you?

His stomach turned as he watched the day you lost your pinkie finger. You were getting noticeably weaker and skinnier with each new day on the tape. Your knee was still healing. Porakov only took advantage of this as he pushed you around.

None of his questions got answers. Not a single one. Not even when the gardening shears pinched around your delicate finger.

Ghost almost threw up when he witnessed the final cut. You screamed, but you didn’t cry. You never did. At least, not in front of Porakov. It wasn’t until everyone left you in the cell that you let your pain turn into tears. And it absolutely broke his heart.

Feeling lightheaded, Ghost began to reach for the pause button on the TV. Price beat him to it, though. “I think that’s enough for today. Thought I could sit through what I allotted for this, but this is hard to watch. Even for me. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

After scheduling the next time to watch more footage, Ghost rushed back to his car to drive home. How could he have left you home by yourself after everything that’s been done to you?! You stayed optimistic and humorous most of the time, but there was no way you were really okay. No one would be okay if they went through what you went through.

There was still months of footage left to sift through.

Not caring about the risks of getting pulled over, Ghost sped along the highway leading back home. He began trying to call you, hoping that your new phone that the team got you was working fine.

When you didn’t answer, he tried again, the pit in his soul becoming darker and bigger. He shouldn’t have left you home alone.

He stopped trying after the tenth calling attempt. Instead, he focused on speeding faster. He got back to the apartment within record time. When he slammed the door open, he began looking for you.

His terror amplified as he found you on the kitchen floor, knife laying next to you and dinner prep unfinished. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were staring off into the distance. The light in your eyes was gone. Just like the day you ordered for your warden to be killed.

You didn’t remember when the panic attack started. Somewhere in the middle of your grief perhaps. It completely crippled you. Plunged you into such a horrible memory that you were desperately trying to forget. Your breath was stolen and your heart ached as if you pushed a knife into it.

Afterwards, you dissociated. You couldn’t register the cold tiles beneath you. You couldn’t remember what you were doing in the first place. You didn’t even hear your phone go off or Ghost rushing into the house.

Warmth stirred you back to the land of the living, Ghost’s arms wrapping tight around you. An unfamiliar sensation buried into the crook of your neck. The feeling of light stubble and shaky breaths. It was then that you realized that he had taken off his mask to bury his face into you.

Slowly, you wrapped your sore arms around his broad shoulders. The natural, sweet scent of you just made him feel the need to hold you tighter. Closer.

He never wanted to leave your side again.

“Is this hug for me? Or for you?” You half-joked, returning to your usual self with a sore voice.

His shoulders relaxed as he heard your question. Relief soon morphed into anger as he realized that you tried to do without him there. It was hard for him to keep his voice from rising. “I told you to take it easy. I thought something happened to you.”

You flinched back, not expecting to be scolded so soon. “I just thought-”

“The only thoughts you should be having is about recovering.” He pulled back from the hug, allowing you to really see his face up close.

You had only seen his face a couple of times before your capture. You had served with the 141 for under a year, so it made sense why you didn’t get to see it often. But now that you could really get a good look, your heart skipped a beat and a blush slowly crept along your cheeks.

His eyes were much brighter without the mask already. Flecks of black warpaint revealed blond lashes that matched his light locks. His jaw looked like it was carved from quartz and a few scars only gave character to his strong features.

Fuck, your old, childish crush on him was beginning to resurface at the worst possible moment.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze. The hammering of your heart made it hard to figure out what to say next. “Sorry. . .”

Ghost gave a deep sigh, raking a large hand through his hair. Seeing the guilt in your eyes made him feel like he fucked up. He shouldn’t be making you feel like this. “No, Spite. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Not only that, but seeing your tapes followed by you not answering the phone and then looking dead on the floor had him think the worst. Though, he wasn’t ready to saddle you with that burden. You needed comfort and stability.

Gently, he cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to his. Your breath hitched as he did, his touch now feeling like electricity. “What were you trying to make?”

“Pasta. . .”

“You really want to get back into cooking?”

At that, you gave a firm nod. It would be something that would make you feel better. Normal. Even if it was just for a moment. You really needed to create something with your hands.

Ghost couldn’t deny you. Not when you made such a beautifully, determined expression.

Carefully, he stood up and helped you get back on your feet. The knife on the floor was put into the sink. A new chef’s knife was placed in your hand. Before you could ask what he was doing, he positioned you in front of the cutting board, stood close behind you to the point where your back was touching his chest, and he held his hands over yours. “Let me know if you start to hurt. You can lean back on me if you need it too.”

Now your heart was really racing. The whirlwind shift of emotions made you lightheaded. How could you switch from a panic attack to feeling lovesick? How could you still have a crush on him after all this time?

It took you a moment to relax under his touch and allow him to use your hands to cut the garlic. The heat of his chest seeped into your back as he cautiously guided the cooking process with you in the middle. When he spoke up, his voice so close to your ear, you nearly fainted. “You feeling alright?”

“Y-Yeah. . . I’m fine. Thanks, Ghost.” You stuttered out, feeling embarrassed by the proximity.

“You know, you can call me Simon when it’s just me and you, dove.” He allowed, feeling the heat of your own body rise against his chest. He couldn’t see your face clearly, but he could tell that your ears were turning red.

It stirred something deep within himself.

Your brain short-circuited when he gave you permission to use his real name. You had only used it when you needed him to understand your serious intentions. It wasn’t something you took lightly. Now, he wanted you to call him that more intimately.

At first, you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t until you realized that all of the cloves of garlic were minced perfectly, your hands still able to take a little more cooking. “Seriously. Thank you, Simon.”

His heart leapt when you used his name like he wanted. “Of course, dove. Anything for you.”

Simon didn’t move an inch away from you until everything was ready to get tossed onto the stove. When the prep work was done, you had excused yourself to go rest, allowing him to finish dinner.

He let you go, but he really didn’t want to. He could never let you go now. Especially not when you were definitely blushing over him.

It wasn’t that you needed rest from cooking. You needed rest from Simon. A minute to get your heartbeat under control. This wasn’t like you. You were confident, resilient, strong, spiteful. Not gooey and bashful.

Only Ghost could make you feel this way.

You had a crush on him when you first met the team. It was the air of mystery that drew you to him first. His sense of humor, confidence, and intelligence that matched yours drew you in deeper. He had said that he was actually quite handsome under the mask, and you believed him during that time.

That’s all you tried to leave it at, though. A silly little crush. Being in the presence of a strong, muscular, and confident man would make anyone feel weak in the knees. That’s what you told yourself when you were stomping out your feelings for the sake of professionalism.

It worked too. After snuffing out that crush, you grew to be a friend to him. He trusted you more and you trusted him. There was nothing in the world that would make you trade over the friendship you had with him. With anyone on your team. It was the right thing to do at the time and it still was.

So why the hell were you falling in love with him all over again?

You chalked it up to being locked up for too long. Of course your heart would begin to sway towards Ghost. He’s been taking care of you and you’ve been living with him and he’s the first man you’ve been spending time with. Now that you realize this, snuffing out your feelings again shouldn’t be so hard.

Keyword: Shouldn’t.

Ghost made it really difficult for you to maintain some space from him. You have been adamant about healing through cooking. He’s been adamant about being with you every step of the way. Holding you between his arms in case you feel faint, guiding your hands when you don't have the strength, speaking directly into your ear when he wants to talk to you.

Everytime he came back from base, his clinginess increased tenfold. You knew that he was coming back from watching your footage. But you didn’t want to be pitied or the center of any guilt he may have.

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for your interview, dove?” Simon hovered near his bedroom door, watching you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You have been looking a lot better after these couple of months. You gained a wealthy weight, you were getting around much better, and some of your strength returned to your muscles.

It was still a ways to go before you could go out onto the field again, but it was a good start. Besides the night terrors that still haunted you, you were beginning to look like your old self.

At least, that’s what it looked like to him. You, on the other hand, were beginning to stress about how you looked. It felt good for your body to be getting back on the right track, yet you found imperfections. Things you had to be patient about such as your hair.

The doctors had to cut it in order to put a new metal plate back in your head. Your hair was growing back decently fast, but not fast enough to your liking. Besides the hair, you were covered in scars that weren’t fading anytime soon. Probably never with how deep they went.

“Dove?”

Simon snapped you out of your stupor. “H-Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can talk to me about anything, you know?” Simon stepped forward, hoping to cure your sudden anxiety.

“Sorry, just a little distracted I guess.” You brushed off. It would be embarrassing to tell him how you felt ugly right now. The last thing you wanted to do was fish for compliments too.

Simon knew you were lying, but he dropped it. Instead, he followed you out of the apartment and drove you to the interview. On the way there, you let the radio fill the silence between the two of you.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, wondering why the hell you were so distant from him all of a sudden. The two of you were getting along great when you first arrived. Now, you were locking yourself up in his bedroom a lot more, speaking to him less, and had your head in the clouds when he was trying to talk to you.

Did he do something wrong? Make you feel bad about something? He thought you liked him.

The car pulled up onto the base, a place you haven’t seen for a long time. Everything looked like how you remembered. Military grays, greens, and browns. Recruits jogging around. The smell of cigarette smoke in the air. It almost seemed like nothing had changed.

Price greeted you halfway to the interview and then escorted you to it. It was the same room they used to examine your footage, the tapes finally over. You sat in a seat across from a woman in a business suit.

Price and Simon were ordered to stay out in the hall and wait. As they waited for you, Simon thought about getting back in your good graces.

“She alright? She seemed more quiet than usual on the walk.” Price suddenly spoke up, also curious about the trouble in paradise.

“Don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything about what’s been bothering her.” He confessed, an annoyed tone lacing with his words.

The captain hummed in thought. “Has she taken that offer to see a therapist?”

“Nope. Only the physical therapist. You think she needs it?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. I think it would be good for her to really unpackage everything that went down before we put a gun back in her hands. Someone that’s a professional.”

Simon gave it some thought. As much as he wanted to be the one you turned to to talk about your feelings, he agreed that you would most likely feel better talking to a professional. He wasn’t necessarily equipped to provide both comfort and trauma solving.

Hell, he probably needs therapy too.

He figured that he would suggest the idea when the two of you return home. Let you sleep on it.

You exited the room after about an hour. The interview took much longer than you expected, but they were thorough. No detail was to be left unspoken. It was a wonder how you managed to talk about everything that happened without breaking down. Perhaps it was because you did really want your job back. The more capable you seemed, the more likely they would give it to you.

After a quick stop visiting Gaz and Soap, Simon took you back to the apartment. You entered the space so naturally that it felt like it was your home. Simon even let you buy some decor to make the place more comfortable for you that you could take to your new apartment, whenever that would be available.

Before Simon could invite you to sit on the couch with him for a moment to talk, you had already closed the door to the bedroom. The interview left you tired. It was still taking a while to get your voice used to talking again.

As you crossed the space, you noticed your reflection in the mirror. You looked the same from when you left. Maybe a little bit more exhausted, but still the same, unflattering body you wished was completely back to normal already.

There was a soft knock on the door. You didn’t register it as you just sat on the floor, looking at your reflection and wondering what you could do to make yourself feel pretty again. Since you didn’t answer, Simon slowly opened the door.

“Dove? What’s wrong?” He cautiously asked, not wanting to startle you.

You gave a deep sigh that even he felt in his soul. “Just. . . missing the me from before.”

His shoulders felt lighter in relief. He was so glad that you were talking to him again. However, It was souring quickly now that your words were settling in. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. . . I guess. . . I thought that I was decently pretty before. I was happy with how I looked. . . I don’t really see that anymore.” You tried to explain, feeling your throat begin to choke on each word. God, you felt stupid.

Simon could hardly believe it. To him, you were still the prettiest lady he’s ever met. Your smile made his day brighter. Your hands felt warm and perfect in his. Your eyes were works of art he could stare into all day.

He was in love with you.

“W-What?” Your face grew red, not understanding why he was staring so intensely at you. So seriously. It’s been a while since you’ve faced him this close. Did he think you were being dumb too?

He took a seat behind you on the floor and pulled you into his lap. An arm snaked across your stomach before you could escape. His other hand guided your chin to look back into the mirror. “Take a good look at yourself again, dove. Don’t tell me that you’re not pretty anymore because it’s not true.”

Your heart was going to burst from your chest. If you stay like this with him for much longer, it would be impossible to destroy your feelings for him. “Si-”

“Your cheeks are turning pink. Are you getting embarrassed?” He tightened his hold and deepened his voice. He would do anything to make you feel attractive again. Including revealing that he was attracted to you.

As he pointed out your blush, you only reddened deeper. “T-This is because you surprised me!”

“Oh? It’s not because you like me?” He teased, not being able to help himself. Before everything, you were so confident and enthusiastic at work. He never got to see your bashful side. It was incredibly cute.

You froze in his lap as he revealed your secret. How long has he known?! Was he just toying with you right now?! This was not how you imagined a confession going at all, not that you ever really planned on confessing.

Turning your head to face him directly, you attempted to dig out of the hole you were in. “Simon-”

“You’re too cute.” He suddenly admitted before pressing his lips firmly against yours. He lost control as soon as he saw your expression up close within his lap. The way your brows furrowed, how your ears turned more pink by the second, how you called him by his name.

There was no way in hell he was going to make you feel unattractive right now.

Startled by the kiss, it took you a moment to realize what was happening. When your brain did kick back into gear, you could hardly believe it. Simon was kissing you. Not just that, but he was kissing you so deeply that it made you melt.

You couldn’t possibly fight back your feelings for him now.

Eventually, you began kissing him back. When he felt your effort, he took that as a good sign to keep going. Your lips were so soft and warm against his. Your weight in his embrace felt perfect. His tongue swiped at your lips and then plunged into your mouth to taste even more of you.

You softly moaned into his mouth, electricity firing all along your nerves. His muscular, strong chest against your back made you feel hot all over. His tongue that aimed to taste every inch of you did just that. A sensation you haven’t felt for what felt like decades began to spread throughout your pelvis.

His hand guided your gaze back to the mirror in front of you, your own expression making your breath hitch. Cheeks pink, lips swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly. The bottom of your shirt was a little hiked up, exposing just an inch of waist that drove Simon wild. “See, dove? You’re perfect.”

He held your chin in place, forcing you to watch as he trailed kisses along the side of your neck. His free hand slipped under your shirt, feeling skin that now matched his. You gasped and shivered as he felt you up, feeling his hand travel further up until he reached the bottom wire of your bra. The kisses mixed with tongue and teeth against your neck made you whimper in excitement.

“You’re still soft to the touch. Still warm and living. How I see you hasn’t changed. You are still the same pretty woman I grew to like so much.” He sweetly confessed into your ear as he stripped off your shirt.

Simon liked you too? Since when? Mental questions faded away as you noticed him unsnap your bra to reveal your breasts. Your hands instinctively went to cover them up, but he caught your wrists in his hand.

“No, dove. I gotta show you just how attractive you are. Keep looking at your pretty little face in the mirror.” He playfully smirked, loving this new side of you more than he imagined. His cock was already pressing against the fabric of his pants, getting bigger by the second.

With your wrists still held together, he began to massage your breasts. The other side of your neck was shown some love through feverish kisses, making you squirm in his lap. You could feel his growing erection pressed behind you, making your pussy tingle with need. When he pinched a nipple tight, you let a moan slip.

As he dragged his tongue along your neck, he watched the pleasure on your face through the mirror. His pants felt tighter by the second, eager to really show you just how attractive you were to him.

Limbs felt like jelly as he continued to tease you. When your wrists felt more slack in his grip, he let go to use both hands. You sat in his lap, melted and shivering as he played with both of your nipples. “You’re so sensitive. It’s really turning me on, dove.”

You pressed your legs tighter together, feeling your wetness slowly stain your panties. Simon’s strong chest rose with his labored breath, cock now aching with pain from the restriction of his clothes. He wanted more. He wanted to see every inch of you.

He guided your legs to spread for him, making sure that your pussy would be clear as day through the mirror. You debated fighting back before things went too far, but his hands on you felt incredible. You were so turned on too, despite feeling embarrassed about how weak and bashful you looked.

In one move, your pants and panties were gone, revealing your slick cunt for both you and Simon to see. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs. However, Simon made sure that you didn’t. He made sure you looked at the mirror too. “Take a good look, dove. So wet for me. . . So pretty. Pink. Soft. Never seen something so delicious before.”

His large fingers began to rub through your folds, spreading your wetness around easily. His eyes grew feverish as he spread you open, feeling the pulse that traveled through you.

You gasped as he started rubbing your clip in slow, deep circles. Almost two years of abstinence made you sensitive beyond comprehension. “Ah~! Simon~!”

“That’s right, dove. Don’t stop looking at yourself.” He instructed, his voice so deep that it echoed in your head. Lightning zipped through you as he continued to tease your clit, another hand going back to your hard nipples.

God, Simon was so good at this. He was reading you like a book, noticing every flinch, every scrunch, every tremble that flashed across your face. He was getting to know all your sweet spots. Every piece of you that begged for more.

Your hips bucked as his finger on your cunt slid down close to your entrance. Through the mirror, you saw him smirk, making your heart leap. “Patience. I’ll give my dove what she wants as long as she keeps looking at herself. Promise.”

Gently, he worked his fingers inside of you, feeling just how hot you really were getting for him. He suppressed his own shiver as he felt you tighten up, sucking his fingers in deeper. You clung on to his arms and moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss.

Grabbing your chin, he made you watch yourself get fingered. “Don’t look away.”

You had no choice but to follow your instructions. Kisses peppered your neck, making sure you didn’t have the space to turn your head away again. You watched his fingers pump in and out of you, more of your natural honey drooling out of you.

“Ahh! Mnn~!” A loud moan escaped you as you felt his fingers curl to hit that perfect, spongy spot that drove you crazy. Your reaction was instant, your pussy tightening further and tremors traveling through every nerve. Simon could feel and see it. You were getting close to an orgasm. And he really wanted you to reach it.

“That’s it. Watch yourself cum for me, dove.” He praised, moving his fingers more powerfully to make sure you wouldn’t lose that pleasurable high.

It was beautiful watching you moan and drool and shutter in his lap. It was so sexy how you looked at the mirror with feverish eyes like you wanted more than just his fingers. He wanted to use more too. But not before you came.

Simon put more pressure on your g-spot, not caring that you were making such a huge mess all over his hand. All he wanted to do was go deeper, so deep that his palm was pressing into your throbbing clit.

That is what made you see stars. With a scream, you were plunged into an orgasm that made you stupid. Simon smirked with pride as he held you during your climax, feeling just how tightly you clung to his fingers. He loved that blissful expression on your face while you came. Corners of your eyes brimming with tears, blush swept across your cheeks, body glowing with excitement.

“Didn’t I tell you? Absolutely gorgeous.” He complimented, giving you soft kisses on the side of your head as you calmed down. It was still hard to breathe, your heart beating erratically from the climax and from Simon’s husky praises. When he pulled his fingers away, you whimpered from the sensitivity.

Carefully, you were removed from his lap and laid down in front of him. While you took a moment to rest, Simon grabbed a few pillows from his bed, tossed them to the floor, and then stripped. At the sight of his strong build, you swallowed some drool.

It was strength made to be used. Muscular and soft in all the right places. His own body was covered in old scars, something that made him alluring rather than flawed. And then when your eyes traveled down to his huge, throbbing cock, you felt that familiar tingle take over again.

“Like what you see?” He teased, situating the pillows under you so you could be more comfortable. The head of his dick prodded at your folds, lubing itself up. As he slid along your folds, rubbing your sensitive, red bud, you lost your breath again.

“Simon. . .” You called out in what you hoped sounded like a warning rather than begging. God, you wanted him inside you already. You wanted to feel every inch of him fuck you like you were the most sexy woman on the planet.

He chuckled a little, your tone a mixture of scolding and impatience. A perfect tone that made him want to fuck you hard already. But, he held back. For now at least. Instead, he turned your head to make you look at your reflection again. Slowly, he entered you, feeling your hot pussy cling to him like it was made for him.

Your expression immediately morphed as he slid his cock inside you deeper. Eyebrows scrunched, vision hazy, plump lips bitten. He was thick. Incredibly thick. You’ve never been so filled up before. It hurt a little, but pain was quickly replaced with pleasure as you got used to it.

Simon gave a satisfied sigh when finally reached the base. It was a sight to behold, your tight pussy stretched to accommodate him. It felt so good inside you. Hot. Slick. His thrusts were slow and deep, watching every reaction you had as you felt every inch of him. It only turned him on even more as he made you watch.

His hands clutching your hips to control the pace had you tremble. You loved how he was careful, yet still wanted to manhandle you. There were moments where you could see him lose his cool for a second. A shuddered breath here, a swallowed groan there. His own expressions as he fucked you deep is what really turned you on the most.

“Fuck, dove. You’re so tight~” He exhaled, picking up the pace with his thrusts. Your toes curled and your back arched as his cock hit every pleasure point within you. It was perfect how he was large and skilled enough to reach every spot you liked. And it was all thanks to how closely he paid attention to you.

His body pressed against yours as he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted to see your pretty face up close when you cum next. He wanted to feel those beautiful tits pressed flush against his own skin. When he felt you tighten, he knew you were getting close.

You hung onto him tight, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging your nails into his back. It was incredible feeling his muscles flex with each thrust under your hands. Everything felt so good with him. You never thought you would feel pleasure like this again.

Simon hissed as you clawed his back, a blissful sensation that only left him wanting more. He pistoned harder, hoping that your nails would leave new scars on him. “I can feel you getting close. Look into my eyes when you do.”

Moans gradually turned into screams as he fucked you as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing hard with his own desire to climax. Hearing you scream his name was turning him on more than he thought. So much so that he began calling out yours.

Hearing your own name from his lips with such a desperate tone made the wave crash down. Looking deep into his eyes, you came around him. Every part of you trembled, electricity taking over. It felt like every cell within you was screaming for him. His breath hitched as you tightened and soaked him. And god, the way you looked while cumming. . .

He held you tight as he felt himself climax too, hot ropes adding to the heat. Your back arched as he gave a few final pumps, milking himself out in you as much as he could. It was hard to control your shutters when he enjoyed the final moments of having you. When he did pull out, it left you feeling empty, yet satisfied.

Knowing that you were feeling weak, Simon carried you to his bed and laid you down. You were surprised when he crawled into the spot next to you and pulled you into his chest like he was holding a lover. Was that what you two were now? Lovers?

“Like I said before, you’re perfect.” Simon praised and kissed the top of your head.

You two were definitely lovers. All the doubt cleared as you listened to his heartbeat.

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