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[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x you

Rating: Mild, no smut or gore

Warnings: Mostly chill, Ghost does yell a bit— although you do have to exercise 😔

Summary: You’re working on breach (as in doors not babies) exercises and Ghost is overseeing yet again (sus)

Notes: I know I haven’t updated in forever but in my defence I wasn’t feeling it. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2343

ao3 link

You were starting to think that Ghost might be following you.

Of course, this might have been fuelled in part by your deep desire for the man’s attention; after all, there were a dozen reasons that a Lieutenant would be overseeing another training exercise, none of which had to do with you, but you liked to believe otherwise.

“If you spend the whole time mooning over him, I’ll put you in a headlock again.” Katy didn’t seem to feel at all the same about Ghost’s presence, her square jaw set in defiance as she sized up the men around her, always ready to prove how worthy she was of her place in the forces. Elle pulled a face at Katy, “Sourpuss. Let the woman dream.” Elle looked at the large, nondescript grey building, “I mean, there’s all sorts of nooks and crannies in these practice buildings, plenty of places for you two to sneak off to and shag.” A soldier nearby turned around, his brow raised questioningly, and you elbowed Elle in the ribs, “Queen of subtlety, you are! Just shout it from the barracks, why don’t you?” She hummed, “You know what, that’s a good idea!” As she opened her mouth to shout, you elbowed her in the ribs again, and she grinned, squirming away from you, “Well then, don’t tell me to!”

Katy snapped her fingers, “My God, is that all you two think about?” She tapped her fingers on her thighs excitedly as she walked, “We’re practising breaches. You can fuck a soldier any day. But you don’t get to play around with explosives every day.” You paused, “I- What? Babe, you’re literally part of the bomb squad.” Katy rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I get to drive around a little robot all day. They don’t let me blow shit up for fun. Except for today. And I’m not letting you two dickheads ruin it for me.” Elle pouted, but the two of you acquiesced, quieting as you walked along behind Katy, a pair of troublesome chicks behind the mother hen.

It was as though you were back in secondary school, the way the three of you clung together in the desperate hope that you’d be able to stick together as a group, and luckily for you, you did. Better yet, the commanding officer assigned three more women to your little group, two of whom you’d met before, the third a new face. Elle seemed to have sized up the other women as potential suitors, though by the slightly morose look on her face, you assumed her self-described ‘gaydar’ wasn’t giving her the results she wanted. Katy had clocked another ammunition technician and was already deep in conversation about the intricacies of ordnance and munitions, and Elle had swiftly gotten over the lack of romance and was happily chatting away with the other two, leaving you to scan the crowd, looking for Ghost.

It wasn’t hard to find him; his mask made for quite a distinctive look, though he was turned away from you, his hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest, busy talking with the officers around him. Though Elle gave you a subtle look out the corner of her eye, she knew enough not to make any mention of your quiet crush on Ghost in front of the other soldiers, allowing you to pine for the man silently.

You hadn’t seen him since your night out at the club, but the memory was still pristine in your mind: the way the two of you had danced, the jumper you still had bundled up underneath your bed, as well as the one under your pillow, the way he’d brushed his hand against your cheek so intimately. There was something between the two of you, no doubt about it, but as to what it was, you had no idea. It was no secret that there were fairly strict rules about fraternisation between ranks, even if they weren’t always followed, and Ghost had toed the professional line carefully; he’d danced with you and showed some tenderness in the way he asked after your injury, and brushed your cheek, yet the same could be said for Katy or Elle, and you hadn’t any plans on shagging either of them. What you wanted was confirmation, a solid sign of what Ghost’s intentions were, but unless you outright asked the man, you weren’t likely to get an answer.

Unfortunately for you, Ghost seemed to be able to sense your not-so-subtle staring at him, his head slightly turning, his eyes flicking from soldier to soldier until they finally landed on you. Even from a distance, his gaze seemed to pin you in place, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, and what was wrong with you? You were a soldier and a damned good one at that, and here you were, weak at the knees because some man was looking at you. He hadn’t even so much as kissed you, but even still, he was ever-present in the back of your mind, a forbidden fantasy to get you to sleep at night and to keep you going through boring tasks during the day.

Ghost was the one to break eye contact first, turning back to the officers and sending them out to start off the event, leaving you pining after him, wishing for him to look back at you. Once again, you caught the daydream in its tracks, forcing yourself to focus on the officers as they talked about the exact machinations of the task at hand, describing how you would be breaching the door and entering one after the other, making sure to check your corners. You could see in Katy’s posture, the way she was bouncing on her tiptoes, that she was desperate to start, the last word barely out of the instructor's mouth before she was pulling your little group forward to be the first into the house.

How it had gone so atrociously wrong, you weren’t entirely sure. Katy had placed the door breaches perfectly, and once they’d gone off, Elle had led the way into the house, kicking the door open with a well-placed boot, and the four of you had been ready to charge into the room to clear it when the door had been kicked back into Elle’s face, and that moment had knocked the front of your train of people off balance, though the momentum was still going forward, so you’d ended up as a dogpile on the dusty concrete floor, the soldiers playing the enemy surrounding you easily.

Naturally, you all thought it was hilarious. After all, you’d all practically flattened Elle, and she’d made a hamster-pitched squeak as she was pinned under three bodies, and it had been quite the effort to wriggle out from the tangle of limbs, feet stepped on, elbows accidentally colliding with faces as you struggled to your feet.

On any other day, that would have been it: a laugh and then a friendly correction by the officers before you tried again, but this was not one of those days. Ghost was at the head of the group of ‘enemy’ soldiers, his eyes expressing that of thunderous rage as he glared down at your small group. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen such anger, the amusement in your little group dying instantly, huddling closer together to weather the shitstorm that you all knew was about to rain down on your heads.

Elle was the first to receive his wrath, his gloved finger pointed at her as he delivered his judgment, his voice starting level yet raising in intensity as he went on, “That was absolutely fucking appalling. Corners. The first thing we teach you is corners, and you don’t check your fucking corner? What the fuck are you playing at?” Katy, having been the second after Elle, spoke in her defence, “Sir, with all due respect, this was my mistake-“ Ghost jabbed his finger at her, “Did I ask your opinion? She fucked up, you fucked up, you two absolutely cocked it up. Not a single one of you would have survived. Because of,” he pointed at Elle and Kate, “your idiocy, you would have gotten all of your squad mates killed. And you think this is funny?” Ghost or not, you weren’t about to let your girls take the blame, “Sir, it’s not just on them.” His eyes snapped to you like a hawk, and you couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the fury his gaze held, his eyes dark, “Not a fucking word.”

You could feel that flaming attraction beginning to falter slightly; you could excuse the mask, the reputation, and the being from Manchester, but not even god herself could slate your girls and get off scot-free. Your jaw clenched as you stared at Ghost defiantly, a battle of wills being fought silently in your locked gaze.

Impossibly, Ghost looked away first. Ghost, man of few words and numbered kills, averted his gaze. He sighed, tucking his thumbs behind the straps of his armoured vest, “Listen. You’re under my protection. Even the slightest fuck up means you could get killed out there.” His eyes found yours again, “I can’t abide anything happening to you. So I will be hard on you because I can’t allow failure. Alright?” Katy glanced back at you, her brows furrowed, but she didn’t question what she’d picked up on, turning back to Ghost and nodding, “Aye, sir.” The rest of your group of girls added their agreements, and Ghost pointed at the door, spinning his finger, “Let’s go again.”

You weren’t sure that you’d ever been run through so aggressively. Every single soldier had to take a turn at each role, breaching a different room in the building until you were sure the layout was imprinted in every one of your heads, and Ghost shouting ‘corners, left, right, sweep’ would be the lullaby to get you all to sleep at night. Elle didn’t even have the energy to make any snarky comments about Ghost riding you all, sitting down in the shower as you sat on the floor outside of it. “Babe.” You groaned in response to her, “I know, I know. He’s a fucking psycho.” Kate snorted from the bedroom, “One day. One day of hard work, and you two are whinging this much?” You picked yourself up from the floor, pulling the towel from around your hair and setting it back on the radiator to dry as you walked back into the main room, flopping down onto your bed, “You’re telling me you do this every day?” Kate shrugged, “If I wanted to sit on my ass, I would have worked in an office.” “This wasn’t extreme to you?”

A sharp rap at the door broke your conversation, and you sighed, “I’ll get it. You get Elle. I think she’s fallen asleep in the shower again.” “Fine.”

Out of everything, you hadn’t been expecting to find Ghost on the other side of the door. You stepped out, quickly pulling the door closed behind you, thankful that you were in your cargo trousers, a vest top, and a bra rather than your usual pyjamas, consisting of a threadbare T-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. “Lieutenant. Can I help you?” Ghost’s eyes darkened as he looked down at you, gesturing with his head, “Get your kit on. Let’s go.” You looked at him questioningly, and he reiterated, “Let’s go. Now.” Exhausted as you were, it was impossible for you to deny the intrigue that Ghost was providing you with, so you did as you were told, giving him a quick nod as you stepped back into the room, pulling the door to behind you.

Kate was wrestling a somewhat uncooperative Elle into bed, wrapping the duvet tightly around her as she grumbled. Kate looked over at you as you pulled on your shirt. “Plans?” “I- no. Exercise.” Kate nodded, “Uh-huh. Lieutenant?” Your silence was enough of an answer for her, and she rolled her eyes, “He touches you, and I take his balls. Superior or not.” “Love you too. In a bit.”

Ghost hadn’t revealed to you exactly why he’d come to you, but you weren’t about to ask, content to walk alongside him in silence through the base, your mind slowly turning things over as you swept your hair up into a bun. Would this be the transition from friendship to something more? From the stiffness in his back, it didn’t seem that way, but you were an optimist. It was only when you took the same road back to the large grey block building that you realised where he was taking you, seeing a few soldiers milling around the entrance. You turned back to look at Ghost, your eyebrows drawn together, “Dude. No.” “Did I ask?” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest, “No way. That building is all I see when I close my eyes—that and you shouting.” “That’s an order, soldier.” You groaned, “Ghost.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, his voice soft, his eyes pleading, “Please.”

It was strange to see a man like that beg, and you could feel your resolve beginning to crumble until you let out another irritated groan, “Fine! Fine. But you get three runs, and that’s it.” “Five.” “Three was the bargain!” Ghost grumbled, tilting his head from side to side as he stretched his neck muscles, “Four.” “My God. You’re a huge pain in the ass. You know that?” “I’ve been told. Four.” You’d gotten away with talking him down from the two dozen runs you knew he really wanted, so you gave in, “Fine! Four.” He gestured for you to walk over to the building with a jerk of his head, and you obeyed, feeling Ghost walk along behind you. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, “Five?” “No.” “Six it is.” “Ghost!” He reached out to grab your shoulder, pushing you playfully, “An even ten should round us out nicely.” “Dickhead.”

[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly Chapter Five

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x you

Rating: It’s still fluffy, no sex

Warnings: Ghost dances

Summary: You and Ghost go out to the gay club together

Notes: @xxven kicking my feet and giggling 🤭

Word Count: 2,280

ao3 link

What the fuck were you supposed to wear on a date— no, not a date, just a night out with Ghost.

The first time you’d seen him out at the clubs, it had been a complete coincidence, so you’d quite happily dressed up to the nines, half your rack hanging out, your dress short enough to risk giving everyone a good look of your arse every time you forgot to pull your dress down. This time, it would be a deliberate choice, a choice you were making fully knowing that Ghost would see you in it. Whatever you chose, he would know that you’d chosen it for him. Hence the conference call.

“I, for one, think you should go all arse and tits. You have jugs that could knock a man out. Tits out for the lads!” “Yes, I know your opinion, Elle.” She leaned into the camera, so all that was visible from her end was her large green eyes, “TITS.” You decided not to continue arguing with her, “Katy, help me out here.” “What part of your body do you want to show off?” Elle drew out the word ‘tits’ again, but she had a point. Other than your eyes, you did like your chest the most. “I mean, I guess tits, yeah, but there’s a limit.” Katy considered your words carefully, nodding sagely as she thought. “That strappy metallic gold dress, with those heeled golden sandals. Metallic eyeshadow, smudged black eyeliner.” Elle oohed, “Yes, bitch, that’s the one!” “You think?” Katy nodded, “That’s the one. It’s flirty but not entirely going into outright ‘fuck me’ territory. There’s plausible deniability.” “Plausible deniability. You say it like he’s going straight to HR afterwards to dissect everything.” “Better to be on the safe side with fraternisation.” Katy glanced away from the camera, “I’ve gotta go walk the dog with my mam. In a bit.” Elle followed after Katy’s example, but she gave you a final encouragement of, “Tits, babe, tits!”

You still weren’t entirely sure how you felt about wearing such a short dress around Ghost, but you were never one to question Katy’s sage fashion advice; she had a knack for picking the perfect outfit, so you just had to trust in her choice.

When you’d decorated your eyelids with a beautiful sparkly gold shimmer, lined your eyes with black, curled your eyelashes and darkened them with mascara, you were done. You could feel the anxiety already beginning to spike in your veins, your leg bouncing as you text your girls. Unfortunately for you, Elle was absent, no doubt busy canoodling with her partner, and your texts didn’t even deliver to Katy. If you hadn’t already scrubbed your lips until they were buttery soft and smoothed them over with lip balm, you might have chewed your lip bloody, but as such, you were unable. What bothered you most was that you hadn’t been all that specific with Ghost. There was no time, no meeting place; all you’d told him was that you’d see him at the club, so infuriatingly vague.

As it happened, you ended up at the club early enough that it was still light out, the sun just beginning to sink below the horizon. It was practically empty, though patrons were starting to trickle in, so you didn’t look too pathetic sitting in the corner by yourself. You knew it would be too early to even consider Ghost showing up within the next few hours, so you soothed your nerves with an early drink of vodka lemonade and settled in the corner.

You only managed to hang on for one hour and twenty-five minutes before you were already out the back door, cigarette in hand. It would ruin the warm, sweet scent of your perfume, but you were desperate for the soothing that you could only get from nicotine. Thankfully, it wasn’t windy, so your cigarette took up quickly, flooding your system with relief, the slight anxiety in your fingers already quieting. At the very least, the club had opened up more, finally beginning to pulse with music and people, so you weren’t so obviously alone, a few stragglers outside smoking nearby. Still, you couldn’t keep your eyes from nervously scanning the streets, desperately trying to pick out Ghost’s figure from the mingling people.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you finally caught sight of the tall, hulking figure coming down the pavement toward the club, that familiar white skull on his balaclava seeming to almost float in the darkness. It was impossible for you to not be excited, but you did your best to downplay your eagerness, lifting your hand in a casual wave beckoning him toward you. Naturally, when he caught sight of you, he made a beeline to you, slipping through the small crowd of people.

When he finally came into the glow of the orange streetlight, you finally saw him properly, dressed in his usual outfit of black boots, black cargo trousers, and a black jumper, yet he had a second jumper draped over his arm. You couldn’t imagine a man like that getting cold, but then again, you couldn’t judge; every soldier had their quirks.

“Sorry I’m late,” were the first words out of his mouth, and you smiled, lying through your teeth, “Don’t worry. I haven’t been waiting long.” He looked over your outfit, silent, and you could feel the slight prickle of uneasiness underneath your skin, unable to tell what exactly he thought of it, finally prompting him, “What do you think?” Ghost’s head snapped up from where it had been lingering on your waist, and he cleared his throat, “No, I- uh, yeah, you look nice.” You gestured to the jumper over his arm, “You planning on a snowy night?” He shook his head, “I had a feeling you’d come underdressed. I wanted to come prepared.” The gesture surprised you, and you tilted your head, “You brought an extra jumper for me?” He tilted his head back at you, “Did you bring a jacket?” You pursed your lips, “No.” He held out the jumper to you, “Well then, here you are. Add it to the collection.”

It wasn’t until he used those exact words that you remembered you still had his jumper tucked safely underneath your bed, and you cringed a little, “I never returned that jumper to you, did I?” “You did not.” “I can get it-“ He snorted softly, shaking his head and pushing the jumper at you, “I have dozens. Don’t worry about it.” You weren’t about to deny the opportunity to take another jumper from the man, but nor were you about to cover up the outfit Katy had picked out for you. “We’re going to be inside; it won’t be cold enough for a jumper there.” He paused in holding out the folded jumper, then shook it out, draping it around your shoulders and tying the sleeves loosely around your neck. “There.”

Even the gentlest touch of his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder sent thrilling tingles up your spine, and you spoke the first words on your mind, “Do you want to grab a drink, then?” “Are you offering to buy me a drink?” It was impossible not to grin at that. “I guess I am. You gonna take me up on the offer?” He considered it for a moment, then nodded, “You know what, I think I will.” He offered his arm out to you, a surprising gesture of chivalry, and you wrapped your arm around his, amused at the way you could feel his biceps flexed as you laid your hand on them, allowing him to lead you into the club.

You’d never thought about what a bonus it was to have a large man like Ghost around; the crowd in the club was usually an irritating thicket barring you from easy movement, but Ghost carved a wide path for you both, the crowd seeming to part easily before him. Once you reached the bar, Ghost caught the attention of the bartender then gestured for you to order the drinks. You looked over at the masked man and then decided, smiling at the bartender, “Two strawberry daiquiris.” The bartender left to make your drinks, and you smiled up at Ghost, expecting to see at least a little bit of frustration from him, but he merely looked amused, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “What? You think I’ll be embarrassed? Please.” You pursed your lips at him, and he leaned down so you could hear him better over the chatter, “Love, I come here almost every other weekend. By all means, order me something sparkly in rainbow colours. Does not bother me.” Only one question popped out in your mind, but Ghost cut you off before you could verbalise it, “I’m not gay. I just feel more comfortable here.”

It took at least two drinks for you to get over the humiliation and another drink for you to finally feel at ease once again, and by that time, you and Ghost had found yourself a little booth in the corner, away from the loudest speakers. He’d pushed his tumbler of bourbon over to you and was trying to convince you to try it, “Come on, love, this is premium Kentucky bourbon. You ought to try it at least once.” “I know it’s going to be gross.” He’d pulled the edge of his mask up long ago in order to drink, so you could see when his lips quirked in a smile, “Come on, darlin’, do it for me.” You rolled your eyes, but you were still amused, “God, you use that charm on everyone?” That made him smile again, and he nudged the glass closer to you, insistent. Usually, you liked to be stubborn, but you were too tipsy to bother this time, so you acquiesced and took a sip of the bourbon, feeling it burn your throat as you’d expected it to, coughing a little as it went down. “Gross.” Ghost laughed, taking his drink back, and you wrinkled your nose at him, “Right, that’s it. You owe me. You’re coming with me to dance.”

You’d expected Ghost to put up some sort of resistance, but he seemed happy, allowing you to take his hand and lead him to where the music was strongest, his gloved hand gently wrapped around yours. Everywhere you looked, there were people, but then Ghost pulled you over to him, where there was a slight gap in the people, twirling you as you went. You wouldn’t have thought that a man like that could be so playful, but he seemed greatly elated to spin and dip you, at one point taking up your hand and leading you across the room, his other hand resting on your waist. It became clear to you that where you were pleasantly buzzed, Ghost was far more intoxicated, to the point of having set aside his usual formidable persona in favour of a far more relaxed and playful self. He gave you another little spin, turning you so your back was to his chest, and then he let go of your hand, his hands encircling your waist, his cheek resting on the top of your head.

Perhaps sober, your heart would have fallen out onto the floor, but in the pleasant haze of being tipsy, all you could focus on was how cosy and secure you were with his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. If you were able to fall asleep standing up, you might have drifted into a peaceful slumber, but as such, you could only let out a tired yawn, leaning back into Ghost, resting your arms on top of his. His fingers lazily stroked across your bare arm, his voice soft, “You tired?” “I don’t usually dance so energetically.” His arms shifted from around your waist, linking one with your arm, “Come on then.”

The tiredness seemed to have snuck up on you, and you nodded along to his suggestion, allowing him to take you by the arm and lead you out of the club into the cold night air. Goosebumps touched your bare arms as soon as you left the heat of the building, and Ghost paused, taking off his jumper and holding it out to you with one hand as he undid the jumper still tied around your shoulders with the other. His was perfectly warm as you pulled it over your head, and you got a delightful glimpse of his well-muscled arms and the intricate tattoo that snaked around his forearm before he covered it up with the spare jumper. Then, he offered his arm back out to you, and you took it, allowing him to lead you back down the dark streets that led to the base.

When you’d finally reached the barracks, Ghost seemed to have sobered up a little; his mask pulled back down into place, his arm held out almost stiffly for you to hold onto. He seemed to look at you searchingly as you turned to say goodnight to him, but he didn’t say anything more detailed than, “Drink some water before you head to sleep.” You weren’t about to let him leave with such curt farewells, so you reached out to touch his arm. “I had a really fun night with you tonight. We should do this again sometime.” He seemed to soften a little, his voice little more than a murmur as he looked down at you, “Yeah..” His hand reached out to gently brush across your cheek, and then he was gone, striding off across the base to wherever he lay his head.

[jackactuallywrites]

Thirst for Life

Warning: At the top again! This fic starts with you literally trying to kill yourself! It’s fairly graphic about the how and why too. Also vampires and some non consensual blood drinking and strangely consensual stabbing (also soap is dead).

Pairing: Vampire Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Rating: Mature (no sex but there’s blood and suicide)

Summary: You’ve slit your wrists and you’re planning on jumping off a bridge, Ghost smells your blood from miles away and investigates

Notes: If you’re gonna if OP is okay the answer is yes. Just horny. 😎

Word count: 1,974

ao3 link

So this was it.

The black waters of the river raged underneath you, a siren song calling your name, beckoning you into their black waves, serenading you with sweet songs of promised peace. The serrated knife in your hands was painted with your blood, your arms still singing with burning pain, the cool air blowing across the bridge doing little to soothe the shallow cuts across your forearms, only serving to make you feel unsteady on your feet, your toes scrunching up inside your trainers as though it would help you grip to the metal fencing any better. Your fingers tightened around the cold metal pole you were holding onto, and you could feel your stomach churn as you looked at the roiling waters of the river. One step. That was all it would take. One step, and everything would be over. All that pain, all the struggle, it would all be left behind on the bridge. You just had to take the leap.

Ghost could smell blood.

Even after all his training and years of denying himself the purest form of the sustenance he needed to survive, he could not deny his instincts. Someone out there was bleeding. Fresh blood, warm, leaking from innocent human veins, and it smelt so fucking good. He could taste it on his tongue already, feel the warm ichor flowing over his fangs and down his throat. Already, his feet were carrying him faster than naturally possible through darkened alleyways, flying towards the source of that delectable temptation, luring him from the path of virtue and back down to hell.

Johnny had been his saviour, his sponsor; every time Ghost strayed from the path of righteousness, Johnny would pull him back from the edge, set him back of the straight and narrow, or point him in the right direction where someone needed to be hurt, let him get his bloodlust out ‘safely’. But Johnny was dead. Shot, at point-blank range. The memory was still strong in Ghost’s brain, replaying every night before he went to bed and every morning before he woke up. He could still remember the look on Soap’s face, the glazed look in his eyes. It hurt. And he knew what could take the hurt away.

Blood.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Even though you had already planned on your death, you still flinched at the idea of unexpected danger, holding the knife firmly in your hand as you turned around. There was a man, a large man, dressed all in black, from his combat boots to his black balaclava. Even under the thick material of his clothes, you could tell that he was well-built, a tank of a man, but what struck you most was his eyes. They were red.

He approached you, standing less than a metre away, and repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was no way in hell you were going to trust the man; he looked desperate, a man struggling with demons, looking at you as though you were everything he needed. He came closer again, reaching out for your arms, his red eyes focusing on the blood that had begun to dry on your arms, and you panicked, trying to take a step back, but there was nothing behind you but open air. Your arms windmilled to try and keep you upright, but you were falling, falling back into everything you supposedly wanted, back into the abyss.

Then you were caught.

The man’s hand had reached out and grabbed the middle of your jacket, preventing you from falling backwards, yet you were precariously dangling from the precipice, only saved from certain death by his fingers on your coat. Your free hand reached out to grab his, your fingers wrapping around his thick wrist, both terrified of him yet desperate for him not to let go. With a single jerking movement, he brought you back into safety and danger, pulling you close and forcing your hands to rest on his broad chest. His eyes were still focused on your arms, his pupils growing large enough to almost swallow the red of his irises entirely. Something inside you seemed to feel his danger, outside of the usual fear you got when you saw a shady character, something primal, instinctual, and you flinched away from him, but his hand clenched harder on your jacket, keeping you close.

The knife in your hand had been a method of self-destruction, yet now it was a weapon, and you struggled away from the man, “Get away from me. Please.” He didn’t move, still fixated on your arm, and you tried to pull away from him, but he let out an honest-to-God snarl, inhuman, nothing like you’d ever heard before. Your hands moved swiftly, bringing the knife down into his chest, burying it into his flesh.

When was the last time someone got close enough to stab him?

Ghost couldn’t remember. Usually, he had dispatched his enemies far before they ever got the chance to do so much as land a single blow, yet you had sunk your knife into his chest, piercing his lung. And it felt good. He was so dead, inside and out, but now he was feeling something. Pain. Beautiful, pure pain, a trouble only for the living man. He could already feel the wounds beginning to close around the knife, that slight sinking feeling in his chest already dissipating. And there you were, with that beautiful beating heart, rosy cheeks, and the blood leaking from your arms, delicious and fresh. How long had it been since he’d taken directly from the source? You looked so terrified, your eyes widening, the whites of your eyes pearly and clear, and he could hear how frantically your heart was beating against your chest, a little hummingbird trying to escape your ribcage.

“I am so sorry.”

You were apologising. You’d stabbed him in the chest, and now you were apologising. Everything about you was perfectly saccharine, a delightfully sweet dessert, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into you and drink you dry.

How. You had stabbed the man in the chest, and when you yanked your hand back, the knife came out black. Black. The liquid was viscous, sticking to the metal, and you looked back at the man. He didn’t look in pain; in fact, he seemed happy. You stabbed him, and he was happy. His free hand had shifted up to your arm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and placing the tip of the knife back against his chest. His eyes seemed to go almost entirely black. “Do it again.” Your stomach tensed, and your hand loosened on the knife handle. Again? Your words came out in a breathless whisper, “What the fuck.” The man’s voice was a murmur, “Please.” “What is wrong with you?” “I can’t die. You can’t hurt me. Please.”

Regardless of the insanity of your situation, you knew that this man was not one to be disobeyed. You pulled the knife back, then sunk it into his chest, right in the centre, burying it up to the hilt. The man let out a grunt, and his head fell forward, resting on your shoulder. Though you were the proprietor of his destruction, you still panicked, placing your hands on either side of his head and gently lifting it up, “Are you okay?”

Your arms were too close to his teeth. You’d forgotten about the cuts on your wrists, but Ghost hadn’t. The blood was beginning to dry, but it was still so tempting. All he wanted was to turn his head and lap it up like a dog. He could smell it so intensely now, tickling the back of his throat as though he was already tasting it. His thirst was burning him from the inside out, and it had been so long since he’d had a drink. He was a starving dog, and you were a beautifully succulent steak, just begging to be torn into. All that was between you and his teeth was a painfully thick knit fabric. He couldn’t resist. But he had to.

Something in the air had shifted. There was an odd feeling of calm washing over you, hypnotic, luring you into a sense of security that you knew was fake, but you couldn’t resist. The man was turning his head to gently nuzzle against your bloodied arm, the knit fabric harsh against your broken skin. He was pulling up the fabric of his balaclava, revealing his dry skin and the blond stubble that was beginning to turn into a shaggy beard. His cheeks looked sunken, as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks, but he had retained his good looks, a strong jawline and a large, straight nose, though it was marred by a slight bump, a record of where it had been broken some time ago. The whites of his eyes were completely red, and where it was supposed to be coloured, it was black. He was resting his cheek against your arm, pressing his nose against where you’d slit your wrists, his shaggy blond hair falling over his face.

You knew you should have feared him, but you couldn’t. Your fear was being suppressed by something beyond your knowledge, something unnatural. You could hear a quiet snarl as he began to move his head a millimetre at a time, his lips brushing against the dried blood on your arm, his tongue darting out to taste it.

That, it seems, was the nail in the coffin.

The second the dried flakes of blood touched his tongue, he latched on to the cuts in your wrist, the blood flowing once again as he sucked at your wounds. You should have screamed, hit him, run away, but you couldn’t seem to move, held in place by your own freeze response. All you could do was watch in horror as he greedily drank your life force, his dry skin smoothing, his sunken cheeks plumping up, becoming less sallow by the second.

“Please don’t kill me.”

The irony of the sentence wasn’t lost on you; you’d come here planning to throw yourself into the icy waters, and yet here you were, begging for life. You couldn’t help it. No matter how dire things were, there was just some stubborn, human part of you that clung to life with both hands, desperate to survive. Those problems that had seemed insurmountable before now felt so pointless.

He had to stop. He had to, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. Every pulse of your heart sent fresh blood coursing into his waiting mouth, and there was no Johnny here to stop him, to bring him back from the edge. Yet, the thought of Johnny couldn’t be ignored. He could hear the man’s voice in his head, loud as a bell, saying just a single word. Enough. Ghost pulled back, his fangs dripping with gore, looking at the bloodied arm and the blood leaking freely from it. His saliva worked well, too well, and now you were at risk of bleeding out, with nothing to clot your blood. All he had to do was let you go; you were suicidal; you’d come here to slit your wrists and leap to your death; he was just letting things take their course.

Then you spoke. Your voice was barely a croak, your mind clinging to consciousness with only enough strength to pray for mercy. A mercy he could provide. He didn’t need to kill; you were innocent, you posed no danger to anyone but yourself. His mind was made up, even if he hadn’t decided whether the idea was good or not, scooping your limp body into his arms and darting off into the night, back to his lair, where he could keep you safe.

[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly Chapter Four

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader

Warnings: mild cringe. MC is a cutie patootie and anxiety-monologues

Summary: You have to go and file the paperwork from last weeks incident, and wouldn’t you know it, you’re filing it with Ghost

Notes: Blame/Thank @xxven she doesn’t let me sleep 🦫💕

Word Count: 1,285

ao3 link

If there was anything you hated more than paperwork, it was paperwork when it had to be delivered and then also discussed all in one meeting. Considering the army was stereotyped as shoot-first idiots with rifles, there was an annoying amount of paperwork involved. Every bullet shot had to be made a note of, every single plaster and bandage; the bureaucracy was endless. That was bad enough, yet this set of paperwork had a delightfully painful twist in that it was a paper record of you breaking your nose in a training exercise. You would have liked to have buried that memory rather than immortalise it in official military documents, but it had been insisted upon, a paper trail for any future incidents.

You’d done your best to look absolutely pristine, not a crease out of place on your uniform, your boots polished until they shone, your collar starched until it could support a grown woman’s weight. At the very least, your meeting was with Ghost, as he had been the superior officer during the incident. Elle had suggested a great many things for you to do under and over his desk until you threatened to report her for inappropriate fraternisation, and you tried to shove the filth she’d implanted in your mind's eye aside as you approached Ghost’s office.

Standing outside, leaning against the wall, was his shadow and your momentarily romantic nemesis, Soap. He gave you an upward nod as a form of greeting as you neared, his eyes flicking down to the stack of paperwork in your hand. “That your incident report?” You flicked through the pages with your thumb, rocking back and forth on your heels, “Six pages for a broken nose. Bit excessive if you ask me. Ghost in his office?” Soap nodded, “Aye, but he’s in a foul mood.” “Not one for paperwork?” He looked you over suspiciously, though you couldn’t begin to imagine his reasons, “Something like that.” The door to Ghost’s office opened, and a chastised-looking soldier scurried out, avoiding both your gazes. Soap called out to Ghost, “Got another one, LT.” You could hear the beastly snarl in Ghost’s voice as he responded, “For fucks sake. Send ‘em in.”

You popped your head around the door to find Ghost sitting behind his desk, rubbing his temples through his mask. The mountain of paperwork beside him made yours look very much like a molehill, and you paused in the doorway awkwardly, “Hello.” You drew out the o’s for a reason you couldn’t quite explain, wanting to ease some of the tension before you added your paperwork to the pile. Ghost’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his eyes narrowing as he took you in, “Oh. It’s you.” You gave him a nervous smile, shifting your weight from foot to foot, “The one and only.” He sighed, gesturing for you to close the door behind you as he organised the paperwork in front of him and added it to the mountain.

Flashes of Elle’s words flickered in your mind as you pushed the door to a close, and you cursed her internally before you walked over to Ghost’s desk, hoping that he wouldn’t suddenly become a mind reader. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have that power, casually gesturing for you to take a seat opposite him, and you did, sinking down into the thinly cushioned chair. You promptly set the paperwork down on the desk, pushing it over to him, “I filled it out this morning.” Ghost reached over to take it from you, leafing through it and reading in silence you didn’t dare break.

When he’d finished reading, a little of the tension seemed to go out of Ghost’s shoulders, and he relaxed in his chair, interlocking his gloved fingers as he looked at you. “And that’s entirely accurate?” You nodded and then hesitated, “Yeah- I mean, I didn’t see whatever happened after I hit the floor, so I couldn’t write about that, so I guess it’s not entirely accurate because I couldn’t be omniscient-“ “Relax.” The idea of messing up the paperwork and having to redo it all was aggressively present in your mind, but you forced yourself to sit back in your chair, trying hard not to continue your monologuing. Ghost waved vaguely with his hand, “The paperwork doesn’t matter. What matters is you. Your health.” He gestured at your nose, “Any difficulty breathing? Any nosebleeds?” You thought on it, “I mean, other than the initial one, no.” He nodded and then leant forward, reaching out before he paused, “May I?” “Sure.”

Yet again, Ghost’s gloved fingers were on your face, his eyes scanning your nose for any sign of further damage as he held your jaw, his thumb resting on your cheek. “Any pain?” He questioned, and you gave a slight shake of your head, “Nope. It does click sometimes, though.” You could see his brows furrow underneath the edge of his mask, and you smiled, “Seriously, if I push it at all, blowing my nose or anything, it clicks. Annoying as shit. Medic says it’s normal, but it bugs me.” Ghost’s mask shifted as he let out a soft snort, perhaps smiling underneath the thick fabric. You grinned at him, and he withdrew his hand, looking back down at the paperwork, “You included that in here?” “Of course, sir. Spared no detail.” “I can tell.” “You’re not telling me you don’t like paperwork now after I put all that effort in?”

Yet again, Ghost leaned back in his chair, and this time, you could see the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, signalling he was certainly smiling underneath that balaclava. “I’ll treasure it.” “You better. Took me ages.” He grabbed one of the pens on his desk, flipping through to where it required his signature at the end, scrawling it on the dotted line. When it was done, he tossed the pen aside, sitting back in his chair, “Fuckin’ paperwork.” “You’re welcome for my contribution to Paperwork Mountain. Rich toffs will be trying to climb it any second now.” He shook his head, making a shooing motion with one hand, “Go on, get out of here.” Another glance at the mountain of paperwork shot a pang of sympathy through your heart as you paused in leaving, “You fancy coming out to the club this weekend? After all the paperwork, that is.”

Usually, a casual invite like that was responded to immediately, yet Ghost seemed to be taking his time with it, an imperceptible emotion clouding his eyes as he looked at you. “This weekend?” His words echoed your own as though he was puzzled by the question. “Well, yeah. The girls and I make a habit of going out every Friday, but Elle’s got plans with her new girlfriend and Kate’s gone up north to see her lot, so if you’re not busy or going out with anyone else-“ “I’ll be there.” He seemed to have a knack for cutting you off before you could truly fall into a monologue, and you bit back your words, giving him a nod, “Alright then! I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” He nodded again, “Look forward to it. Close the door behind you.”

With that, you were dismissed, and you left your paperwork with him, pulling the door shut behind you as instructed. Soap was still loitering in the hallway, and he looked at you curiously. “LT’s taken a shine to you.” You chose not to question the meaning of his words, giving him an awkward smile and a deferential ‘sir’ as you made a swift exit, needing nothing more than to talk to Elle and Kate as soon as possible.

[jackactuallywrites]

Spirits and Ghosts

Warning: I’m putting this at the top because this fic is pretty dark! Alcoholism, referenced suicide, Soap is dead, Ghost is completely broken, mildly dubious consent cause you’re both drunk shagging

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Everyone is devastated after Soap’s death, most of all Ghost. He knows you know he’s coping with alcohol, and comes to talk to you, he doesn’t know that you’re drinking too

Notes: I just love a bit of hurt/comfort after all the mushy fluff

Word Count: 3,270

ao3 link

Special thanks: @xxven ily

There was a palpable heaviness hanging over the base with the knowledge that one of your own was gone. You’d never had the pleasure of truly befriending Soap, yet you still felt his absence, a hole in the worn fabric that made up the base. His jokes, his laughter, that obnoxious Scottish accent that echoed down the halls, something you’d found irritating then, but now you would have given anything to hear it one last time.

None amongst you felt that loss more keenly than Ghost.

You were intel, so it was in your job description to keep watch, not only on whoever the government had designated as the enemy but on your own, digging into your comrade's personal lives and finding out every last little secret that could possibly be used against them. Skeletons in the closet didn’t even come close to describing the graveyard in Ghost’s past. Supposedly, he was numb to the trauma, empty of every human emotion after everything he’d been through, but you’d been watching him. There had been something motivating that man, some ironclad little spark at the centre of his being, yet it had died with Soap.

Never once before had his moniker been so accurate. The man truly was haunting the base, a ghoulish spectre wandering the halls at night, his eyes dead and cold, his body animated by something unknown. At least, that was until you took it upon yourself to break into Ghost’s room.

Alcohol.

That was what was motivating the man to keep going, a growing pile of spirits underneath his bed. It was the perfect crime; nobody would ever get close enough to the man to be able to smell his breath; even if they did, he wore a mask, the alcohol-tinted air smothered by a layer of fabric and resin. You knew that Price and Gaz kept an eye on the man, but how close could they truly get to him? Even by military standards, Ghost was closed off. So, you came in. Covert amongst the covert, supposedly for the ‘good of the task force’, though yet again you were questioning it. What good would come of reporting Ghost? You’d read his psych evals; the man was not one for therapy, and understandably so, meaning he would be discharged honourably if he was lucky, but you knew how that story ended. At the end of a rope.

The laptop in your office mocked you with its bright glow, lighting up your dismal notes of alcoholism and trauma, but you couldn’t bring yourself to transfer the notes into his official documents just yet. A man’s life was on the line, and this was not something you took lightly. What you needed was your routine.

It was simple enough; you’d get yourself a nice cold lemonade and then put in enough vodka to drown a small animal, though never enough to completely rid you of your conscience and allow yourself to be engulfed by everything you forced down. Considering you were planning on writing up Ghost for a drinking problem, it felt hypocritical, but everything you did was. Spying on your own soldiers to keep them safe. The lines were already blurred, no matter how straight you tried to make them.

Your room was a perfect prison for you, your laptop safely stored in the securely locked server rooms, only accessible by a sober you the next day. For now, it was just you and your notes, the ones that would be responsible for condemning a man. The words felt heavy on your heart as you flicked through your notepad, your mind already swimming with alcohol as you reread what you’d written of Ghost, of his pain, his guilt, his trauma. He was a good man, from what you could tell, but there was no room for empathy. You had to do what was best for the task force.

When you heard the knock at the door, you felt your soul leave your body. You switched up your drinking room every time, never using the same one twice, always having your office as where you would be found after hours. Of course, you weren’t stupid enough to believe that you yourself weren’t watched, but you knew how and where they’d monitor you, and you’d gone out of your way to avoid it. Or so you’d thought. Could you have messed up? No, you’d done everything perfectly. This was just some horrible coincidence.

Another knock at the door, firmer though still quiet, was enough to rid you of that thought. Someone was out there, someone who knew you were in that room. Your sidearm was never far from your hand, and you kept it in hand as you approached the door, hoping that your dishevelled appearance would be put down to being roused from an early night’s sleep rather than from an empty bottle. Professional. Courteous. That’s all you had to be for the next minute. You could do that.

You might have been able to if it wasn’t Ghost on the other side of the door—Ghost, whose fate lay in your hands, fragile and delicate like a baby bird. He made no attempt at upholding any sort of professional courtesy himself as he pushed past you into the small room you’d taken as sleeping quarters that night.

“I know.” His tired voice brokered no disagreement, but you still made an effort. “Know what?” He sunk onto your bed, precariously close to your stash of alcohol, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes firmly on you, “I know you know everything.” You remained quiet, as was always best in this situation, allowing Ghost to reveal how much he knew. “Don’t.” He knew, of course, he knew, he’d been briefed on those exact tactics. You looked back at him, trying to be resolute though your head was swimming, “I’m just doing my job, Lieutenant. As you do yours.” He scoffed, but you pressed on, “It’s for the good of the team, Riley. You know that.” “There is no team without Soap.” He was a man in pain, in distress, yet he was too close. You couldn’t have him in here, not where your secrets unravelled. “Go sleep it off, Lieutenant.”

For a moment, it seemed like you’d escaped closer scrutiny by the skin of your teeth, but Ghost’s eyes had shifted to the small gap in between the bed and the end table, where you’d stashed the bottle, having given up on the charade of diluting it with lemonade quite some time ago. His eyes slowly returned to you, and you felt him examine you, not just your physical appearance but your posture, the slight haziness in your eyes you’d tried to play off as exhaustion.

“Are you drunk?”

There was no doubting the absolute incredulity in his voice, and you knew you’d been caught. Honesty, that was your best policy now, mixed in with a heavy dose of untruths. “I’m off duty.” “I know your schedule.” “Unscheduled leave.” He pushed up from the bed and crossed the room to you, trapping you between him and the door, glowering down at you. “Liar.” A different tactic was needed now, and you tried to look earnest, “The death of Soap-“ He didn’t let you finish, placing his hand over your mouth to silence you, his glove soft against your skin, “Don’t you fucking dare.” You could feel how precarious your situation was now. Ghost would never hurt you; you knew that much from his files, but he might report you. You could take him down, but you’d be sentencing yourself to go down with him.

After a moment, Ghost removed his hand from your mouth, folding his arms across his chest and glaring down at you, allowing you the freedom to explain yourself as though there was anything non-incriminating you could say. You hesitated momentarily before deciding there was no other way out of this. “I’m drunk.” He narrowed his eyes at you, “I could report you.” He looked you over, no doubt weighing his options, so you reminded him, “So could I.“

For a moment, the silence seemed to stretch out into eternity between you, both considering the mutually assured destruction you could unleash. Ghost was the first to deflate, sinking back onto your bed and reaching over to grab the bottle of vodka. He held it up to you in a mock toast, his voice dark, “Here’s to the best and the brightest of the forces.” You relaxed a little, taking the bottle from him. “There’s another bottle in the drawer.” He didn’t need telling twice, pulling the drawer open and taking out the second bottle, unscrewing it as he pulled off his mask and balaclava. You’d read about his face, but seeing it was something else. He was handsome, even with the crooked nose, the untidy greying stubble and the heavy purple bags under each eye. You held out your bottle to his, “Here’s to mutually assured destruction.” His voice was soft as he clinked his bottle against yours, but you could still hear the name on his lips. “To Soap.”

Nothing compared to the blissful feeling of alcohol carrying you away from your worries. Your entire body felt light, slightly tingly, as if there was a slight lag between your mind and your limbs. It was a delightful feeling, the feel of the carpet underneath your fingers, and you stretched out your hands, exploring the new textures that brushed against your skin, stroking along the fabric and noting the bump of the stitches.

“That’s my leg you’re stroking.”

Ghost’s voice was soft, and you laughed, moving your hand away from his leg, “Sorry, sorry.” You cracked open an eye to see him leaning his back against the bedframe with his eyes still closed, a slight smile on his lips, “I don’t mind. S’nice.” The lines between professional and person were already beyond blurry and had been since the very first sip of alcohol, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You returned your hand to his thigh, exploring the waterproofed fabric and how your fingers slid over it smoothly, feeling the ridges of the pockets and then the coarse material of his belt. He shifted, laying his arm on the bed frame behind you, his forearm draping over your shoulder, and you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, enjoying the close contact.

It was obvious to you where things were going; no matter how slowly they were progressing, the end result would undeniably be the same. You shifted away from him, using every last ounce of your self-control to put some distance between you, placing your hands in your lap. “Ghost. We can’t- I can’t. It would be wrong of me.” He reached out for your face, his gloved fingers soft against your cheek as he gently turned you toward him, “I just want to feel good again.” You could see the earnestness in his face but also the pain and exhaustion in his eyes, the undeniable sorrow that lingered. At the end of a day like this, feeling good was all you wanted, too.

Ghost seemed to feel your resistance fading away, his hand shifting from your cheek down, his fingers stroking over your jaw and then around to the back of your neck. His grip was gentle but quietly insistent as he pulled you toward him, your boundaries slipping as you gave in, letting your hands reach out to grab his jumper and pull him closer to you, his lips crashing against yours, firm and desperate, his fingers sliding up into your hair, holding you tightly against him.

A single kiss was all it took to destroy the facade of professionalism entirely.

Ghost wasted no time, breaking the kiss to take his jumper off, revealing the plain green T-shirt underneath, and you eagerly hooked your fingers underneath the hem to take it off for him. He raised his arms to allow you to strip him, waiting for you to take his t-shirt off before he started on yours, easily pulling it off of you and then gently pushing you back onto the carpet, using his knee to nudge your legs apart and then wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you again, using his arm to brace himself so he didn’t crush you underneath him.

You knew what you were doing was wrong, but he felt too good against you, one hand tangling in your hair, his lips moving down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, the other hand pulling your hips against him as he ground into you. The alcohol heightened the pleasure in your skin, and you let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to become lost in the sensation. Even the slightest sign of pleasure from you spurred Ghost on, and he leant back from you, leaving you panting on the floor as his hands darted down to your trousers, swiftly unbuckling your belt and button and then yanking the zipper down, tugging your trousers off and tossing them to the side.

As he began undoing his own belt, you took a moment to appreciate how attractive the man was, the way the muscles in his arms bulged as he fumbled with the buckle, the black tattoos that wrapped around his forearm, the hungry look in his pale eyes as he took in the sight of your body, the dark blond hair that trailed down his stomach. He undid his trousers, pushing his boxers down, his cock finally springing free. You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of him, how desperate he was for you, and you bit your lip in anticipation, feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Ghost didn’t bother to take his trousers completely off, already leaning down to tug your pants off, sliding them over your legs and throwing them aside. He gripped your thigh as he positioned himself, grinding himself into you to coat as much of himself as he could in your wetness before he slowly pushed into you, the pressure at your entrance building before he slowly began to sink into you, a throaty growl emanating from his throat as he buried himself inside you. You knew you should have been more careful; you should have thought of protection, but all you cared about was how he felt against you, his hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he thrust into you, angling your hips so he rubbed up against that perfect spot inside you.

Without warning, he shifted back to pull you on top of him, positioning you in his lap, placing his hand on your hip and grinding you against him. His other hand reached up to cup your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his own wide and desperate. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, his other hand grabbing your ass as he rocked you against him, his voice throaty as he rested his forehead against yours, “You feel so fucking good.” His hand moved from your ass and grabbed your hand, pushing it down between your bodies, his voice desperate and pleading, “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good for me.” You weren’t one to deny yourself pleasure, so you did as ordered, pushing your hand between your bodies and beginning to rub circles around your clit, feeling that familiar pressure build in your core, shifting your hips against him to angle him more perfectly, and he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, “Just like that, sweetheart, come on.” He let you control the rhythm as you rocked against him, resting his hand on the small of your back, his voice strained, “Come on, darlin’, come for me.”

Your body couldn’t hold on for longer, your rhythm starting to stutter as you pushed down on him hard, trying to get him as deep as possible as you finished, your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you closely against him, whispering soft words of encouragement into your ear, “Just like that, sweetheart, just like that.” You let your head fall forward onto his chest as you rode out the last sparks of pleasure, and he wrapped his arm around your back, holding you against him, stroking your hair with his other hand.

Ghost was still underneath you, seemingly content to just have your pleasure, but you weren’t finished just yet. You shifted on top of him so you were straddling his lap, gently placing your hands in the centre of his chest and pushing him insistently. He looked at you questioningly, but he allowed you to lay him flat on his back, his hands sliding down your back and to your waist, allowing you to take control. You could feel the hesitance in his touch, and you began to rock your hips back and forth, feeling how his hands began to tighten on your waist, his head falling back onto the carpet, and his jaw clenching as he thrust up into you. You found your rhythm quickly enough, balancing on your knees as you rode him, feeling that familiar tightness inside you as he hit you just right, everything still sensitive from your first climax, your voice a breathy whisper as you slid up and down, “Fuck, Ghost.”

“Simon, it’s Simon.” His voice was tight, as were his fingers on your waist, beginning to pull you down onto him more forcefully, “Say my name.” You couldn’t help but reach back down to rub yourself again, feeling everything tingle and tense, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep the rhythm just right, “Fucking hell, Simon.”

The simple utterance of his name seemed to bewitch him, and he let out a deep groan, gripping onto your hipbones as he began slamming up into you, yanking you down to meet him every time, almost lifting you off his cock entirely before he buried it back inside you. You could see the frantic desperation in his movements and feel the tightness in his legs as his body began to tense up, but he slowed, panting out in short, heavy breaths, “I’m close, darlin’, I should probably-“ Both alcohol and arousal were clouding your better senses, and you dug your nails into his chest as you ground yourself against him, right on the verge of finishing yourself, the nail in the coffin of any intelligence, “Come in me, Simon.”

Ghost needed little encouragement, completely lost in the sensation of you finishing around him again, and he thrust forcefully inside you before sitting up and pushing you down to the floor once again, pulling your legs tightly around his hips as he fucked you hard, pounding into you fiercely, the carpet harsh against your back as he thrust deep into you one final time, growling out a throaty, “Fuck,” as he finished.

Not anything about your decisions had been smart, from fucking Ghost to letting him finish inside you, but you just couldn’t summon the energy to care anymore. He felt too good, and you’d needed it; you’d needed an excuse to break free of the constraints. He collapsed to your side as he pulled out, yet brought you with him into a tight hug, burying his head in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair as his heart slowed. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said, and you simply enjoyed the closeness, resting your head against his chest, the dark thoughts in your head blissfully silenced.

[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x you

Rating: Mild violence, you break your nose and it gets bloody. Also Matt is a dick!

Warnings: Blood, broken nose, male chauvinism, mc gets pinned down and can’t move

Summary: It’s training day! And you’ll never guess who’s there to supervise.

Notes: We love making Ghost a simp

Word Count: 1,695

ao3 link

“What kind of freak actually likes training?”

Elle was never one to keep her opinions to herself, outwardly questioning your excitement, and you rolled your eyes at her, “Someone who’s interested in becoming an officer someday.” She bumped you with her hip as you walked to the open grass field where training was taking place, “Or someone who wants to get a little government-sanctioned one-on-one action with this country’s best and brightest.” Naturally, being a romantically conniving woman, Elle had taken your newfound friendship with Ghost to new dastardly levels, always quietly scheming in the background, coming up with all sorts of scenarios that would put you in close contact with him. Of course, you’d considered that very situation; physical training was always a good excuse to get up close and personal, but being in different military branches, it was entirely unlikely that Ghost would be part of the army’s training.

Unlikely, but apparently not impossible.

Ghost was standing at the head of the group of soldiers that were now splitting into smaller units, his eyes cast in shadow by his mask, a white bone skull secured into place over his typical black balaclava, though his thick jumper had been replaced with a plain long-sleeved tee. He looked more intimidating than usual, even in the bright sunshine, a great behemoth towering over the regular-sized folk. Elle paid him little attention, already dashing off to fit herself in a small unit, no doubt fancying someone in it, leaving you alone, though not without giving you an exaggerated wink, nodding her head towards Ghost and making a vulgar gesture with her fingers before abandoning you entirely.

Of course, you’d joined the military to gain confidence, so you had little problem standing alone, slipping your way through the milling soldiers to the front, where you came face to face with the man himself. If he took notice of you, there was no indication of it, his eyes slipping straight over you to look elsewhere. Ghost wasn’t looking at you, but the man to his side was. Soap. The memory of you mistaking him for Ghost’s paramour still rankled in the back of your mind, but you tried to keep the visceral cringe off your face, staring straight back at the slightly shorter man, wondering why he was looking at you so inquisitively. He pointed at you, then at a small group of soldiers to your left, a silent command, and you obeyed without question, even if you were still silently curious of his intentions.

With the groups sorted, Ghost spoke up, his voice a far cry from the softness of that night, entirely back to his usual brusque tone. As he spoke of technique and stance, you noticed the way he kept his arms folded over his chest, his biceps flexing, and you wondered whether he was doing it purposefully. His orders were brief, and he allowed everyone to begin their sparring, resting his hands behind his back as he prowled between groups, occasionally correcting posture and grip. You would have liked to have continued watching him, yet it was your turn to step into the ring, so to speak, facing your opponent, a man whom you were sure you’d seen Elle getting off with at some point or another.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, you were flat on your back; the wind knocked out of you, your opponent pinning you down, twisting your arm until you tapped out. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so distracted by the loud sound of Elle’s fake giggle, you would have been able to hold your own for longer than a few seconds, but as luck had it, you’d bit the dirt in record time. Your opponent, who you’d finally recalled as ‘Matt with the tongue’, took an irritating amount of pleasure in your easy defeat, releasing your arm but remaining sitting on your back. “How did they allow a bird like you into the forces? You’d be absolutely wrecked in the frontlines.” You huffed, wriggling slightly underneath him, “They need some intelligence behind the lines to direct daft cunts like you in the right direction.” “Intelligence didn’t stop you from getting battered, though, did it?” He shifted on top of you, crushing your lungs underneath his weight, and you tapped out again, “Fuck off!” “Not until you say please.” Yet again, stubbornness might be the death of you, but you would not give in. Not to a man like that.

“Break it up. Now.”

Perhaps Ghost was some sort of divine creature sent only to visit you in your most humiliating moments. He was here now, watching you struggle to breathe under the other soldier, your hair sticking out like pins from a pincushion, your face redder than a tomato. At least Matt finally got off you, allowing you space to breathe, and you glared daggers at him, rubbing your ribs as you remained on the floor. From your position on the ground, Ghost looked even more gigantesque than usual; his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, a look of quiet irritation on his face, his arms folded over his chest. You sat up, smoothing down your hair and adjusting your beret so it sat properly once again, though there was little you could do for your dignity.

“Your form was sloppy.” You went to protest, but Ghost silenced you with a single gloved finger, pointing his hand at Matt accusingly, “If she were armed, you’d have a knife in your ribs if you were lucky. You only got away with it this time because your opponent was smaller. Allow me to demonstrate.” With one hand, Ghost reached out and wrapped his fingers around Matt’s arm, tossing him to the ground in a single fluid motion. He wasted no time in putting his knee in the small of the man’s back, pushing him against the muddy grass and twisting his arm behind his back. Matt gasped and tapped out almost immediately, but Ghost remained still, looking over at the small group around him, “With this leg positioning,” he used his leg to lock Matt’s in place, “and the firm grip on the arm, your opponent will be totally immobilised.” The last twist he gave Matt’s arm was entirely unnecessary, but you weren’t about to protest. “Try to get up.” It was impossible not to enjoy the sight of Matt struggling, with Ghost using seemingly no effort to keep him firmly in place. It was barely even a second until Matt huffed, “I can’t.” Ghost stood up, allowing Matt to regain at least a little of his shattered ego, and he turned to the rest of your group, “I expect better from the rest of you. Each of you will demonstrate the correct position on him.”

There was no denying that it was fun to watch all the other soldiers grapple with Matt, pushing his face into the mud each time, but when it finally came to your turn, you baulked. Every other soldier had been fairly beefy, and though you weren’t a dainty little creature by any means, Matt was still far more powerful than you, and you could tell by the glint in his eye that he was holding you accountable for all the humiliation he’d been through today. You knew what was coming for you before it even happened, Matt shifting at the last second before you’d even got into position, slamming you down into the ground. Pain shot through your nose instantaneously, accompanied by a sickening crunch and the disgusting feeling of blood dripping down your skin.

What happened next was something of a blur; you heard Matt get knocked off of you and the shouts of the soldiers watching, as well as what felt like all the weight of a freight train go sailing overhead. The other soldiers were at your side, sitting you upright and tilting your head forward so the blood wouldn’t drain down your throat, one of them offering you a tissue from his pocket so you could stem the flow. The bellow from beside you was ear-deafening, the words clear even in the rage, “Get him out of here, Soap, now.“ You were more concerned with stemming the blood from your nose, as well as the kind words from the soldier attending you, letting him reset your broken nose. Elle was by your side; you could hear the seldom-heard fury in her voice, mouthing off to Ghost himself as she demanded nothing less than Matt’s head.

As expected, Ghost refused, citing that there would be proper disciplinary proceedings and not a gung-ho beatdown by a superior officer.

The dramatics were over almost as soon as they’d begun; Matt marched off by Soap’s side as Elle watched reproachfully, sitting by your side, having taken over the other soldier's job of fussing over your face. Ghost watched Matt walk away and then rounded on you. You expected a lecture about being more careful, but instead, he reached out for your face, his fingers gently holding onto your chin as he turned it this way and that. You could see his brows furrowing under the black paint, and his thumb brushed over your cheek in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it gesture. He leant back on his heels, looking at Elle, “Get her to the medics.” Elle needed no convincing, wrapping her arm around your waist and lifting you as though you’d been seriously injured. You shrugged her off, “Babe. It’s a broken nose. Not a chest wound.” Elle huffed, but she begrudgingly let go of your waist, replacing it with your hand as she led you towards the main base. When you’d finally gotten out of earshot of the rest of them, she gently squeezed your hand, “So are we going to talk about Ghost going all caveman on Matt?” “Matt was out of line, and he deserved it.” “Are you hearing me argue against that? I’m just saying you were totally the damsel in distress.” “Can we have this conversation after they dope me up?” Elle hesitated but gave in, “Fine. But we’re not letting this go. Man has a thing for you.”

[jackactuallywrites]

ao3 link! :3

I am asking very nicely for part 2

I need our pathetic duo

Besties are making fun of MC for being an idiot and they take her to a club and WHO'S THERE? 💀

They meet in a smoking area and MC is going through all stages of grief

That's us btw

Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x You

Rating: Still pretty mild

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, clubbing, Liverpudlians

Summary: You to the club assuming Ghost won’t be there. More fool you!

Notes: we simp for @xxven providing all these excellent plot ideas it would not happen without her 🫡

Word count: 1,666 (spooky!)

“I’m not going back to the pub.”

You were being uncharacteristically firm; usually, enough badgering from Katy and Elle would have you giving in and trudging off to the pub, but this time you were absolutely resolute. Elle was less than impressed, letting out a heavy groan as you vetoed the classic Friday evening plans, “Is this because of the whole Ghost thing?” You glowered at her, and Katy snickered, “Can’t believe you thought Soap was some girl chatting him up.” You huffed, “It’s hard to tell in that lighting! Plus, a lot of the girls around here have that haircut.” Elle did her best to hold back her amusement, whereas Katy did no such thing, cackling at you outright, “You twat.” You made a face at her, “Bite me. We’re not going to the pub.” Elle acquiesced, “Alright, fine, fine. What about the club?” Katy grimaced, “So we can watch you get embroiled in lesbian drama again?” Elle grinned, “I mean, what’s a night out without a little drama?” “A little drama? You almost got your extensions ripped out.” “But I didn’t.” You interrupted, “I vote to go to the club as well.” Katy huffed, “That’s because you know you won’t see Ghost in a gay bar, isn’t it?” You saluted, “Absolutely. Two against one.” She sighed, knowing she’d been beaten, “Fine. But no drama!” Elle held her hand over her heart, “No drama!”

Of course, it had been a promise that couldn’t be kept. Elle had a habit of finding herself in the middle of arguments, no matter how hard she supposedly tried to keep out of them. It was lucky for her that Katy was there to console the jilted lover and convince her not to throw her drink over Elle’s head. Elle was unbothered as always, already finding some beautiful person to dance with. With Katy busy soothing troubled lesbians and Elle trying to seduce anything even remotely sexual, you were left alone, though you didn’t mind.

You couldn’t think of a better place to bury your embarrassment than in the middle of a gay club, your face painted with colour and sparkles, your tits pushed up so high they practically touched your chin, and your waist cinched by your corset, your confidence absolutely untouchable. You’d already gotten several numbers that night, not that you planned on using any of them, still silently pining for a certain murderous spectre, but it had done wonders to restore your self-esteem after that dreadful night the week before.

The memory had long since faded into irrelevance in your mind, the music seeming to pump directly into your veins, the bass pounding along with the beat of your heart, your hips swaying, your hands touching your hair, your neck, absolutely enraptured by everything in that moment, lost in the sensations of absolute peace that only pounding music and heavy drinks could provide. You danced until your feet hurt, and the sweat began to bead up on your forehead, threatening to ruin the intricate swirls Elle had spent so long on, finally taking a break from your dancing and heading out for a breath of fresh air—in the smoking area.

You paid little attention to the patrons as you pushed open the heavy door into the cool night air, letting it flow over your face, enjoying the smoke-tainted breeze. The door shifted slightly behind you, someone taking the weight of it out of your hands, holding it open as they came into what was generously called a garden, though was more accurately a group of cheap metal chairs on fake grass, grouped around a single space heater. Most of the chairs were occupied by a group already deep in conversation, some of them known to you, huddled together, with two chairs left out. You were too happy to sink into the available chair, taking the weight off your feet, leaning back and stretching out your ankles, only somewhat regretting your decision to wear heels. The person who’d come along behind you sunk into the last available chair, and you finally looked over at them, wondering if they’d be good conversation.

Fate, it seemed, had a very funny sense of humour.

Ghost was sitting in the chair beside you. Ghost, terrifying Lieutenant, was in the smoking area of a gay bar. He was looking at you curiously, still wearing that trademark skull balaclava, inexplicably allowed to wear it no matter where he was, dressed in a slightly more casual version of his usual uniform, a thick black jumper paired with the classic cargo trousers that every soldier favoured. And there you were, in your skimpy sparkly dress, arse out, tits out, dignity left somewhere behind on the dancefloor. Your only saving grace was the hope that he might not recognise you, as crushing as that might have been.

The nod he gave you was friendly enough, as well as the “Alright?” he offered in your direction, and you did your best to squeak out an “Alright!” in response. Thankfully, he didn’t seem entirely bothered by your practically virginal awkwardness around him, his attention on the cigarettes in his pocket, digging out his lighter as he pulled up his mask, revealing a clean-shaven jaw as he clamped the cigarette between his lips. You were clearly not one for subtlety, as he offered the pack out to you, clearly noticing you staring.

Broke and gasping for a quick smoke was probably a better look for you than desperate, so you took one from the pack, trying to remember where you’d stashed your lighter, but Ghost was already leaning in with his, the tip of his cigarette touching against yours as he sparked them up, taking in a deep breath to encourage the embers to catch. You were absolutely spellbound to be so close to him, able to smell the slight hint of cologne that lingered around him, but you leaned away the moment he did, trying to look at least somewhat casual about it, as though smoking with your lieutenant was something you did every day. It was an undeniably insane scenario, yet when he settled back into his chair, entirely at ease, the tension seemed to dissipate from your body. He wasn’t judging you or staring at you with murderous intent, nor was he stained in blood with sweat trickling over his sculpted chest. He was just a man, sitting in a rusted chair, smoking cheap cigs out in the cold. It might have been the alcohol that caused this revelation, or perhaps the soothing effects of the nicotine, but you could feel the anxiety fade away as you looked at him, noticing just how ordinary he seemed.

“I’m not gonna grass you up for being drunk and disorderly if that’s what you’re worried about.” Ghost’s soft voice snapped you out of your revelation, the man clearly having cottoned on to your weird behaviour around him, yet he’d entirely misconstrued the true cause and given you a perfect excuse. You leapt on the opportunity, smiling, “Hey, I might be drunk, but I wouldn’t say I’ve crossed into disorderly just yet. I’m just worried what Elle will say if she catches me talking to a Manc.” He hummed at that, “What, she a scouser?” You nodded, “And proud of it.” He snorted, his lips curling into a slight smirk, “Why would anyone be proud of being from that shithole?” You gently kicked his leg with the toe of your heel, “Hey, nothing wrong with Liverpool!” “Scousers are what’s wrong with Liverpool. And the world.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, yeah, get over it. She’s perfect.”

There was something easy about his company, the conversation flowing like water as you idly gossiped about the various officers you’d seen out that night, some of whom were decidedly less than single, as well as occasionally dipping into the finer points of what military equipment you each favoured, with him favouring the classic goretex and you preferring the AKUs. Your cigarettes had long been stubbed out, and the psychological warming effects of the alcohol were beginning to fade, your skimpy dress doing very little to protect you from the chill.

After the third time you’d been wracked with shivers and the second time you’d refused his jumper, Ghost took matters into his own hands, tugging it over his head and offering it out to you. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off, “If you don’t take it, I’ll give you a formal reprimand.” You pursed your lips, rolling your eyes at him, but you took the jumper from his hands, tugging the warm material over your head and letting it fall down over your body, shifting in the chair so it covered more of your exposed skin. The fabric swamped you, but you weren’t complaining, amused that the hem of his jumper was longer than your dress. You grinned at Ghost, holding your arms out to showcase how long the sleeves were on you, “How do I look?” Ghost had long since pulled his mask back down, but you could see the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes as he smiled underneath it, “Warm.”

The heavy door opened again, revealing a very happy-looking Elle with a big lipstick smudge on her cheek and a somewhat tired-looking Katy. Elle pointed at Ghost, wrinkling her nose and booing loudly, “Manc!” Ghost looked at you, then back at Elle, folding his arms over his chest, showcasing the tattoo sleeve that wrapped around his forearm, “Scouser.” She responded with a childish stream of incoherent babble, and Katy sighed, “Come on, we’re off.” You weren't about to bicker with Katy, so you pushed yourself up from the chair, looking down at Ghost, “You’re not getting this back, you know.” He shrugged, “Fine by me.” You smiled down at him, “In a bit then.” He nodded as you left, his eyes flicking over your body, drowned by his jumper, “In a bit.”

[jackactuallywrites]

I am asking very nicely for part 2

I need our pathetic duo

Besties are making fun of MC for being an idiot and they take her to a club and WHO'S THERE? 💀

They meet in a smoking area and MC is going through all stages of grief

That's us btw

Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x You

Rating: Still pretty mild

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, clubbing, Liverpudlians

Summary: You to the club assuming Ghost won’t be there. More fool you!

Notes: we simp for @xxven providing all these excellent plot ideas it would not happen without her 🫡

Word count: 1,666 (spooky!)

“I’m not going back to the pub.”

You were being uncharacteristically firm; usually, enough badgering from Katy and Elle would have you giving in and trudging off to the pub, but this time you were absolutely resolute. Elle was less than impressed, letting out a heavy groan as you vetoed the classic Friday evening plans, “Is this because of the whole Ghost thing?” You glowered at her, and Katy snickered, “Can’t believe you thought Soap was some girl chatting him up.” You huffed, “It’s hard to tell in that lighting! Plus, a lot of the girls around here have that haircut.” Elle did her best to hold back her amusement, whereas Katy did no such thing, cackling at you outright, “You twat.” You made a face at her, “Bite me. We’re not going to the pub.” Elle acquiesced, “Alright, fine, fine. What about the club?” Katy grimaced, “So we can watch you get embroiled in lesbian drama again?” Elle grinned, “I mean, what’s a night out without a little drama?” “A little drama? You almost got your extensions ripped out.” “But I didn’t.” You interrupted, “I vote to go to the club as well.” Katy huffed, “That’s because you know you won’t see Ghost in a gay bar, isn’t it?” You saluted, “Absolutely. Two against one.” She sighed, knowing she’d been beaten, “Fine. But no drama!” Elle held her hand over her heart, “No drama!”

Of course, it had been a promise that couldn’t be kept. Elle had a habit of finding herself in the middle of arguments, no matter how hard she supposedly tried to keep out of them. It was lucky for her that Katy was there to console the jilted lover and convince her not to throw her drink over Elle’s head. Elle was unbothered as always, already finding some beautiful person to dance with. With Katy busy soothing troubled lesbians and Elle trying to seduce anything even remotely sexual, you were left alone, though you didn’t mind.

You couldn’t think of a better place to bury your embarrassment than in the middle of a gay club, your face painted with colour and sparkles, your tits pushed up so high they practically touched your chin, and your waist cinched by your corset, your confidence absolutely untouchable. You’d already gotten several numbers that night, not that you planned on using any of them, still silently pining for a certain murderous spectre, but it had done wonders to restore your self-esteem after that dreadful night the week before.

The memory had long since faded into irrelevance in your mind, the music seeming to pump directly into your veins, the bass pounding along with the beat of your heart, your hips swaying, your hands touching your hair, your neck, absolutely enraptured by everything in that moment, lost in the sensations of absolute peace that only pounding music and heavy drinks could provide. You danced until your feet hurt, and the sweat began to bead up on your forehead, threatening to ruin the intricate swirls Elle had spent so long on, finally taking a break from your dancing and heading out for a breath of fresh air—in the smoking area.

You paid little attention to the patrons as you pushed open the heavy door into the cool night air, letting it flow over your face, enjoying the smoke-tainted breeze. The door shifted slightly behind you, someone taking the weight of it out of your hands, holding it open as they came into what was generously called a garden, though was more accurately a group of cheap metal chairs on fake grass, grouped around a single space heater. Most of the chairs were occupied by a group already deep in conversation, some of them known to you, huddled together, with two chairs left out. You were too happy to sink into the available chair, taking the weight off your feet, leaning back and stretching out your ankles, only somewhat regretting your decision to wear heels. The person who’d come along behind you sunk into the last available chair, and you finally looked over at them, wondering if they’d be good conversation.

Fate, it seemed, had a very funny sense of humour.

Ghost was sitting in the chair beside you. Ghost, terrifying Lieutenant, was in the smoking area of a gay bar. He was looking at you curiously, still wearing that trademark skull balaclava, inexplicably allowed to wear it no matter where he was, dressed in a slightly more casual version of his usual uniform, a thick black jumper paired with the classic cargo trousers that every soldier favoured. And there you were, in your skimpy sparkly dress, arse out, tits out, dignity left somewhere behind on the dancefloor. Your only saving grace was the hope that he might not recognise you, as crushing as that might have been.

The nod he gave you was friendly enough, as well as the “Alright?” he offered in your direction, and you did your best to squeak out an “Alright!” in response. Thankfully, he didn’t seem entirely bothered by your practically virginal awkwardness around him, his attention on the cigarettes in his pocket, digging out his lighter as he pulled up his mask, revealing a clean-shaven jaw as he clamped the cigarette between his lips. You were clearly not one for subtlety, as he offered the pack out to you, clearly noticing you staring.

Broke and gasping for a quick smoke was probably a better look for you than desperate, so you took one from the pack, trying to remember where you’d stashed your lighter, but Ghost was already leaning in with his, the tip of his cigarette touching against yours as he sparked them up, taking in a deep breath to encourage the embers to catch. You were absolutely spellbound to be so close to him, able to smell the slight hint of cologne that lingered around him, but you leaned away the moment he did, trying to look at least somewhat casual about it, as though smoking with your lieutenant was something you did every day. It was an undeniably insane scenario, yet when he settled back into his chair, entirely at ease, the tension seemed to dissipate from your body. He wasn’t judging you or staring at you with murderous intent, nor was he stained in blood with sweat trickling over his sculpted chest. He was just a man, sitting in a rusted chair, smoking cheap cigs out in the cold. It might have been the alcohol that caused this revelation, or perhaps the soothing effects of the nicotine, but you could feel the anxiety fade away as you looked at him, noticing just how ordinary he seemed.

“I’m not gonna grass you up for being drunk and disorderly if that’s what you’re worried about.” Ghost’s soft voice snapped you out of your revelation, the man clearly having cottoned on to your weird behaviour around him, yet he’d entirely misconstrued the true cause and given you a perfect excuse. You leapt on the opportunity, smiling, “Hey, I might be drunk, but I wouldn’t say I’ve crossed into disorderly just yet. I’m just worried what Elle will say if she catches me talking to a Manc.” He hummed at that, “What, she a scouser?” You nodded, “And proud of it.” He snorted, his lips curling into a slight smirk, “Why would anyone be proud of being from that shithole?” You gently kicked his leg with the toe of your heel, “Hey, nothing wrong with Liverpool!” “Scousers are what’s wrong with Liverpool. And the world.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, yeah, get over it. She’s perfect.”

There was something easy about his company, the conversation flowing like water as you idly gossiped about the various officers you’d seen out that night, some of whom were decidedly less than single, as well as occasionally dipping into the finer points of what military equipment you each favoured, with him favouring the classic goretex and you preferring the AKUs. Your cigarettes had long been stubbed out, and the psychological warming effects of the alcohol were beginning to fade, your skimpy dress doing very little to protect you from the chill.

After the third time you’d been wracked with shivers and the second time you’d refused his jumper, Ghost took matters into his own hands, tugging it over his head and offering it out to you. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off, “If you don’t take it, I’ll give you a formal reprimand.” You pursed your lips, rolling your eyes at him, but you took the jumper from his hands, tugging the warm material over your head and letting it fall down over your body, shifting in the chair so it covered more of your exposed skin. The fabric swamped you, but you weren’t complaining, amused that the hem of his jumper was longer than your dress. You grinned at Ghost, holding your arms out to showcase how long the sleeves were on you, “How do I look?” Ghost had long since pulled his mask back down, but you could see the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes as he smiled underneath it, “Warm.”

The heavy door opened again, revealing a very happy-looking Elle with a big lipstick smudge on her cheek and a somewhat tired-looking Katy. Elle pointed at Ghost, wrinkling her nose and booing loudly, “Manc!” Ghost looked at you, then back at Elle, folding his arms over his chest, showcasing the tattoo sleeve that wrapped around his forearm, “Scouser.” She responded with a childish stream of incoherent babble, and Katy sighed, “Come on, we’re off.” You weren't about to bicker with Katy, so you pushed yourself up from the chair, looking down at Ghost, “You’re not getting this back, you know.” He shrugged, “Fine by me.” You smiled down at him, “In a bit then.” He nodded as you left, his eyes flicking over your body, drowned by his jumper, “In a bit.”

[jackactuallywrites]

hiii, omg your last request 😳 all i can imagine is simon seeing the full thing (even tho the friends truly believed he didn’t) but since he’s simon… he obviously saw it 😭 i’m curious if he knows of reader’s crush, if he feels something towards them as well, or if truly clueless. and is he interested in the woman he was talking to or did she just approach him that night? i’d love a part 2 to this, but you don’t have to if you feel it’s best to leave it off here! i love your work btw 🖤

There is a part two in the works don’t worry! All your questions will be answered in that 😘

Thank you for the ask! 🥰

[jackactuallywrites]

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN

let's say there's like a little get together with people from the base in a pub, MC is DOWN BAD for ghost, but she's a fucking pussy + ghost is scary + if he'd report her confession to HR it's instant over for shawty + ghost is scary + ghost is scary (and hot) MC is there with her 2 besties obviously and they're drunk and tease the fuck out of MC MC almost goes to talk to Ghost and there's some woman that's already talking to him and MC is like OH 🧍‍♀️and that bitch gets CLOSE

MC is like you know what IFEELSICKIHAVEAHEADACHEIMGOINGBACKTOTHEBASE BYE

IMAGINE ✨

YES THIS IS THE LEVEL OF DETAIL I LOVE

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Rating: Mild

Warnings: Drinking and barfing and Liverpudlians 🤢

Summary: You get drunk at the pub and your friends try to convince you to hit on Ghost

Notes: I will be beating the rest of this plot out of @xxven 😌 (also if you want to make a request make it this specific it’s perfect)

Word count: 946

The pub was supposed to be a pinnacle of Friday night entertainment. You went down there with your girls, you got a bunch of drinks down your neck, and then you got to what you did best: you sat and checked out what soldiers had come to the pub and ranked them based on their attractiveness. If you were lucky, you might get off with one in the alleyway behind the pub. It stunk of rancid piss and occasionally vomit, and more than once, you’d been spotted by one of your superiors and given guard duty in the midst of your soul-destroying headache as your punishment, not exactly what you’d call romantic, but it was fun.

Tonight, there were other things on your mind.

As usual, there was the typical collection of drunken louts and gorgeous men, a true pick and mix of good and bad, as well as a dream’s selection of women, each one entirely different from the last, yet completely spellbinding in their own way. However, none of those caught your attention. It was the terrifying man at the bar who drew your eye.

Lieutenant Ghost Riley.

Your friends hadn’t understood your attraction to the man initially, citing that how you could ever be attracted to someone if you never saw their face, but you’d pointed out his height, his muscles, the quiet confidence with which he carried himself, and they’d come around. They’d even admitted that there was something sexy about the way that he could be anyone under that mask; whatever they wanted him to be, a perfect blank slate for them to project all of their dreams and desires onto. Of course, the problem for Katy was the reputation that came along with the man, and for Liverpudlian Elle, the fact that he was from Manchester was a complete dealbreaker, but neither of those things had ever bothered you.

“So why don’t you go over and talk to him?” Katy didn’t seem to have any such problem going straight to men and asking for exactly what she wanted, and she expected the same from everyone. You didn’t consider yourself to be entirely socially anxious, but it was Ghost. Anyone with sense was nervous around that man, and you told Katy as much, “-even if you ignore the whole ‘terrifying’ thing, what if he reported me to HR? I could get shipped off to the other side of the world, at best.” Katy considered your words thoughtfully and then walked off, scoffing as she went, “Pussy.” Elle nodded sagely, “She’s right. Stop being chicken and talk to the man. I mean, if I was like that, I never would have gotten off with that fit marine.” You turned up your nose at her, “The married one who gave you the clap?” Elle rolled her eyes at you, “That was the other marine.” You hummed, “Well, God forbid I miss out on opportunities like that.”

A clinking of glasses foretold Katy’s return, a headache’s worth of shot glasses in her hand, and she set them down on the old wooden table. “Either you go and talk to him, or you do four shots.”

It was quite a conundrum for you; either there was going to be a whole lot of puking, or you’d have to drink a bunch of shots. You could see Ghost standing at the bar still, looming over everyone like a spectre, and the idea of going up and talking to him made your insides tense. Four shots was long from what you’d done in your uni days, so you took them one after the other, wincing at that familiar burn down your throat.

If you hadn’t already been several pints in, you might have cottoned onto the fact that Katy and Elle had planned on either outcome: either you would talk to Ghost tipsy, or you would talk to him ten minutes later absolutely sloshed. As it happened, four shots later, you had more than enough drunk courage to speak to the man, though your motor skills were no longer entirely on your side. In fact, it seemed as though the chairs and tables had conspired to get in your way as you tried to make your way to the bar, blocking your way long enough for you to see someone already at Ghost’s side.

You couldn’t see anything of their face, only the beret on their head and brunette hair, their body being just as nondescript and draped in camouflage as the rest of the bodies in the pub, but it was enough. The alcohol had been behaving well enough in your stomach, yet now that you were confronted with having lost your opportunity with Ghost, it was beginning to roil and churn within you, the prickling of acid at the back of your throat. Your only saving grace now was that you knew where the exits were, and you tripped and stumbled over the chairs and legs until you were finally out in the cold open air, your own feet seeming to betray you, and you fell to your knees, your hands on the freezing concrete as you fought to keep control of your stomach. You felt the familiar hand of Katy on your back, gently rubbing as Elle tucked the loose strands of hair out of your face and placed a glass of water in front of you. They had been the instruments of your destruction, yet they were there to save you as well, a delicate balance perfected over years of sisterhood.

“It’ll be okay,” Katy cooed, “he didn’t see.” Elle agreed, “Yeah, nobody saw. This will all be a bad memory soon enough.”

[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[jackactuallywrites]

Fuck, Marry, Caught

Pairing: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Spanking, punishment

Summary: You write about how hot you think Gaz is, he finds out and punishes you for it (sexily obvs)

Notes: Apparently Gaz really inspires me because Lord the word count!

Word Count: 3,542

ao3 link

Special thanks to @xxven for making me a trope wheel to spin 😘

Obsession didn’t seem word enough to describe how you felt about Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. You craved him, a deep yearning in the pit of your stomach, a desperate need, the way your lungs needed oxygen.

There was absolutely no question about whether you would ever reveal this desperation to the man himself; as a lowly Corporal, the sergeant was your superior, so not only would it be considered improper just in terms of fraternisation within the military, but in terms of rank. Highly improper, and yet that only served to make it more delicious to you, daydreaming about how you would have to hide your illicit affair with him, hooking up in the broom closets, in the corners of the air hangers, in every slightly hidden place across the base. It was this that kept you going through the duller days of service, an impure fantasy to titillate your mind when you were doing pointless busy work. That, and the fact that you always had your equally delusional friends to share your dreams of desperation and depravity with.

Like always, you had found yourself huddled up with the two of them in the corner of the airbase, the temperature in there always being a few degrees cooler than the heat outside, and you had found a loose bit of tarpaulin to bundle up underneath your heads as a makeshift pillow, allowing you to stare up at the sloping, ridged metal of the ceiling as you chatted. The topic, as usual, was the hotly debated rating of your superior officers.

Josh was the most recently outraged, his eyes wide and unbelieving as he stared at Tess, “You’re telling me you’re putting Ghost above Soap? You can’t even see his face!” Tess smiled and shrugged, “Oh, but isn’t that the appeal? If you don’t know what he looks like under the mask, you can imagine anything.” You had to agree with Tess; you understood the appeal of a masked man, especially a classic tall, dark and silent one like Ghost, but he still didn’t cinch the number one spot for you. You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could look at the other two, “I can’t believe that you two are sleeping on Gaz. I mean, have you seen that man?” You shook your head, “I mean, fuck that, you don’t even have to see him, have you heard him? I swear, that man has a voice like pure silky caramel. And by God, I want to taste it.” Josh shrugged, acquiescing to your views, “No, you know what? I can see it. He really is gorgeous.”

You’d been pushing the superiority of Gaz above the other soldiers for ages, and at long last, Joshua had finally given in and accepted your point of view. “Fucking finally. You have all been blind to that for far too long.” Tess rolled her eyes, “My God, you’re still on it with the Gaz infatuation?” You grin, “When am I ever off it? The man is a Greek god.” Tess snorted at you, “Like you’ve ever seen him naked.” You raised your eyebrows, wagging your finger at her to silence her before looking pointedly over at Josh. He sighed a little bashfully, “Well, I have seen him in the changing rooms. And Birdie isn’t wrong. Greek. God.” You grinned over at Tess, “See? That’s proven. Gaz is gorgeous. I don’t think anybody’s ever seen Ghost's body. That’s all conjecture.” Tess shrugged, “You have your fantasy, and I have mine.”

Now that you finally had Josh on your side, you brought out your little notepad from one of the many pockets, as well as a little pencil, “Now that the ayes officially have it-“ Tess snorted, “What are you, speaker of the fucking house?” You continued on as though she hadn’t interrupted, “Now that the ayes have it, we can finally put Gaz at the top of our list.” Josh gave out a lazy whoop, and you wrote out the name Sergeant Kyle Garrick at the top of the note, "And we've all agreed that Soap is next on the list, right?" Both Josh and Tess nodded; that much was absolute in your little group, and so you added Sergeant John MacTavish.

Josh leaned over to look at your notepad and scoffed at the simple way you'd written both names. "Really, Birdie? Your lack of flair consistently disappoints me." You rolled your eyes at him, "Alright then, you write it." He took your notepad, then took the pencil and wielded it with a flourish, spinning it between his fingers before he wrote in a far more elaborate script, vocalising the words as he wrote, "The Official List of the Hottest Soldiers." Tess snorted, "You make it sound so proper. Like we're not just thirsting over mean we can't have." You gestured to the notepad, "Add on that Corporal Waters is being a huge sourpuss about it." Josh grinned, writing what you dictated in the margins, "Corporal Waters' dissidence has been officially noted by the honourable Corporal Mills." “Note how shredded he is! And how that voice would sound in your ear when he’s-“

The grinding sound of the large hangar doors snapped you out of your revelry, and the three of you shot up from where you'd been laid, quickly getting to your feet lest you be caught slacking by any superior officers. Thankfully, you all knew the quickest route out of the hangar, scrambling after each other to escape the approaching footsteps, making sure you didn't leave a scrap of fabric that bore your name behind. It was all a well-rehearsed routine, yet there had been one fatal flaw—the notebook. You might have noticed it if you weren't in such a hurry to leave, yet one kick from Josh pushed it under the tarp you'd all been using as a pillow, and as it was out of sight, it was out of mind.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t out of your mind for long. The very second you’d stopped to catch your breath, a mile away from the hangar, you realised your fatal flaw. Your name was on that paper. Joshua had written it, and Tess had her name noted in dissidence, but yours had been credited as though you were the sole author. All you could do was pray they wouldn’t look under the tarp.

Two weeks later, you’d put that incident to the back of your mind, returning to your usual habits of daydreaming about Gaz, idly imagining what his body would look like in the shower, the droplets of water on his muscles, the dark curls that trailed down from his stomach that Joshua had spoken of. A perfect, delectable thought that kept you company as you worked in the tedium of logistics, endlessly tapping in numbers onto the spreadsheet as though it really mattered how many biscuits were currently in storage. What you would have given to have Josh or Tess come in to make a note of whatever they’d used during their daily mechanical duties. In fact, it was so dry you would have taken any grunt coming in to break up the day.

It was clear that someone up there had a sense of humour. Not a second after you’d pleaded for something to break up the monotony, the man himself, Sergeant Garrick, had come through your door.

You’d been on the base through several firefights, listening to rockets fired and praying that they wouldn’t hit anyone, but this seemed to cinch the top spot for the most afraid you’d ever been. He was here, standing before you, his warm brown eyes looking you over, and you had to question, did he know?

“Corporal Mills.” The way your name sounded pouring out of his mouth sounded like pure treacle, as though he’d put emphasis on sounding as alluring as possible. Suddenly, it seemed as though your mouth had been filled with sand, your tongue dry, your brain spinning as you took a second to reboot your consciousness. “Sergeant. How can I help you?” “I believe I’ve found something of yours.”

Your heart seemed to drop out of your chest as you saw him bring out your notebook, your name written in block letters on the very last page. Gaz seemed to notice the fear in your eyes, and a very smug smile spread across his lips. “Something to tell me, Corporal?” You blinked, trying to think of a quick lie on the spot, coming up with the laziest answer, “Is that mine? I’m pretty sure mine is in the storeroom somewhere. That one must be someone else’s.” He laughed, “You’re telling me a soldier in the Royal Logistics Corps misplaced something? Isn’t keeping track of things your whole job?” You gave him a slightly bashful smile, “Nobody’s perfect.” He raised a brow, tilting his head at you, “So I should track down Corporal Waters and reprimand them?”

You might have been a liar and somewhat of a degenerate, but you were never one to betray a friend, so you pretended to take a closer look at the notebook as if you’d only recognised it at that moment, “Oh, that is mine.” As you reached out to take it, Gaz pulled it away from him, tutting at you, “I’m sorry; did you think you were getting it back with absolutely no punishment?” Of course, you’d expected that much; superior officers always loved to take the opportunity to dole out absurd punishment. You dropped your head, hoping to look regretful enough that he wouldn’t be too harsh, “I guess I do deserve that. I’ll accept anything you deem appropriate recourse.” He trailed his fingers in a circle on your notepad, “Anything?”

It was impossible to know where you were, just imagining the sultry look in his eyes or the practical purr in his voice. Yet, you weren’t about to make a fool of yourself by making assumptions based on nothing more than endless fantasies, so you chose to play it safe. “Whatever you see fit, sir.” He smiled again, “Good. Come with me.” “Right now?” He raised a brow at you, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “Unless you’d rather have a traditional military punishment?” It seemed as though you’d fallen out of usual life and into some sort of wondrous fantasy, and you weren’t about to waste your one chance with Kyle Garrick. “No, sir.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling, “Come along then, Corporal.”

Your superiors would undoubtedly be absolutely appalled at the speed with which you abandoned your post, yanking down the shutters in your eagerness to trot after Gaz like an obedient little dog. He seemed to know the quietest corridors, as you didn’t pass a single other soul, making you feel all the more like a dirty little secret of his, not that you minded in the slightest. Your mind was focused on little else but the prospect of what pleasure awaited you, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, already feeling the excitement building in your stomach, trailing down between your legs. Perhaps you were a little overly optimistic, but you couldn’t help but let your mind run wild, desperate for even the slightest bit of physical contact from him.

At long last, Gaz stopped in front of a locked wooden door, rummaging in his pocket for a key. He unlocked it for you, opening the door and standing aside as he waited for you to enter, which you did abruptly, barely holding on to your last shred of patience. You could hear Gaz’s huff of amusement, no doubt amused by your unabashed desire for him, and he locked the door behind him, turning around to face you.

“So.” He began, and you sat on the edge of his desk, trying not to seem too desperate, but Gaz clicked his tongue at you, “What do you think you’re doing?” You looked at him questioningly, “Sitting on your desk?” He tutted, shaking his head, “I don’t think so. This is supposed to be a punishment, is it not? Bend over the desk.”

For a second, you weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him correctly, your brain seeming to short-circuit for a second. Gaz raised his brows, “Every second is another added to your punishment.” You hesitated, but you obeyed, turning around and bending over the desk, letting your chest rest on the flat wooden surface, stretching your arms out in front of you, your fingers clinging onto the far edge. Gaz approached you from behind, though you couldn’t see him, only hear his footsteps grow closer, the anticipation beginning to build between your legs. Suddenly, you felt his hand on your lower back, trailing across to your hip, his fingers reaching around to find the button of your trousers, deftly unbuttoning them with one hand, then tugging down your zipper. He bent over you, sending a shock up your spine as you felt the length of his hardness press up against your ass, his chest against your back as he leant down to murmur in your ear, his other hand bracing on the desk, “Safeword is pineapple, darling. Nod if you understand.” You nodded, and he straightened up, tugging down your trousers until they fell around your ankles. His hands shifted to your lower back again, starting on their slow path over your arse and briefly pausing between your legs long enough to stroke the entirety of your slit over the thin cloth of your underwear before resting on your ass.

“I think ten smacks is about right for misplacing personal equipment, don’t you?” You weren’t about to disagree, giving him another silent nod. He trailed his finger up and down the soft skin of your behind before bringing his hand down in a swift smack, sending pain and pleasure radiating through your core, and you couldn’t help but let out a little whimper, seeming to have discovered something new about yourself. His other hand trailed over your hip and down between your legs as the other one caressed your ass, his fingers beginning to rub you over your pants. The moment you relaxed into pure pleasure, he brought his hand down in a swift smack again, jolting you forward on the table. Your pleasure was more tangible now, and you groaned into the hard wooden surface, your fingers clinging onto the side for dear life as his fingers started moving against your more sensitive clit, his hands coming down against your arse twice in quick succession.

“You’ll have to beg for these next ones, sweetheart.” At this point, you weren’t going to resist anything Gaz said; any remaining sense of embarrassment completely vanished in the face of your desperation, your voice coming out as an almost unrecognisable plead, “Please.” His thumb stroked tenderly over the slightly sore skin of your arse, “Please, what?” You bit your lip, “Please, hit me again.” He obliged you, hitting you sharply, yet now his fingers were breaching the edge of your underwear and tugging them to the side, his fingers soft against your sensitive skin, caressing you gently before he slowly began to slip his fingers inside you, his thumb resting on your clit. You could feel yourself growing wetter as he sank his finger into you completely, and yet it was missing something, even as you were drowning in pleasure. Without prompting, you led out another pleading whine, “Please, hit me again.”

Gaz obliged you eagerly, giving you a swift smack, his finger beginning to pump in and out of you, his thumb beginning to move in circles around your clit, slowly setting you alight with pleasure, your hips beginning to buck back against his finger. You didn’t need to ask for another one, as already he was bringing his hand down against your increasingly tender behind, jerking you forwards on the desk again, his fingers slightly coming out of you, and then he grabbed your hip and pulled you back, now sliding two of his fingers inside you, gently stretching you open. Your body was practically desperate for him now, and you needily pressed back against him.

“You’re just desperate for me, aren’t you?” He purred down at you, his hand moving from your ass to your lower back, caressing you through your shirt, and you whimpered on the desk, beginning to lose those tiny shreds of composure you had left as you begged, “Please.” His hand spread over your lower back, pinning you down to the desk, and his voice became slightly strained, “Not yet.” He smacked your ass again, now pressing a third finger into your needy pussy, your body needing no further stretching at this point, completely relaxed and open for him. He left out a soft growl, leaning down over you, his chest pressed against your back, pinning you down as he reached over you to pull out a drawer, rummaging inside before you heard the sound of crinkling foil, your breathing quickening as you realised what he had brought out. Both of his hands briefly left your body as he quickly undid his trousers, and you heard the tearing of the foil packet, your body dripping with excitement as you felt him press up against you once again, one hand on your ass, the other guiding his dick down to your sopping wet pussy, the tip at your entrance, piquing your desperation as you felt him press into you, the pressure slowly building before he began to sink into you, one inch at a time, every single one more pleasurable than the one before.

Your nails dug into the wooden desk hard enough to crack the veneer, a soft moan escaping your lips as you felt him fill you up entirely. Gaz had been in complete control the entire time, yet now he was beginning to let out quiet moans himself, his other hand shifting away from his dick to your hip, gripping you tightly as he finally bottomed out inside you. He let out a short breath, rubbing his thumb over your hip, “Fuck me, you feel good.”

Words were beyond you now, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you, pushing yourself against him, and he rewarded you with a sharp smack, sending you forward on the desk, yet he quickly yanked you back into his cock, not allowing you a second to recover from the sensations. His other hand shifted around from your hip, underneath your pants and back to your clit again, two fingers beginning to rub in a small circle as he slowly began to fuck you, small thrusts at first, then growing longer and more forceful. You could feel the pleasure building up inside you, and you bit your lip, arching your back as much as you could on the desk, and Gaz needed little encouragement, fucking you harder as he smacked your arse again, mixing pain and pleasure so tantalisingly, your body beginning to tighten as your orgasm approached, and you begged him, “Please, don’t stop Gaz, please.”

Gaz’s hand quickened in rubbing circles around your clit, and you pushed back against him to try and feel as much of him as you could, and he rewarded you with another spank as he fucked you more ferociously, coaxing your orgasm out of you until it hit you hard, crashing over you in waves, yet he didn’t stop, smacking your ass again as he drove himself into you over and over until finally, he came in a single long stroke, gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises as he leant down on top of you, resting on your back, his breath heavy in your ear.

The two of you stayed like that for some time, allowing your bodies to come down from the high still pressed together. Gaz was the one to move first, lifting himself off of you and gently pulling out, his hands trailing down over your back as he did so. Your brain quietly came back into control of your body, though you weren’t all that keen to get up, your legs still feeling rather jelly-like. Gaz placed a box of tissues in front of you, allowing you to take one and give yourself a quick clean-up, deciding that you’d shower when you returned to your barracks. You tossed the tissues in the waste bin, then hoisted your trousers back up, standing up from where you’d been sprawled over the desk. Gaz had already returned to his intimidatingly pristine self, yet he looked at you kindly, a slight smirk on his face, “Well. I didn’t expect to be so tempted. Or for you to be so loud.” He grinned at you, “I shouldn’t keep you. Logistics keep the base running.”

You had no problem departing quickly, desperate to update Tess and Josh on this new unexpected chapter of your life, and you nodded, throwing him a slight smirk, “Remind me to lose my notebook more often.” Gaz chuckled, unlocking the door for you and peering around to ensure there were no stragglers in the hallway. As you left, he smacked your ass again, and you groaned, already tempted to go back into his office but knowing that your duties -and gossip- awaited.

[jackactuallywrites]

Purely Professional

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Medic Reader

Rating: Mature (nothing too explicit but dick is hinted at)

Warnings: Ghost has a boo boo 😔 (blood, facial injury - split cheek and bruising)

Summary: You are the only medic Ghost trusts to treat him. Also you guys are friends with benefits!

Notes: Yes I do always headcanon Ghost with a broken nose. It’s HOT. Also I’m cleaning out the drafts

Word Count: 1,712

ao3 link

“He’s here.”

You didn’t need to ask to know who the other medic was talking about, nodding thanks to the medic as she left, and you quickly finished up with the young woman you were patching up, “You can take ibuprofen as needed, no more than two pills at a time, and space out the dosage to every four hours.” You wrinkle your nose, “I mean, you know how to take ibuprofen, just basic over-the-counter stuff. But come back if there’s any problems.” She nods, “Thanks, Doc.” You weren’t sure how many times you’d specified the difference between a combat medic and a military doctor, but at this point, it wasn’t worth the air, so you just nodded, gesturing for her to take her leave, “Anytime.” She grabbed the pillbox and made her way out of the room, leaving you to clean up the empty wrappings, tossing them into the nearby bin. You tore off the paper that was covering the bed, binning it as well and then rolling out another cover, making sure everything was fresh and clean. When you were satisfied, you walked out of the room into the waiting room, your eyes immediately landing on the one man who didn’t need to be named.

Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze was intimidating, his dark eyes glowering from underneath the skull mask as though he wanted nothing more than to take down every single person who dared to breathe the same air as him. At this point, the other medics had learned that he wouldn’t accept their help, refusing to utter even a single word until you were free. You leaned against the frame of the door that led into the hallway, beckoning him with a jerk of your head. He rose from his seat, seeming to dwarf everyone else around him as he walked through the room toward you, brushing past you without a word and striding straight into the open examination room, the cold silence seeming to emanate off him like a tangible aura, visibly affecting those around him, the other medics shrinking away from him as he passed.

You followed him into the room, closing the door behind you, “So, what can I help you with today, Lieutenant?” He sat down on the bed in the room, resting one forearm on his thigh, gesturing with the other hand to his face, consistently a man of few words. You stepped closer to him, “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.” He grunted, reaching up to take off his helmet, setting it on the bed beside him, and then unclipping the skull mask, revealing the balaclava underneath. Finally, he pulled off the balaclava, revealing his clipped blond hair, and then his face, bruised and bloody, his cheek split open, blood already dried to his skin. His eyes, thankfully untouched, the black paint surrounding them unmarred, were on you, boring into your face as he watched you.

You didn’t waste time, reaching out to probe his face, your fingers gently holding onto his chin as you turned his head from side to side, inspecting the damage. It looked worse than it was; facial injuries always bled more, and though he tensed when you gently pressed his cheek, there was no sign of anything broken. After taking a moment just to be sure, you drew back from him, walking to the medical cupboard and taking out an antiseptic wipe, talking as you did, “You won’t need stitches.” He grunted, and you took this as permission to begin wiping the blood away from his face.

“So,” you began, always one to make idle chitchat as you worked, “who did you piss off this time?” Ghost watched you, his face solemn, searching your eyes before he responded, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Couple guys.” You smiled as you brushed the wipe over his split skin, “You know if you want to see me, you only have to ask.”

All the tension in his face seemed to ease then, his eyes softening as he looked up at you, “I know.” You took this as permission, gently nudging his legs open so you could stand in between them, closing the distance between you, allowing him to reach out in his own time, and after a brief moment, he did, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your hips, his fingers hesitant, still unused to the intimacy you shared. You cleaned up the rest of the blood on his cheek, giving him time to get used to your close proximity as you brought out a small plaster to cover his wound. In a moment of impulsivity, you pressed a gentle kiss to his damaged cheek, your reward his sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his fingers on your hips, pulling you closer toward him.

“You know,” you began, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, “the other medics are going to think you’re sweet on me.” Ghost let his face rest in the crook of your neck, his voice low, muffled by your shoulder, “I’m not sweet.” You smiled, letting your fingers trace over from his shoulders to the back of his neck, “No? What would you call this?” “Desperate.”

There was no mistaking the longing in his voice, the yearning, the way his fingers pulled you closer to him until your body was pressed against his. Already, his fingers were pulling at your shirt, just like he’d done so many times before, secretive fumbles in whatever vehicle or armoury was nearest, all beginning with some injury he only allowed you to treat, all ending with you wrapped up in his arms. You smiled, shifting one hand to stop his fingers on their insistent path underneath your shirt, “I think they’ll notice if I spend forty minutes in here with you.” Ghost didn’t seem entirely put off by the idea, his face tilting up as his lips began to move over your neck, gently nipping at the skin, his voice husky, “You love this being our dirty little secret, don’t you?”

It was impossible for you to lie to him; after all, he was special forces; no doubt he could sniff out every last secret of yours if he truly wanted to. His hand was already moving from your hip up to your cheek, forcing you to look at him as he pulled away from your neck, his pale eyes searching yours, “Admit it.” Every part of you seemed desperate to touch and be touched by him, and you held back a groan, “Yes. Which is why we can’t do anything in here.” His lips quirked in a smirk, “We wouldn’t want them to think you give this treatment to everyone.” You smiled, “I am supposed to be a professional, after all.” His thumb reached out to brush your cheek, “Couldn’t we both use a little unprofessionalism right now?”

The idea was tempting. Too tempting. You could feel those eyes of his melting away your resolve, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek, “What exactly did you have in mind?” There was a wicked look in his eyes, luring you into sin, to submit yourself to his will entirely, “What I have in mind would make too much of a mess and needs more time than we have.” You tilted your head to the side, curious, “So what do we do?” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over every single facet of your face, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. He leaned into you, his nose bumping against yours, letting you feel that little ridge where it had been broken. His words were a murmur against your skin, softer than he ever seemed capable of, “I’ll be content with a kiss for now.”

It never seemed to make sense that a devil could be so sweet; you knew what he was capable of, you’d patched him up, you’d seen his medical records detailing what he’d been through, yet here he was, asking you for that simplest of intimacies. You obliged his simple request, leaning forward to press your lips against his, feeling the slight stubble on his skin prickle yours, his hand shifting from your cheek to the back of your neck, the one on your hip moving to the small of your back to pull you closer to him, encircling your body, his lips soft against yours, yet insistent, needy. He pulled away before you, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a strained sigh, his hand moving from your back to his crotch, adjusting his trousers to disguise the growing bulge there. “The things you do to me.” His voice held some frustration, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck but loosening just as quickly, always in complete control of himself.

You could see the Lieutenant return, the way his back straightened, the grim determination returning to his lips. His hands fell away from your body, reaching for the balaclava and mask he’d put to the side, and you knew your time with him was coming to a close. You stepped back from him, tucking in your shirt, allowing him to resume that persona, covering his bruised face with the black balaclava and then finishing with clipping his skull mask back into place, his helmet finishing the transformation. All that remained of him were those soft eyes, out of place, surrounded by blackness. He reached up with one hand to tuck a loose hair back under your beret, his gloved fingers gently stroking against your cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

There was no doubt that he would find you to finish what you’d started here, but for now, he was back to business, standing up off the table and straightening out his uniform. You crossed the room to open the door for him, allowing the outside world view into your privacy, not that there was anything for them to see. He stalked past you without a word, yet as he passed, his hand reached out to gently squeeze your arse, sending tingles up your spine as he left you wanting, trying hard not to look like a lovesick dog as you watched him go.

[jackactuallywrites]

Tight Spaces

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x You

Rating: Mature (mostly because of the setting)

Warnings: War-torn zone and bombings

Summary: You’re on recon with Ghost and have to hide in not one, but two tight spaces! Angst!

Notes: I have no idea whether this is a one shot or not I was just having fun with it

Word Count: 2,373

ao3 link

How could a mission go this wrong?

It was supposed to be a fairly short reconnaissance: go in, get the intel, go back out, yet somehow, they’d known you were coming. And that had led you here, lying down in a half-empty metal ammo box, listening to the foreign soldiers pace around outside. The situation was bad enough, with the sharp corners of the metal boxes poking into your skin, even through the thick material of your uniform, unable to move lest you were discovered.

What made it worse was the fact that your lieutenant was currently lying face down on top of you, his weight practically crushing you. There was nowhere else for him to go, so he’d had to climb in the crate alongside you, forced to lie on top of you like a heavy blanket, the various bits and pieces of his gear digging into your front as the boxes dug into your back. His head was in the space to the left of yours, the hard resin of his mask pressing into your shoulder. You could hear his breathing, slow and steady, as though this was no more stressful than a nice walk in the countryside, a far cry from your sharp, rapid breath.

A shot sounded out nearby, and you flinched, causing the boxes underneath you to shift and grind against each other, the metal screeching in protest. Another volley of shots sounded, closer than the last, and you scrunched your eyes shut tight as though you could will yourself out of the situation. It did very little for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you sunk your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying hard not to physically vibrate with anxiety. Your hands were shaking, pinned to your chest by Ghost’s body, and you closed your eyes, desperately trying to will yourself into calm, but nothing seemed to work.

“Relax.”

Ghost’s voice was as soft as you’d ever heard, his gravelled voice little more than a whisper. Exactly how you were supposed to relax in a situation like this was an absolute mystery—stuck in an ammo crate, surrounded by hostile forces, with your superior officer directly on top of you. Not just any superior officer, either. Ghost.

It was no secret that everyone was afraid of the man, and you counted yourself among them. Anyone with a brain feared that man. Yet here he was, trying to calm you down. Of course, it might have had more to do with the fact that if you didn’t calm down, you might reveal his position. Still, you did your best to listen to him, trusting in your lieutenant to get you through this, letting out your breath in a long, slow stream of air.

You didn’t realise how much you preferred the gunshots until you heard the footsteps, the crunching of boots on the bits of rubble and broken tile strewn over the ground. Your hands started their incessant shaking again, and it was all you could do not to tremble all over as you listened to those footsteps grow closer still. Any second, you were sure they were going to throw open the lid to the crate and discover you both, killing Ghost and doing God knows what to you.

Terrifying or not, Ghost was human, and you found yourself yearning for a little human intimacy as you stared down what were to be your last moments on Earth. Gingerly, you leaned your head to the side so your cheek was resting against the fabric of his balaclava and the hard edge of his mask, where his cheek would be underneath it all. It might not have been the most intimate touch, but it helped a little with your shattered nerves.

It was Ghost who made the second move as the footsteps drew closer still to your hiding place, shifting one of his hands between you to grab hold of one of yours, practically crushing your fingers in the strength of his grip. The pain did little to snap you out of your spiral, but it did draw you back into your senses enough to hear his quietest of whispers.

“Shh.”

You were sure the beating of your heart was loud enough to be heard from miles away, and you pushed your face into the crook of Ghost’s neck, regulations be damned, muffling the shaky sound of your breath with his shoulder. The footsteps were right beside you now, and you found yourself wondering what the captain would write to your family after you were discovered dead. Would they mention how Ghost held your hand in those last moments? Would they know?

Would you be the next corpse on top of him? Would he have to use one of those cheekbones to dig his way out of another grave?

Positivity was not something that came easily to Ghost. After everything he’d been through, it seemed foolish; any time he’d been prepared for things to get better, they inevitably grew worse. His childhood, his brother, his psychiatrist. He’d done everything society told him he had to do in order to become a functioning member of it once again, and the world had chewed him up and spit him back out without mercy. He couldn’t even think about the sergeant. And here he was again. You didn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess. He’d escaped death more times than a cat; it was his number that should finally be up, but fate was never that kind. Any second now, those footsteps would stop. They’d open the lid. He’d get a quick death, but you wouldn’t be that lucky. They never were.

And yet the footsteps passed.

Another one of his nine lives gone, but he was breathing; you were breathing. Fate had always been a malicious cunt, but it seemed as though this time, it had turned a blind eye to him. He almost didn’t dare believe it. You were still there, your breath blowing out in heavy puffs into his neck, the fabric of his balaclava warm and damp from your breath. Alive. So wonderfully alive.

Ghost’s body seemed to weigh heavier on you, as though he’d been holding himself tense and finally relaxed, his head resting in the crook of your neck. His breath came out in one long, slow puff, warm against your skin, the only sign that he’d ever been anything but perfectly calm. He hadn’t let go of your hand just yet, his fingers still wrapped around yours. You could barely hear the footsteps anymore; they were far too faint, retreating into the distance like a bad memory until, at long last, they were finally gone.

The weight now lifted off of you was both metaphorical and literal. Slowly but surely, Ghost was shifting himself on top of you, shifting his hand to finally release yours. He placed both hands on either side of you, gingerly pushing himself up, the lid of the crate slowly lifting. There was no shot, no sudden violence, so he continued to lift himself entirely off you, grabbing the rifle he’d laid by your side as he slowly crept out of the crate. He didn’t let the lid drop, holding it open with one hand as he looked for any sign of movement, yet from what you could tell, everywhere was clear.

Ghost lifted the lid up entirely then, keeping it in place as he gestured for you with his head to climb out. You would have liked to have stayed curled up in that crate forever, but your training went too deep, your limbs already moving to grab at your rifle and climb out of the crate, allowing Ghost to close the lid to that little piece of safety.

“Safehouse is one klick south. Quick and quiet. Let’s move.” Ghost's voice was deadly quiet, firm this time instead of reassuring, his eyes restless, constantly flicking from place to place as he turned away from you and began walking, his boots crunching quietly on the gravel. You shifted your rifle in your hands and followed along after him, your nerves razor sharp, flinching at every little noise. What was a mile felt like seven as you moved at a snail's pace through the bombed city, like two thieves in the night, terrified that every noise was to be the last one you ever heard.

At long last, you made it to the safe house. At first, you hadn’t recognised it amongst the rubble surrounding it, expecting some sort of armoured building built with steel and bulletproof glass, yet there was barely even a house. House was too generous a term for it; it was more of a shed: crumbling brick walls and a corrugated metal roof, the windows made out of some flimsy matte plastic. You weren’t sure it was the right place until Ghost had pulled open the moulding wooden door, glancing around over your head and beckoning you into a space barely big enough for you to stand upright in and far too small for him to.

Nothing about it felt particularly safe; there was no cache of guns, no ammunition, only a threadbare Persian rug covering splintering floorboards. At any rate, Ghost didn’t seem to be perturbed, pulling out his console and plugging in the USB you’d taken from the enemy base, tapping on the screen to send it back to HQ. It seemed strange that a few strings of data were worth risking your lives for, the weeks of subterfuge by your contacts, the danger they’d put themselves in, all for this. A minute of data transfer, and it was done. A month's worth of work, all compressed into a drive less than an inch long.

You were so focused on the patterns on the rug that you didn’t see that Ghost had put away the console until he spoke again, his voice gruff yet quiet, “HQ have the data. We hole up here until extraction at 0500.” You checked your watch, the digital face displaying 02:30. Two and a half hours. It was not the longest you’d ever been stuck waiting for evac by any stretch of the imagination, but not anything to sniff at either. You set down your rifle carefully, stretching out your sore back from where you’d been stuck in that crate. And now you’d be stuck in a tiny shed for even longer.

Ghost crouched by the rug and pulled a corner back from the floorboards. You’d half hoped that there was a luxurious basement hidden underneath, a large steel handle that had cleverly been concealed under the rug, giving you some hope that this could be the case. These hopes were dashed when Ghost pulled it open, revealing a small space, perhaps just a little bigger than the crate you’d just been hiding in. You weren’t entirely keen on getting into yet another confined space, and this hesitation must have shown on your face.

“Never stand when you can sit,” Ghost began, repeating the words drilled into your head as a private, “Never sit when you can lie down.” You repeated the last part of the phrase to him with a sigh, “Never stay awake when you can sleep.” It must have been one of the oldest creeds repeated amongst soldiers, and you couldn’t argue with its eternally sound logic.

With some reluctance, you got into the small steel box, shifting so you were pressed up against the side, leaving space for him to climb in beside you. He did so without a moment's hesitation, though thankfully not on top of you this time, pressed tightly against your side as he pulled down the hatch on top of you two, sealing you into the darkness.

With the adrenaline of getting to the safehouse beginning to fade, the reality of your situation set in. You’d come so close to death, so close to worse things you refused to even think about. It was hard to come to grips with your own mortality and harder still to confront it all in what felt like a steel coffin with your lieutenant pressed up against you. Thankfully, you were somewhat of a master at repressing your emotions, yet you couldn’t quite hold back the tears that pricked at your eyes or the heavy feeling in your heart.

In the darkness, you could hear Ghost shifting, snapping you from those darker emotions and replacing them with kinder curiosity as one of his arms tentatively stretched out across your chest. There was nothing lecherous in his touch; his fingers didn’t linger on your breast but moved straight over to your shoulder, gently tugging at you until you gave into his touch, allowing him to roll you over onto your side.

Ghost, Ghost, your Lieutenant was hugging you. His arm was draped over your side, and he was allowing you to rest your face against his chest, your tears swiftly soaking into the fabric of his balaclava. Nothing about this felt right. Ghost was a beast, more monster than man, yet he was cradling you to his chest as you were the most precious thing in the world.

It was only when you felt the whole ground shake with the force of heavy explosions that you realised, like everything he did, Ghost was merely doing it for the sake of the mission. If you panicked now, clawed at the latch to escape in a claustrophobic frenzy, you would both be reduced to nothing but charred bones. He was restraining you, his strong arms caging you in, disguised as a hug when it was little more than imprisonment. You were more than happy to remain in that gilded prison, burying your face in his chest and allowing the cacophonous sound of the explosions and the vibration of the earth around you to hide your muffled sobs.

Yet your world was not the only one shattering. Even among the tears and chaos, you could feel Ghost’s sharp breath hissing in your ear, his vice-like grip around your back, fingers digging in tight enough to leave bruises, his masked face pressed tightly into your shoulder. You might have been in hell, but you weren’t there alone.

[jackactuallywrites]

Chapter Three of Saints and Sinners is up! 🥳

[jackactuallywrites]

Chapter Two of the newest Ghost fic, in this one we actually meet ghost! And you give him a vaccine and then a little hand massage 👀

[jackactuallywrites]

I have started yet another Ghost fic because I can’t get enough of him

In this one, you become a combat medic after being the sole survivor of a terrorist attack on the British Embassy!