mistyresolve

[mistyresolve]

I dare you to try and tell me this ISNT the physique of Simon “Ghost” Riley

[mistyresolve]

Hello🥰 do you write fics? Would you mind taking one of my request? I was thinking maybe reader was recently out of depression because of an event that happened and she meets tf141. They help her through it because they’re sacred that she’ll get back into it but they realize she’s ok and she’s on a good road. Later on in the fic reader finds Simon in the corner with tears in his eyes and all you can smell in the air is fart (Simon has farted)

Word count - 1.2K

Summary - For the last two months, Task Force 141 had grown increasingly concerned about the mental well-being and safety of Sergeant L/N. Who had become so withdrawn and stone-faced that it was nearly impossible to make them laugh, let alone crack a smile.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death (kinda, it's an animal), Limb loss, Mentions of mental health.

A/N - i refuse to acknowledge the second half of the request

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

You went to every rehab and therapy session, but that didn’t change the fact that where there was once a furry friend with his tail wagging who was now missing. It sure as hell didn’t change the fact that the K-9 was dead. There wasn’t a body for you to bury. Not that you would have had the time. When you were medevacked out, you had lost so much blood you weren’t conscious enough to tell them about your dog still left at the crash site.   

You were bedridden for two weeks after the explosion, stuck in a state of shock for half that. You had visitors the entire duration of your hospital stay but couldn’t remember who was all there.  

It all went wrong because of a single misstep. In a matter of milliseconds, your life was changed forever. A life was lost. 

Like clockwork, your ears began to ring and fill with the sounds of metal scraping along the concrete, the sound of broken glass and settling rubble. The crackle of an engine giving up. The sounds of your screams, as you tried your best to get your leg unstuck from between the wall and an LTV. The tinny reverb of your fist slamming down on the side of the LTV in frustration. Somewhere among the wreck was your K-9, Lily. You called her her name over and over again; until your voice was raw.

She didn’t so much as whimper. 

It took you forever just to relearn how to walk. Even today, you sometimes struggle to find and maintain balance. You have yet to get used to your new life.    

“I still don’t feel very good. And I’ve been wanting to hide away a lot more,” you toe your boot at the edge of the carpet, tracing its pattern with your eyes. You were finding it increasingly difficult to look people in the eyes, afraid that they would see through your fragile exterior if you did. 

Dr.Greene leaned back in her chair, quickly jotting down the admission. Her tawny hair caught in the light of the singular lamp she had on. The room smelled like lavender; you can imagine it was a calming environment for some people. Yet, your leg twitched to get out of here. 

“Listen, I don’t think this is what I need. I don’t need months of R and R. Let me back onto the field. " You rested your elbows on your thighs, but you already knew the answer she was going to give you—the same one she gave you last week and the week before. 

“Once I tick off a few more boxes on your file, I will do just that.”

You stood up from the cushioned chair, swaying ever so slightly, and dipped your chin at her, “Thank you. I think we end things here.”

“There’s a lot we still need to unpack and discuss,” she started, levelling you with a disapproving look, “This session is going so well for you.” 

“Then we can leave it to next week’s session,” you snipped. 

Price was sitting in the lobby waiting for you, engrossed in one of the pamphlets that were left on the coffee table. The members of the 141 took turns taking you to your appointments, mostly because of your newfound fear of vehicles, which sent you into a crazed panic. 

“Done already?” he stood up, his knees crackling as he did so. 

“Get me out of here before I start screaming.” 

You leaned your weight on the railing, letting the steam from the coffee heat your face. Behind you, the door squeaked open, and if the lack of footsteps meant anything, it meant that Ghost was coming out to keep you company.

Ghost was the only one you felt like he didn’t coddle you. He didn’t try to stop you from doing the things you used to do; he didn’t try to pretend to know how you felt. 

But he was getting scared for you. 

You were standing right in front of him, and he still felt like he was seeing a ghost.  

You could see his arm resting on the banister from your peripherals, his hands clasped together. You couldn’t find the energy within you to greet him. 

“Wh’s on your mind?” he asked, picking a piece of the peeling paint off the railing and flicking it away. 

You shrugged, your vision unfocusing. 

He knocked his elbow against yours, grabbing your attention, “Whatever it is, it ain’t helping you.”  

“I wasn’t even going to bring her on the mission,” you respond, your head ducking, “I just felt so bad that I’d left her behind for the last three,” you sucked in a shuttering breath, “It’s my fault. She didn’t need to be there,” It was an admission you hadn’t voiced before, not even in your own head. 

It was all you could do to put the mug onto the railing before you collapsed, your feet sliding out from under you. The heart-wrenching sob that tore through you was devastating to Ghost. 

He knelt beside you, one hand reaching for under your arm, “Let’s get you inside. We’ve got an audience out here.” 

He ushered you back into the coffee room, guiding you to the couch. He let you cry for what seemed like hours. He didn’t say a word; he just gave you the chance to let it out. He made sure no one else came into the room and handed you a glass of water for hydration and that was all you needed. He already knew you didn’t want to hear all the sap like “She’s in a better place” or “How could you have known that was going to happen?”

It was the first time since the accident that you had cried. 

Three Months Later

Aside from Mactavish, whom you had already given a very important job, you had sat everyone down in the commons room.  

You cleared your throat about to give a big announcement, “As you guys may know, I have been allowed to rejoin the K-9 unit, “ As an instructor, given the fact that since you lost your left leg, you were unfit for combat. There was a collection of smiles around the room. “It has been a long, tiresome journey. I owe a lot of my recovery to you guys. So I thank all of you for your support and patience.”

Slowly, you backed up until you reached the front door, “Now we all know that being a part of a K-9 unit requires one thing. I would like you guys to be the first to be introduced to our newest member, Callahan,” You swung the door open. Soap knelt on the other side of the door and let go of the dog's collar, who immediately took advantage of the freedom and booked it into the room. 

He was still a juvenile and still hadn’t completely gotten rid of his puppy coat. He was still energetic and friendly when he wasn’t at work. His left ear flopped around as he hopped from person to person, too excited and overwhelmed to decide who he wanted to sniff out first. 

Callahan wasn’t like the normal K-9s. He couldn't sniff out mines and wasn’t trained to attack an assailant. He is a support animal. No, he specifically trained and curated to your needs.   

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

[mistyresolve]

| Valentines Day - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 1.7K

Summary - What a valentines with Simon might look like.

Tags/Warnings - Established relations, Mentions of the narsty and some heavy petting, interrupted

A/N - welp...it was supposed to be a valentines post but uhhh...I got busy

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

You and Simon had a routine for the mornings. There was an unspoken agreement that the first person to get out of bed was to make breakfast. Since you were both early risers, it was usually a 50/50 chance that you’d be the one making breakfast. Although, you liked it more when Simon cooked. He would die if you told the rest of the 141, but he was a good cook. It was never anything fancy or over the top, but everything he made was delicious. His go-to was the regular bacon, eggs, and toast. He made your eggs just how you liked them—Crispy around the edges and the yolk runny enough to dip your toast into it.    

The clock on your bedside table read 07:17. It was later than you usually woke up, but you and Simon were up late the night before. An “early Valentine's gift,” he had said, before he took you into the bedroom and worshiped your body. Made you a quivering mess beneath him.  

Looking at his sleeping form, you could tell he put his all into it. Into you. 

You couldn’t help the soft smile from your mouth as you brushed his hair back from his face. It was the longest you’d ever seen it, curling at the tips of his ears and furling down his neck. There was no real reason for him to follow the mandatory military cut since no one ever saw it. Although, he claimed he preferred it short because it was more comfortable underneath the mask. 

He looked so calm when he was asleep. Younger even. The worries and stresses that drew lines between his brows didn’t follow him into sleep. Not tonight, anyway. However, no amount of rest would ever be able to erase the dark shadows under his eyes, a permanent mark of exhaustion.        

You slid out from his embrace with utmost care to not stir him awake. He huffed a sigh and shoved his now-empty hand underneath the pillow, subconsciously searching for a new source of warmth, but he didn't wake. You tip-toed into the ensuite, clicking the door shut behind you to quiet the noises of you getting ready for the day. You had a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night, albeit reluctantly. 

By the time you entered the room again, Simon was sitting over the edge of the bed. Still half asleep and only managing to keep one eye open. He must have opened the curtains at some point because the room was now basking in the morning light. The sunlight climbed up the bed and warmed the sheets. 

“Good morning,” you said as you made your way to stand in front of him. He immediately reached out for you, pulling you between his legs and letting his face rest on your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and cradled his head into you. With nimble fingers, you combed into his hair. He breathed deeply, groaning, inhaling your fresh, clean scent. 

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough to think he fell back asleep like this, with his arms wrapped around you. You scratched playfully at his scalp to get his attention, “What are you wanting for breakfast?”   

He looked up at you with bleary eyes and shook his head, “I’ll cook this morning. It’s valentines.”      

You leaned back to get a better look at him. “I got up first, and you’ve already given me my gift.”

“Mhm,” he straightened and came to life at the hint of a dispute, “That wasn’t all I was intending to give you.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, “I’m serious–” 

He stood and put a hand over your mouth to keep you from arguing further, “I’m serious.”

You pulled your head from his grasp. “Okay,” you said, searching for a compromise he would accept. “What if you make the food and I make the coffee?” 

He played with the still-wet strands of your hair, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a curl, “Hmm, sure.” 

You padded after him into the kitchen, oogling his bare, muscled back all the way. Noting the symmetrical red lines that were etched into his back. Something akin to pride burned in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face. 

You press a single button on the coffee machine and let it run. Then, you sit at the island and watch as Simon starts breakfast. 

He moved with the same grace he did with everything. Every move was thoughtful and calculated, even for something as simple as cracking an egg. 

A devious idea popped into your head. You weren’t that hungry for food.       

“I love it when you moan,” you sighed, pretending the statement was innocent. 

He froze at the stove before spinning on a heel to look at you. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion, “Pardon me?” he said incredulously. 

“You know when my legs are wrapped around your waist, and you're pounding into me,” you slid off the chair and walked around the island, his dark eyes following you, “When you say the dirtiest thing to me, and I tighten around you.”

His graze flashed from you to the stove, then back to you, and narrowed, “What are you doing?”

You took a step forward, locked your fingers behind your back, and pushed your chest up towards him. “I can stop,” you said, tilting your head up to him. He was so tall, and you loved it. If you could climb this man like a tree, you would. 

You could practically see his resolve disintegrating, and he fought to keep his eyes drifting from yours. 

With fingers chilled from the morning air, you slid them up this barren skin. The corded muscle of his abs tightened under your touch, and he tried to cover up his surprise with a chuckle. Only it came out more nervous than he had intended it to. 

He responded to your advances with an enthusiasm that knocked your breath from your lungs. He had his fingers wrapped around the back of your knees, making a noise to signal you to jump up. He gracefully placed you on the island and nestled his hips between yours. With an experimental roll of your hips, you felt his arousal.  

His mouth slanted over yours, and he pulled the hair at the base of your neck to maneuver your head how he needed to. He nipped at your bottom lip before working his way down your neck. You sighed in bliss at the feel of him.   

Behind him, a familiar smell of char wafted from the pan. You were so engrossed in each other that you missed the first few signs of burning food. At the same time, you looked over his shoulder as flames from the propane stove started to lick up the side of the pan. 

Faster than you’d ever seen him move, he was flicking on the fan above the stove and pulling the pan from the heat. You were jumping off the counter and rushing to open the patio door for him. Without a doubt, you were going to brag to everyone who would listen, the scary calm demeanour with which he placed the pan on the concrete stairs.  

He straightened and stared down at the pan. His face was unreadable, and his hands resting on his waist was a comedic scene. He was still shirtless, and his shorts sat low enough on his hips that you could see the waistband of his briefs underneath. 

“Baby,” you said slowly, trying to hide the humour. You walk to stand in front of him and obscure the view on the pan.  “It’s okay. I didn’t really want eggs anyway.”  

The pan had followed you and been by your side throughout your college days. It had been the only pan you had for years after. A go-to. It made perfectly crispy chicken and the most incredible sauces. 

“It’s okay,” you patted his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to one of the myriad scars that scattered across his skin. “We’ve got leftovers." You couldn’t help but smile at him. 

As you reach the fridge, the tips of his ears turn bright red—a telltale sign of embarrassment, rare as it is. You pause, your suspicions rising at his reaction. “What?” 

He just shook his head and pursed his mouth, gesturing with his hand for you to open the fridge. 

Confused, you slowly opened the door, the light from inside flipping on. 

A bouquet. A very large bouquet that took up half of the bottom shelf. You noticed he must have had to shift the shelves above it to fit it in there without damaging any stems or petals. It was a breathtaking arrangement of white and light purple flowers and an assortment of greenery.

”Simon,” you whispered in awe, reaching for the vase.

”I-uhh,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Yesterday was the only time I could pick it up. But I wanted to have something to give you today, so the florist told me to find a fridge to put them in to keep them as fresh as possible. I was going to give them to you after breakfast was done. " He jerked his chin to the patio. Well, it is done. I done it to death, actually.” 

You set them out on the island, and the sun crawling across the marble made the colours pop. You clamped your mouth shut, realizing you were gapping. You had never received such a large bouquet before. Spinning the vase to fully examine the flowers, you found the card nestled into the greenery.  

A little card, and all he had written on it was ‘Simon’

Not ‘Love, Simon’ or ‘Happy Valentin’s’. 

Just ‘Simon’

You turned back to him and grabbed his face before diving in for one last kiss, “My god, I love you.” 

Masterlist

A/N - Happy late valentines

[mistyresolve]

om?? are u back!???? AMAZING episode btw! been WAITING for it!!

Sorry for the long wait ❤️ and thank you for sticking around.

I was struggling hardddd with writers block. I would literally sit in front of my computer and stare and have no idea what to write 😅

If you have any ideas or requests you wanna see I’d love to hear them!

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 8)

Word Count - 5.6K

Summary - After being ambushed by an unknown foe and coming face to face with the realities of war, Ghost and Doc are forced to relocate to another safe house. Here they come clean about the inner turmoil plaguing them.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn

A/N - Just gunna sneak back in here.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6 ❤︎ Part 7

Masterlist  ❤︎

Simon found himself stealing glances at the hands you had fisted in the fading material of your trousers. Your knuckles flashed white under your skin, and your jaw was fixed tight enough that your teeth might just crack under the pressure. Only the tips of your toes touched the floor, the muscles in your legs were so tense.

A near-death experience in his presence was unacceptable on his best of days. It’s happened twice—it was fucking with his head. He wanted to give you the space and independence that you had asked for but it seemed like every time he did so, you ended up injured. And badly. 

He wanted to pull you out of harm's way, hide you away from danger; but he was so devastatingly afraid of losing you again. A bitter fact that was making him go mad. He was selfish. In every sense of the word. 

It wasn’t that he thought you were helpless, he knew you could hold your own.

But…

He turned over the cyclone of thoughts in his head with a desperate need to find a solution that didn’t involve you getting hurt. Either by him or not.  

You shifted in your seat, brows knitting together and a grimace threatening to stretch your mouth. Simon had growing concerns about a possible concussion. Your agonizing headache and the puking from earlier weren’t a good sign. The singular gash above your brow has stopped bleeding but blood still coated and crusted into the strands of your hair. 

Your body had begun to shake as the adrenaline ebbed from your bones, leaving behind cold and sore muscles. For the life of him, he couldn’t shake the sight of the wild and desperate look in your eyes when he saw you in that hallway. You didn’t believe you’d come out of that fight alive and he could see that from the driver's seat. He forced his eyes to remain on the road ahead but his attention was wholly on you and your every breath. He wanted to ask you to talk to him, to let him know that you knew you were safe now. It was foolish to assume you would, you very rarely spoke your mind. Instead, you pushed your unsavoury thoughts and feelings to the deepest recesses of your mind. He only knew this because he saw it in himself. 

Like calls to like, he internally grumbled. Perhaps that was what he needed, someone who understood him and the way he worked. 

From the corner of his eye, he caught your eyes rolling shut, your head bobbing, as you fought off sleep. He reached over to your arm, shaking you lightly, “Stay awake for me, Doc.” 

Your eyes snapped back open but they were still glazed with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion, and you struggled to focus them. The terrain outside the truck window was moving too fast and your vision blurred then doubled. 

You frowned, “I think I’m going to vomit,” you cupped a hand over your mouth as it began to water. 

This time when he pulled over you nearly didn’t make it out in time—collapsing to your knees just outside. If he wanted to look over he would still be able to see the top of your head and watch as your shoulders heaved and curved forward with every wretch. Simon had to grip the steering wheel so tight that he feared the weathered and worn plastic would give way. Yet, he only tightened his hold to keep from jumping out after you because he knew you’d bite his head off if he did. Instead, he waited, pretending to distract himself with finding something from the back seat. 

He glared so hard out the windshield that he had to blink away a burn from his eyes. If he learned anything from his time in the military it was that he needed to manage his emotions before they took form. He had a track record of “losing control”, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel like punching the fuck out of the steering wheel at this moment.      

You used the side of the vehicle to haul yourself back up, knees wobbling. Simon was already handing you water from his pack. You rinsed out your mouth, giving him a look that confirmed his suspicions. 

He felt his expression harden and watched as you noticed his demeanour change. You waved a hand. 

You waved him off. 

He swore he could feel his blood pressure rising. He was a torrent of emotions and thoughts that he didn’t have the time or desire to sort through right now.  

He cared so much. So much so, that he had to quite literally bite the tip of his tongue to keep from asking you a million questions. 

Are you okay? What can I do? What do you need?

“I’ll be fine, Riley,” you crawled back into your seat, “How much longer?” 

He tipped his head from side to side in contemplation, “Hour and a half.” 

Simon counted to 50, then back down by 7s, and back up by odd numbers, just to get a handle on his breathing. 

Turning back time to a few hours ago to kill those two soldiers again wasn’t an option. He knew that, but dammit it all if he didn’t wish that just this once he could. 

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you arrived, and to your visible relief, this new safe house was in a rather populated city. Around 20,000 civilians if you had to guess. The sky of the downtown area was stretched higher from the dozen or so apartment buildings. All similar looking in architecture. Some were as high as 10 stories, with little glowing windows dotting the sides. Others were no more than four. This would make it easier to blend in and disappear. 

He pulled into an underground car park, finding the most secluded and dimly lit corner he could. He ripped the cover off of a neglected truck from a few stalls down to cover his. Dust kicked up from the disintegrating canvas, and you waved a hand in front of your face and let out a few coughs to clear your lungs of it.  

You let him carry your pack from the car, if only because you knew he would pretend he didn’t hear you if you asked for it.

He led you to the seventh floor of the apartment building, and he quietly apologized for there not being an elevator.         

Simon had made you stand by the door while he made sure the place was secure. From where you stood you could hear him opening and closing the door, his footfalls near silent. When he was satisfied with his findings, or lack-there-of he guided you to the table before disappearing down the dark hallway. The singular light he had turned on in the kitchen was just enough to give you an idea of your surroundings. The apartment was nearly barren apart from the absolute basics. There was a small kitchen table that had the stain and lacquer peeling off, with a couple of chairs and a couch in the main room. Down the hall were two doors one with a bedroom complete a bed and dresser, and a bathroom.

When he returned, he had a wet cloth and a medkit he found in the bathroom in hand. With a nod of his chin, he sat you down in one of the chairs at the table, pulling another for himself in front of you. His legs were too long to sit comfortably unless he placed them on either side of yours. The proximity of his body heat melted nearly every muscle it reached.  

He was so incredibly gentle. It never failed to surprise you that this man was capable of such a touch. His fingers were feather light on your chin as he maneuvered your face to get rid of the blood that had dried to your skin. He said nothing the entire time. Too focused and too in his head to remember to talk. 

Guilt rushed up. You wanted so badly to reach out and take his hand in yours. Console whatever inner battle he was waging on himself. You wanted to feel him. Kiss him.  

Jerking back, you hissed at him when he began to clean the open wound. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, and his whiskey-coloured eyes snapped up to yours for a second before returning to his work. 

Now that he had cleaned up the area, it didn’t seem to be all that bad. Headwounds always bled more you reminded, but he would still need to do something to close it up. He rummaged through the kit, basically emptying its contents onto the table before he found steri-strips at the bottom of the medkit.    

You were certain that if it were he who had the injury he would have been content with a gluing to shut with the common crazy glue you’d find in every household's junk drawer and be on his way. He was no surgeon or nurse. He was a war-hardened soldier. There should be nothing nurturing about him. But with you, he was thoughtful about it. When he was done he leaned back in his chair to take a good look at his handiwork. You thanked him, instinctively leaning forward and resting your head on his chest. His arms encircled you, rubbing comforting lines up and down your back. You could hear the rhythmic thumb of his heart. 

You stayed like that for long enough that your breaths became synchronized. You allowed it to lull you, nearly falling asleep against him.  

“To bed with you,” he stood, holding out a hand for you. He guided you to the bedroom down the hall. There were no sheets or blankets. Or even a pillow. But, the cot looked unused. Brand new, even. 

You pulled off your boots with a grunt, and that was about as far as you got before you decided it wasn’t worth the effort and laid down. At some point during the night, you woke up with his jacket covering the upper half of your body. You curled your body into it, trying to get as much of yourself covered as you could before you drifted back into sleep.   

He left you to rest, but he still came in every few hours to wake you up and check if your condition was worsening. Each time he made sure to quickly close the door behind him so that the light filtered from the kitchen into the hall wouldn’t bother you. He usually left right after checking in on you, and more than on one occasion you could hear the voices of one of the 141 members coming from a radio or laptop in the living room area. 

Right now, he was crouched beside your bed, his eyes searching yours for any indication of a decline in your condition. 

Without thinking, you reached out for the hand that he had dangling between his legs. His fingers almost instinctively curled around yours. You rolled onto your side to face him completely, wincing when the weight of your hair reminded you of your injury. 

Gingerly he pushed hair back from your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

You could tell there was still an inner conflict plaguing him. One that he was trying very hard not to let come to the surface. There was so much he needed to say to you, but he couldn’t find the right wording and he was so afraid of scaring you off again. You would let him have a little more time to think before you pushed him to talk.

“What are they saying?” you had to fight to keep your eyes focused on him as your vision swam in front of you. You reached for him, your fingers catching on the collar of his sweater. You used his form to ground yourself as vertigo threatened to sweep you away. 

He placed a stabilizing hand under your elbow, “We’re gonna have to stay here for a few weeks until we know for sure we weren’t followed. It worked out great though. I have a contact here. Might be able to tell us who that was today,” his voice was unnaturally soft, and melodic. He sounded distracted like his mind was elsewhere, “You should get some more rest.”

He moved to stand up, but his grip didn’t loosen. As if he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered, biting your lip and looking down at his shoes preparing yourself for his rejection. 

He stilled. 

“Let me finish this report and I’ll be back,” he gave your hand one last squeeze before lowering it. 

You were in the limbo between sleep and wake when he returned. He came in with his pack, ripping off the last of his gear piece by piece. You sat up to watch when you heard the soft thud of boots hitting the floor. His shirt was already discarded on the floor, his belt open and hanging loose around his hips. 

You swallowed, your imagination instantly taking you back to that night a few weeks ago. Remembering how he had felt above you. In you. The feel of his desperate panting on your neck, and the sound of his moans were enough of a reminder that you squeezed your thighs together involuntarily. 

“Nuh-uh,” he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction when he noticed your eyes glaze over, “We’re getting you cleaned up.” 

He pulled back the covers on the bed, revealing your bare legs and the shirt he had slipped on you before sending you off to sleep. His shirt. The sudden change in temperature in concurrence with the heat of his gaze caused goose bumps to rise on your skin. 

“Are you planning on joining?” You tilted your head to the side. It was more of a request than it was a question.   

His eyelids grew heavy and he nodded. This time when you stood up, you weren’t as dizzy as you were expecting to be, at least nothing that you couldn’t handle. There was only the constant headache. A shower would help.

With his hands on your hips, he guided you down the hall to the bathroom. Almost immediately after he turned on the tap, steam wafted through the room. Your mouth dropped open, “A hot shower?”    

You fought to keep from pushing him out of the way to step inside the water. You were struggling with your shirt when Simon gave you a helping hand. 

Now completely naked in front of him, you reached for the zipper of his pants, eager to get in the water. He grasped your hand with him, his face tilted up and staring off into the corner. The tips of his ear were crimson and a nervous chuckle escaped him, “You need to give me a second.”

You took a cheeky peek at where your hands had just been. 

You blinked. 

He was rock solid. Painfully straining against the front of his jeans.  

“You’re naked,” he gritted out, and he said it like you weren’t aware. 

“What…” You tried to move your hands again but his grip tightened, “What were to expecting? This is a shower.”

“Please just get in the shower.”

You raised yourself onto your tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Then worked your way down his neck; to his pulse, which hammered against his skin. 

You pressed into him, trapping your hands between your bodies. 

He groaned, the sounds coming up from deep within his chest. 

He stiffened as if remembering that just a few hours ago your life had been forfeit. His blood ran cold, you could feel it in the way his spin went ridged.  

And just like that, he was serious again, quietly guiding you to the shower. 

He did not join. He had brought you a fresh pair of clothes and waited outside the bathroom for you, closing the door behind him. 

You had tried your best to rinse all the blood and dirt from your body, unsure of how much of it was even yours. Your fingers danced over your open wounds, careful not to disturb the dressings Simon had put there earlier. Blood feathered and mixed with the water before slipping down the drain. You stayed under the water until it ran clear. What you wouldn’t give for a bar of soap in this moment. Your skin was red and irritated from the heat of the water and the scrubbing of cloth by the time you stepped back out.  

Steam fogged the glass but you could still see the vague, distorted outline of your body. You looked down at the fresh purple and blue hues of the bruises that marred your skin. They littered your legs and arms and contoured your hips. They peeked out from beneath your chin and disappeared into your hairline. Poking at them to feel the familiar ache was a habit you’ve had since you were a child, one you couldn’t shake all these years later. Your tongue darted out to trace the split in your lip, tasting coppery blood. 

The shower helped more than you had thought it could. It didn’t just rid your body of the blood but any lingering fear and tension. You didn’t move as sluggish as you did before, but you were still unbalanced enough that you had to sit on the toilet to put your pants on.   

   When you exited the bathroom, Simon had tried his best to carral you back the bedroom but you put up a big enough fight that he eventually moved to the side of the hallway to let you past. 

Even though every slight shift in movement sent pain crackling between your temples, you had felt the need to make yourself useful. You had yet to discover what task you could do that would help you achieve usefulness in this moment. You asked and asked until he had finally relented and allowed you to sit at the table in the kitchen with him, and had given you the menial task of planning out meals so that the little bit of food you guys had on hand could last as long as possible. Ghost had set up his little station in the kitchen, and was currently taking inventory on the very limited supplies you guys had available. 

Which was his own C8 carbine with a total of three clips and two extra boxes of ammo, his standard-issue handgun with one extra mag; yours must have fallen out of its holder during your fight in the school hallway because neither of you could find it. Your M4A1 with four magazines. Each of your military-issued knives, and 11 throwing knives, four of them being your own. Between what he found in your pack, his pack, the truck, and the safe house you guys had four maybe five comfortable days worth of food. He had found four blue jugs full of water in the bathroom. 

You sat slouched in the chair, scanning the table and kitchen counters that were now full of all your paraphernalia and provisions. He had told you his plans to meet up with this contact, Alex, some time tomorrow he was just waiting to hear back from him to see when and where. You had asked to come but Ghost shot down the idea immediately saying, “I still don’t really know who’s side he’s on. It’d better if he thinks I’m alone for now.”

You fiddled with one of the bullets he had laid out on the table, your finger balancing on its tip as you rocked it back a fourth. It wasn’t that you missed or even liked the abandoned fort you guys had previously been hiding out in with everyone else but at least that place wasn’t so agonizingly quiet. You guys couldn’t talk above a whisper to avoid any neighbours questioning why the usually empty apartment suddenly had occupants. 

You also missed Soap. Oddly enough. You hadn’t realized you’d taken such a liking to him. Enjoying his company came easy, with stifled chuckles and playful competition.    

Ghost dragged the back of his hand across the growing stubble on his chin, a gesture you had recently discovered might have been a nervous tick of his. 

“I’m going to try and see if I can at least get you back to the others,” he looked up at you from beneath his brows, his long lashes shadowing his eyes. If you knew how to paint, this was a picture you would want to capture on canvas. His deep brown eyes wavered for a second before hardening.   

There was a low, nearly imperceptible hum coming from the light in the kitchen. A noise you hadn’t noticed was so irritating until just now. 

You blinked at him, thinking for a second you heard him wrong, “What?”

He dropped his head between his shoulders for a second before looking back up at you, his eyes full of conflict, “I’m going to-“

”No,” you tilted your head at him, “I heard you. I’m just trying to understand what you're insinuating. You’ve never really been the best at communicating, but I think you’re saying you’re trying to go off on your own right now. Which, by the way, I will not be agreeing to. So I strongly suggest you take back what you just said.”

You watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. You couldn’t help but feel like he hated the fact that without the comfort of his mask. A man who liked keeping his plans close to his chest but had a difficult time hiding his emotions; was an unpredictable man. 

“I’ve already almost died once this week,” you tried to reason with him, “Statistically speaking, I don’t think it will happen again for at least a few more months.” 

A purple so deep rimmed his eyes, that you wondered if he’d slept at all since you arrived. His dark eyes were dull and unamused at your try at a joke. 

“It’s not funny.” He quipped. Pushing his chair back with a thud. He made to move for the kitchen. 

“Why are you so upset?” you sit up, his jacket falling from your shoulders and getting stuffed between your back and the chair. You attempted to reach for him but he shot you a warning glare over his shoulder, his hand shooting out in a ‘halt’ gesture.

Your heart squeezed in your chest, and your blood ran cold. You scowled at him, ”I can’t understand why you are so insistent on trying to hide me from a career path that I chose for myself. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but whatever happens to me out there is something I have already come to terms with. So why, Simon,” Your voice had risen to a decibel that boarded on yelling, “Why do you keep trying to coddle me?” 

“Because everyone I’ve ever cared about dies! They either die, or leave me, or betray me. And you’re being selfish.” He snapped, chest rising and falling. 

Your breath sucked out and you pulled back in surprise. He has never raised his voice at you like this. You knew he could. He has at others. At Soap. At Price. Not at you though. 

“I have done as you’ve asked and I’ve stepped back. I have done well by you in that. But—” he raked a hand through his cropped hair and moved to take a knee in front of you. His hands gripped your shoulder like he wanted to shake you but didn’t, “It’s not working. You have to give me some room to breathe. I can’t keep walking on eggshells around you. We have to come to an understanding. I have watched so many of my comrades die. I couldn’t save them and I am terrified of if there comes a time where I can’t save you. I have this pit in my stomach every time I am around you that it might be the last time,” he huffed, irritated with himself for a reason you couldn’t understand, “I’m still a man. I’m still a man who desires to keep you out of harm's way. And you hate me for it.”

Instinctively, you almost said, I won’t die, but knew that was naive. 

His eyes were frantically searching yours. This wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation with you. He had been carefully putting together a speech for days, and he just threw the entire dialogue out the window, and he was panicking. 

You hate me for it. 

The words settled in the air, and with every breath you took you inhaled the bitter taste of them. The time between his confession and the words that stuck to the roof of your mouth must have been too long for Simon because there was a flash of hurt in his eyes.   

He made a sound of disbelief before turning his head to the side, his tongue digging into the side of his cheek, “Shit.” 

 You caught his shoulders just as he tried to pull away, keeping his attention on you. Somewhere between the shock and foreign emotions, you felt a sense of anguish. A grief that burned at your eyes. 

“I-“ you started, trying to find the words, “There has never been a man in my life who I felt truly safe and protected by. Not a single one. Not even my own father, my flesh and blood, has given me that security. All of my life I have been relying on only myself. I got myself in and out of situations entirely on my own,” you dragged your hand up to his jaw, “But when I am with you, there is no place on earth where I would feel like this. Like I don’t have to watch my back all the time. Or like I have sleep with one eye open. With you, I can let my guard down. I can be vulnerable,” you shook your head, “I’ll be better. I will be better at letting you help me. I will let you worry for me. I’ve never done that before and I don’t really know how to do that, but I’ll learn. I’ll learn. Just don’t send me away.”    

Before he could reply you were leaning forward in your seat, your mouth falling into a now familiar position over his. He immediately parted his lips for you, his hands instinctively delving into the hair at the base of his neck. The salt of tears you didn’t know you were shedding mixed in with the taste of him. He kisses them into your skin. With minimal effort and a soft grunt, he lifted you from your seat, shifting the two of you so he was sitting in the chair with you in his lap. 

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you,” you didn’t think your words could be so honest. 

The agonizing sound that came from him was heartbreaking. The very thought of this man thinking you hated him for something he was trying so hard to ignore was enough to convince you that you never wanted to leave his side.

His mouth captured yours once more, one hand digging into the skin on your hips while the other wrapped around your back to keep you as close to him as he could possibly get you. You let him. Let him grab ahold of you like he desperately needed to. He needed to steal the air from your lungs for his own, his heartbeat to the feel of yours. He needed to memorize every curve and dip of your body beneath his touch. He needed the know how the sound of your gasps and breaths like he needed to know his own name.      

He kissed you until he was all you knew too. Until the world faded away into the shadows of the night, and your mind whittled down small enough for just him to hold. Your body moulded to his, sinking deeper into his hold. Your skin screamed to be touching his, and your fingers searched for any bit of exposed skin they could find. 

For what seemed like an eternity and a few seconds at the same time, you stayed like this. Entwined in each other's arms and fingers, and mouths; lost in each other. Pulling away from one another if only to take in air before diving back in. 

This man would be the death of you. You would throw your neck on the blade if it meant saving him. And oddly enough, you weren’t terrified of that revelation. You welcomed it and felt the need to nurture this new feeling. 

His grip loosened and he ran lines up and down your outer thigh. His fevered kisses slowed to a leisure. 

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed into your skin, “Don’t leave me behind.”

You knew without him needing to say that didn’t mean physical distance, or even emotional. He meant for you not to leave him behind to walk the earth without you by his side. 

You shook your head, giving him one last sweet kiss before stepping off of him and holding your hand out for him to grab, “Stay with me.” 

You lead him down the hall back to the bedroom, where you curled up into his arms in the bed. He pressed into the curve of his arms and engulfed yourself in his warmth and safety. It was a wordless interaction, one that felt natural and practiced. 

For a second, just as you drifted into sleep and your senses ebbed away into the recesses of your mind, you thought about what it would feel like to go to sleep and wake up in his arms every day. What it would be like to wake up in a room you shared, in a house you shared.     

He was gone the next morning before the sun had fully risen. Even though he had tried his best not to wake you, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall tugged you from your sleep. He was barely halfway through the kitchen before you were followed him. He sat at the table tying his shoes while you had prepared a quick breakfast of jam and crackers for him. When you turned around in the kitchen to face him, his eyes were already tracking your every movement, an indescribable expression pulled at his brows and the corner of his mouth. 

“How long will you be?” You handed him the crackers. 

He ate the first one in one bite, chewing quickly before answering, “I’ll be back by noon at the latest,” he paused, “If I’m not, call Price. He’ll come get you.” 

“I’ll wait,” you said with a finality that he didn’t have the heart to argue with. 

You waited for noon to come, keeping yourself busy by monitoring the streets out front. Memorized the cars and people as they went off to work for the day. You took detailed notes of those who left later or lingered outside for longer than what you deemed normal. You wrote down on the small notepad you kept in the front of your pack. You flipped past the pages that had the tasks and notes from previous dates. The pen ink was smudged and washed away from rainy days and spilt coffee on some pages. 

You watched as the hour hand flicked across the clock. From one to two. From two to four. You watched as some of the civilians who left in the early morning hours returned home. Some with groceries for tonight’s dinner, others still stuck on the phone with coworkers as they unlocked their front doors. Some hold hands with their children after picking them up from school.

You sat anxiously by the window, one leg crossed over the other while the other anxiously bounced. You chewed on the tip of your pen as you tried to force yourself to continue to take notes on the people outside. 

You couldn’t help yourself but lean a little bit closer to the window, your breath fogging the glass, every time you saw any man who even remotely resembled Ghost. Your ears perked up every time you heard heavy footsteps come up and down the hall. Waiting until one set stopped in front of the door. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time you heard the softest of knocks on the door. With bare feet you padded over to the door, reaching out for your handgun you felt on the counter on the way there. On the tips of your toes, you pressed your ear up the wood, listening hard. Another knock, this time with a different pattern and force. You tilted your head. Two different people?

You took one large, silent step to the side of the door, pressing your back to the wall. With the gun still in your left hand, you reached over for the door knob. And waited. Waited to see if they speak. They didn’t. You heard no movement. 

Your heart began to pound in your chest, and it felt like your lungs weren’t fully expanding. A million thoughts ran through your mind. 

Who could it be? Simon surly would have just walked in. Right? Or at least said something. With one last inhale through your nose and a forceful breath out your mouth you twisted the cold metal of the door handle. 

The sights of your handgun aim directly at the man's forehead standing outside the door.      

Masterlist

A/N - 

Taglist - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae  

[mistyresolve]

I know you mean good but fat girls can also break easily. I also don’t mean to sound rude or offend you but it’s rare for fat girls to be 6 foot, I know you might be fat and 6 foot but it’s pretty rare. I think most people stick to petite girls in cod stories because it would be scary and horrifying if they gave reader their sweater and all the sudden reader fits or barely fits in it and it only works as a crop top on them. And please try to remember just because their fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they aren’t slobs. Fat girls can break when they get laid and yes I believe they also will jiggle around in the process so please try to be mindful when bringing up cod guys with a fat girl

the sentence “fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they aren’t slobs” is by far the best thing ive seen in while

[mistyresolve]

yanno, i’ve been thinking and getting chased by an unfriendly ghost would actually be so terrifying…i may or may not be writing something where someone is being chased by ghost

[mistyresolve]

| RTB - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Pilot Reader

Word Count - 3.4k

Summary - The reader is the pilot, AKA Stitch, of an apache helicopter, one the most dangerous, advanced killers in the sky. She’s been the 141′s go-to when they need aerial support for a year. After their latest mission, Ghost seeks out Stitch to offer a special thank you.

Warnings/Tags - 18+ ONLY, swearing, dry humping, switch, unprotected sex, creampie 

A/N - If you haven't already, I would suggest you read Incident Report before this one

Masterlist  ❤︎

Soot and smoke coated Ghost’s tongue and every breath felt like an attack on his lungs. The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder made his head spin. All that combined with adrenaline and anger, it was his life support. He clung to his senses with a feverish need. Rubble and bullet shells littered the ground around them. His once-black uniform took on a greyish hue from all the dust. Sweat rolled down his back and he had to blink it from his eyes. 

Beside him, Price was on the radio, his outrage tangible as he called for aerial backup for a third time, “I’ve got my men pinned here! Where the fuck is my support!”.   

Ghost felt a bullet's heat as it raced past the exposed skin of his neck, leaving behind the ghost of a burn. He ducked down behind the concrete barrier, cursing at himself, “We won’t be able to hold this position for much longer, Price. We need a plan to get us the fuck out of here,” Simon repositioned himself for a better vantage point. Ghost had long since run out of ammo and had resorted to picking up magazines from his dead comrades. He silently thanked every one of them, ripping off the dog tags from the few he could to take back to base with him. 

Price gave him a curt nod, “Chopper is five minutes out. They were diverted from another mission.” his face was grim and every muscle in his body was taut, readying to run for new cover or the bite of a bullet. Five minutes was a lot of time in situations like this, a lot could happen in a matter of seconds. He could die in half that. 

The team was forced into a corner of the compound, and they were getting hammered.  There was nowhere left to go. He kept one eye on the darkening sky beyond the compound's wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the incoming heli. He figured the pilots on board would have reached out by now, but the radio remained utterly and eerily silent. 

He craned his neck, hearing the distant sound of its propellors, but with the ruckus around them, it was difficult to determine exactly how far out it was. Something in his soul urged him to bring his radio to his mouth, “We’re in the southwest corner,” he was speaking to the pilots, who were most likely biding their time before revealing their presence to the enemy. If that were the case they were probably dark, using minimal instruments to keep their profile as discreet as possible. 

Then he saw it. The slightly darker patch of sky. 

Then it was firing, and screams followed. 

And just like that, this fight was shifted in their favour. 

Bursts of orange and red as fire erupted from the helicopter's guns in erratic intervals, and in between they would shift positions, making it nearly impossible to predict where they would shoot from next.           

Then a very familiar voice came across the radio, “Hello boys.”

An involuntary smile split across Ghost’s face.

“You’re fashionably late,” Price quipped back. 

“And here I thought you’d be excited to see us,” you replied as you dipped the heli back behind the walls, using it as cover as you moved closer to the closed gates keeping them from their escape, “Should I knock?”

They didn’t bother with a reply before Dutch let loose, blasting open the gates. You could nearly hear his smile, “Ladies first.”  

Being diverted from a different mission meant you didn’t have nearly enough firepower or fuel to do any real damage, but you could do enough so the soldier below would be able to breathe a little and regain their footing.   

You glanced down at your fuel gauge, cursing, “We’ve got five minutes of fuel before we’re RTB. Give me some targets,” You couldn’t stop yourself from searching the ground below in hopes of seeing a familiar figure.

Someone pointed a laser at one of the watchtowers, marking it and the people within as prey. You angled the aircraft, giving Dutch a clear view of the tower. With the help of the last HELLFIRE missile you had, it was desecrated in a matter of seconds. 

The floodlights that were pointed to the outside of the compound turned on, momentarily blinding you. The enemy used the distraction to shoot back at you. Bullets dinged off the sides of the Apache.

“Smoke!” someone called from over the radio.

“Flares,” your muscle memories kicked in, your thumb finding the appropriate buttons as your eyes still had yet to adjust. Somewhere beyond the cockpit, you heard as your flares interrupt your death. You gritted your teeth, you weren’t sure you had the firepower left to fight this fight, but the thought of leaving those guys down there helpless wasn’t one you were willing to have. 

Your attention snagged on the fuel. 

You didn’t have a choice. You were already cutting it close. 

Dutch listed off what he had left to throw at him. The list was devastatingly short.     

“I have one more good run before I have to turn back.” 

Another laser pointed to a truck on the other side of the now blown open door, a mounted machine gun giving suppressant fire to the ground crew. With that truck, even with the gate opened, they weren’t going anywhere. 

“Copy,” Dutch replied, his head already turned and locking in on the target. He unloaded the last of his rounds into the truck and the surrounding area. 

Reluctantly, you pulled back from the fight, “We’re RTB,” again you search for Ghost amongst the group. Finally catching the flash of white of his skull mask. The nerves that gripped your chest loosened, “And as much as I love these play dates with you guys try and stay out of trouble will you?” 

You’d arrived back to base a few hours ago but still had yet to change out of your jumpsuit. You were immediately dragged into a debrief. You checked your watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since this meeting began.

Task Force 141 has yet to return, and you were beginning to ruminate. While in the sky it was easier to ignore your feelings, having to focus on not being struck by an anti-air and falling out of the sky didn’t allow for such mundane activities. Now that you were on the ground, you had all the time and safety in the world to just think. 

You could say that’s why you loved flying so much. You’d never be able to say it out loud under the fear that you’d be grounded for a month under the mental health act; but, you’d sooner die than give up flying. 

Suppressing a yawn you sat next to Dutch in the room, arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of you. Your eyes grew heavy as you blinked up at the screen before you. You leaned closer to Dutch, “You think they’d notice if I just left?” 

A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth, “Not if you crawled.”

You pinched his thigh, scowling, “You’re a pervert.” 

There were probably twenty other people in this room right now. You could undoubtedly sneak out. 

A shiver raced down your spine, and your instinct told you that someone was looking at you. You peeked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the tall ominous figure standing at the back of the room. His hand still hovering over the doorknob. He jerked his chin to the hallway. A silent invitation to join him. 

Dutch was already rolling his eyes in pretend irritation, “You’re boyfriend beckons you.”

You made a face at him, “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Tell him that.”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning at the idea. You two were by no means together. Not to say that there wasn’t something there that could potentially foster such as relationship, but now wasn’t the right time. Neither of you had the time or the means for it. It would only compromise both of your work. 

And relationships between two soldiers were frowned upon by the higher-ups.  

You stood up silently, kicking Dutches ankles on your way by.   

Ghost slipped out of the room all too silently. You met him just down the hall.

His eyes dipped to your chest and heated. You removed the top of your jumpsuit and tied it around your waist, revealing the plain black tank underneath that did everything right to show off your curves. 

Then he was looking everywhere but you, his shoulders tensing, before he started to walk down the hallway. You fell into pace beside him. 

You check over him, looking for any signs of injury. Once satisfied that you couldn’t find anything you tilted your face up to his, “You guys should've had an aircraft on standby for that mission,” you reprimanded, half annoyed with him for getting into danger. 

He shrugged, “It was supposed to be covert.”

You analyzed his dark uniform, perfect for blending into the night and the shadows. He didn’t have his gun, and he carried his tactical vest in his hand. 

“You guys were lucky we had enough fuel to divert our route. What if we weren’t there?” you bit out, anger flushing your skin. 

He opened a door for you. The door to his accommodations, you realized. You couldn’t help but notice the space still smelled like you. Or your signature scene of eucalyptus and lavender. You’ve been spending a condemning amount of time here, and with him.  

“Good thing we’re lucky,” he pulled at the words with his tongue before turning back to you, eyes flashing to your figure again. His hands reached down to the know that kept your jumpsuit tied to your waist and tugged you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. You could still smell the fight on him. Dirt and smoke. A now familiar smell. 

Your fingers hooked around his belt loops. Heat radiated off of him and warmed your front. Already you were breathless. 

He shook his head, “It’s a damn good thing you were there.”

A question formed and you tilted your head at him, lips parting, “How did you know to tell us where you were? How did you know we were already there?” You had made sure your ETA was skewed to disorientate the enemy if they had access to your guys’ comms.  

“I figured there was a reason you guys were dark,” his hand traced the lines of your body, memorizing the feel of you under his fingers. They twitched impatiently against you. He slowly walked you backwards to the door to his bedroom, taking his time in watching you stumble over your weakening knees. “How can I thank you?” 

If he could read your mind and all the filthy thoughts that popped into your mind, he hid it well. Your ears burned in chagrin. You tugged his shirt out from his pants, diving underneath to touch his skin, “Let me touch you.” 

Ghost bit back a hiss when you dug your nails into his abdomen. He kicked the door closed behind him, reaching back only to lock it. Within seconds, his shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor, his muscles on full display as he did so. Your mouth went dry and the sight and the heat that was just at the tips of your ears shot down between your legs. No amount of time would ever tire you of seeing this man undress. 

Next was his mask, revealing the devilishly beautiful man underneath. The only way you could describe him was as “sinful”. Black still smeared across his features but it only accentuated his features.   

Fuck, you would eat out of the palm of his hand if he told you to. 

Whatever he saw on your face made him look away from you with a shy smile, a breath of a laugh escaping him. 

You brought his face back to yours, and you had to stand on your toes to reach his mouth. You’d be a fool to think that the kiss was anything but greedy. His mouth immediately opened to yours and he tilted your head with a hand to deepen it. You pressed yourself into him, needing to feel him against every inch of you. A calloused hand reached to touch the bare skin under your tank and traced the line of your spine. Your tongue brushed against him, and you turned to liquid.   

He undid the knot of your jumpsuit, and you stepped out of it. Leaving you bare apart from the tank top, a bra, and underwear.

This time, it was your turn to guide him. You took him to his bed, “Lay down.”

He didn’t waste a second and pulled you down with him. You were a tangle of limbs before you planted your knees on either side of his hips. With shaking fingers, you shamelessly outlined the lines and curves of his abs and chest.    

Not once did either of you break the kiss, which had become a mess of breath and lips and teeth.

You pressed your hips into his, finding his own arousal there. He groaned at the pressure, hands flying to your waist, and pulling you harder to him. Already a carnal heat that only showed up when you were with him was building somewhere low in your womb. And even lower still.

God, he felt good.   

He was going to be the death of you. You were going to burn up in his arms until there was nothing left of you but your need for him. 

He paused for a second, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his pants to readjust himself to better align with your strides. You tested, feeling the full length of him pressed to your core, “Carry on,” before his smile could take form it fell away to a hiss when you began a languid pace.  

You rolled yourself down on him, your mouth finding the pulse at his throat and licked a stripe it. 

Simon liked to pride himself on his control over his needs. He wasn’t a teenage boy after all. He was a man who was more than capable of asserting some sort of rule over his body. 

Until just now. 

Right then, his entire mind went blank.

He wasn’t sure if he had inhaled too much smoke or if he over-exerted himself today, but that control was nowhere to be seen. His hands fell to your thighs, allowing you full reign on the speed and intensity. 

You felt a knot at the apex of your tights tighten, and the liquid arousal that accompanied your desire. You hadn’t even cum yet and you were already soaking through your panties and his pants.

Your kisses to his skin turn into hot desperate breaths, and it sent tingles throughout his body. Your moans were like fuel to a flame and it was driving him insane.    

You clung to him, his skin slick with yours and his sweat, as you chased after your climax. He let you use him however you needed. Some ludicrous and giddy part of him revelled at the fact that he wasn’t even inside you and you were still half-wild for him. 

Suddenly, your pace stuttered and became erratic. That knot finally loosened and you melted onto him, your body twitching, but you maintained some form of a rhythm.   

You pulled back to look at him, his eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lips pulled between his teeth.   

You felt him jerk under you, pressing himself impossibly closer to you, his mouth falling open into a downright filthy moan. 

You welcomed the wet warmth between him and you that followed. 

You chased after his release with him. 

You also came back down with him, slowing down to a purr on top of him. 

He was breathless, his body jolting with every change of direction.

He would have been a little embarrassed for cumming in his pants if it hadn’t felt so fucking good. 

“So sensitive,” you crooned, drawing a line from his heart to the line of hair that faded into the cover of his pants. At first, you weren’t sure he heard you, but then he was growling and flipping you off him. You were face down on the bad, trapped underneath him, his knees moving to spread your legs apart. 

“Shouldn’ve said that,” he snarled, his voice dangerous. 

He pressed himself into your backside. 

He was still devastatingly hard. 

You whimpered into his bed, arching your back.

A hand slapped your clothes pussy and you mewled at him in understanding. 

Do. Not. Move.

Then the fingers of the same hand outlined your folds over the already damp fabric, focusing on your clit. With his weight on top of you giving your lungs little room to expand and the fact that your brain was short-circuiting your breaths become shallow and unproductive.

He pressed his fingers into your cunt, the only thing keeping him from actually entering you was your panties. 

You writhed, desperate for friction. A second slap against your heat stilled you. 

“Ohmygod,” you breathed, your legs trembling.

He pushed the cursed fabric down your legs, stopping at your knees. His fingers delved into the slickness there. He swore, almost impressed with how wet you actually were. 

Spread your arousal everywhere, across your folds, the sides of your thighs, up to the rounds of your ass. He wanted you a mess in his bed. And you were. You weren’t sure if you were drooling or not, but there was a high chance you were. 

Then his attention was back at your core, finger sliding into you without so much as a warning. Your greedy pussy tightened around his fingers, milking them as if they were his cock. His approving groan was nearly enough to send you over the edge. He was whispering naughty, impish things into your ear. Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made to want to scream.  

Still sensitive from before, it didn’t take much from him to entice another orgasm from you. Time wrapped but it couldn’t have been less than a minute before you were spasming around his fingers, and your mind was momentarily fried. 

He was whispering in your ear. Your comprehension went out the window so didn’t know what he was saying but from the tone of his voice, he was mocking you. 

You felt him shift so he was behind you. He attempted to knock your legs further apart but your panties were still locked around your knees, tying them together. 

You felt something warm and velvety soft tap at your entrance. Once, twice. He slid his cock between his fld, coating himself in you. 

He asked you a question, probably for permission. The thought that you could string together a coherent sentence right now was laughable. You weren’t even sure you could be trusted to provide your own name. 

You could only nod and with your last dregs of will, lift your hips to his.     

There was no amount the sex or foreplay that could prepare you for the sheer fucking size of him. He wasn’t just long, not that his eight inches was something to roll your eyes at, but he was thick. Thick enough that when you took him into your mouth, your jaw would ache for days afterward. He was always gentle and never shoved himself inside you like an animal, but you still needed a few seconds to catch your breath each time.  

The broken sound that same out of you was naughty, and Simon had to bite his lip to keep from cumming from the sound alone. You were also impossibly tight, but he’d be damned if he got bested by you a second time tonight. 

He cruised into a fast pace, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The tip of his dick hit your cervix with every thrust. And with every retreat, he brushed against your g spot.  

In these moments, there was only him. Only the sounds of his breath, and the feel of his skin. It made him addicting. When with him, especially like this, it was like a moment of reprieve from worries and stresses in life. 

The world could be ending and you wouldn’t care. There could be air raids and a fire outside your door and you would still feel completely safe with him. Death and hurt couldn’t reach you when you were in his arms.  

His rhythm faltered when you squeezed around him, and he cursed, his arms moved from your ass to brace around you. He just arms shook to keep from crushing you.  

He could feel you quivering, both around him and beneath him as your third orgasm approached. 

You were going to be the death of him, and he didn’t mind one bit. 

You writhed under him as you reached your undoeing, unsure if you wanted him further in or out of you.  

You could feel his seed spurt out of him, and coat your inner walls. You could feel his cock twitch with every spray. 

He started to slow, letting you reel yourself back into your body. You were spooled out across his bed, onto the floor, floating in the air. 

He slid off the bed, carefully tucking himself back into his pants. Which, only now did you realize he didn’t have the patient to remove. He was all wandering eyes and a rueful grin. He was slightly out of breath when he spoke, “So sensitive.” 

A/N: You like that?

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon "Ghost" Riley X

Medic!Reader (Part 7)

Word Count - 4.7K

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.

A/N - This chapter is tuff ngl.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

“Better,” Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, “But stop flicking your wrist, it’s unnecessary.” 

Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. He’s had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives he’s so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, “Are you even watching?” 

“Yes. Now, throw,” he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a “turn” gesture. 

With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground. 

“I just told you to stop flicking your wrist,” he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines. 

You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone “You come over here and throw one.” 

He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasn’t a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring. 

You clicked your tongue, “Alright,” you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, “Go away.” 

For the last two days, it’s done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work. 

She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most.  

Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, “You never talk about your family,” Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.

“Well, I could say the same about you,” you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family. 

“That’s because I’ve got skeletons in my closet,” he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. You’ve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasn’t. 

You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him. 

“Well,” you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, “My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.” 

“And your father?” He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences. 

“He’s…” your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, “He’s the worst man I’ve ever met. And I was his favourite,” you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, “He’s estranged now and I haven’t heard from since the divorce.” A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. “My mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, it’s quite adorable,” 

“Any siblings?” He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didn’t push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.

“Two,” your heart skipped a beat, “Both significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,” you didn’t give any more detail than that. Didn’t think you could handle dredging up old wounds. 

You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted “I’m sorry” at the mention of your dead brother.

You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass. 

Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that. 

As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,” you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so. 

The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldn’t seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. You’d grown weary of the cold showers. 

The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just “let” you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys? 

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.     

“What are you doing up?” You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table. 

His cheery blue eyes found yours, “Thought I’d come and keep you company.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it. 

He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, “Have you been able to?”    

You shook your head. Truth is, you haven’t had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, “You shuffle,” you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta. 

He won the first round, and he sighed, “One more game, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”  

“Laswell find anything?” you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow.

“Not really,” he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, “She’s stressing. So is Price.” 

“I don’t blame them,” you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that they’d think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, “Are we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?”  

He blinked at you, “Our job?” then his expression softened in realization. You’d been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, “When we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses we’ll be handed medals.” He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, “There are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for ‘espionage’.” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. “We’ve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they haven’t gotten rid of us.” 

The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.     

“That makes this a little less stressful,” You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. “You want tea?” the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer. 

“Absolutely,” he replied. 

You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, “Are you joking?” you threw up your hands in disbelief. You’ve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.

He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin. 

“I’m not making you tea anymore,” you glowered over at him, “You can make your own.”

You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive “No, you little crook.” 

After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school. 

The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong. 

Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling.  

A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldn’t place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt. 

“Ugh,” your eyes began to water, “What is that?” 

A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.   

So he feels the unease too. 

That thought alone was alarming. 

As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spots—with dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.

“They killed off all their livestock,” Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago. 

“Isn’t this a war crime?” 

He nodded, features hardening. 

You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them. 

In fact, as you neared, there wasn’t anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs. 

As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, “Riley–”

“I see it,” he grunted.

Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall. 

Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, “That’s my informant's wife.”    

If you hadn’t known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words. 

You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, “Did–” you shook your head in disbelief, “Why would they do this?” It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal. 

Beside you, he didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one. 

“Take me to the school,” you breathed, worry piling up inside you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it. 

He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, “Are you sure you’ll be fine?” 

You nodded, but you couldn’t find it within you to smile at him.

“You just need to click twice on your radio and I’ll be right back,” he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high.  

He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.   

The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around. 

You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there. 

Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasn’t shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open. 

The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard. 

Along with the angry rushed words, “Your sympathizers will be killed.” 

You didn’t need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson. 

You picked up one of the books, examining it. 

Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.

You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.

The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didn’t even hear it fall. 

Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasn’t much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face. 

A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat. 

The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun. 

A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate. 

It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm. 

Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldn’t understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didn’t need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying. 

“This is your fault. You killed her. You’re a monster. A killer.” 

There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours. 

Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying she’d remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed. 

I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.     

“Run,” you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window. 

She didn’t turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors. 

You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post. 

But there was someone else here. 

You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from. 

Wrong. 

At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that weren’t here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you. 

Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice.  

“What are you doing here?” one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They weren’t the enemy, they were here following orders. 

You cleared your throat, “I was told to meet the lieutenant here,” you could only hope they didn’t ask for a name.

They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, “Lieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.”

Welp.

You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” you swore. 

But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here.  

The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasn’t going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadn’t sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere. 

The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure. 

Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest. 

An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision. 

You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.

“Bitch,” he missed in your ear.

Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you. 

He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again. 

There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet. 

The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you. 

There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldn’t find the strength to so much as look up. 

The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones.  

Alarm flashed across his face, “Shit. Can you walk?”, his arm slipped under and around you. 

“Yes, I think,” You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, “I can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood everywhere,” Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were.  

“Was it just them?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you. 

Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, “I didn’t see anyone else.” 

He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. 

He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You weren’t sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers. 

He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.

“You’ll never get the blood stains out,” you half joked as you wiped at your face.  

“I’m not too attached,” he ground out but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for jests right now. 

“Did you find your informant?” you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar. 

“He was dead.” 

Nausea gripped your stomach and you weren’t sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what you’d seen at the school. Most likely both, “Riley,” you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, “Pull over.”

“What?” 

Saliva flooded your mouth, “Pull over.” 

He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.

“Stay in the truck,” you ordered, before slipping out your door. 

You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldn’t anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless.  

He didn’t say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel. 

He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, “We can’t involve any more civilians,” even to your ears you sounded defeated, “They will hunt them down. They did. They…called her a sympathizer,” you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. “Did you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?”

He stiffened, “No and yes. He wasn’t aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,”   

We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more. 

He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, “We can’t go back to camp just yet,” he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.

You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping we’d bring them back to everyone else. 

“Agreed,” 

“Dress in your civi’s,” he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, “The closest safe house isn’t as secure as the last,” He looked over your face and removed his vest, “I can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.” 

Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked. 

And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.

His Foresight - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae ❤︎  @yellow-devil18 ❤︎ @tangledredstringsoffate ❤︎ @gingergirl06 ❤︎ @wwe1rdc0re

[mistyresolve]

Hey can I make a request, Simon is screaming like bloody screaming loud as he stands with the vibrator in him because we know he isn’t sitting or bending he’s just standing as it’s in him! And his tears thickly falling and as he cries he slaps his own ass at least 6 time and then after that he slams his hands on his ass and digs his nails in HARD that it draws blood but he’s just screaming. And then he digs his nails up and gives a little shake

ummm, in all honestly it looks like you’ve got this one covered…imma sit this one out

[mistyresolve]

| When He Comes Home - Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

Inspired by this art is by Chimamonbun on X

When he arrived, he didn’t say a word. His eyes remained wide and unfocused. His chest slowly gave rise and fell to disjointed breaths. He was still covered in dirt and blood, and he smelt like gunpowder and sweat.  

“Simon,” you murmured, careful not to startle him. He was still standing in the boot room, his pack slung over one shoulder. His eyes slid over to you but he remained deathly still. He was looking at you but you weren’t entirely sure he was seeing you. You reached out a hand but stopped yourself before you could touch him, “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

His nod was nearly imperceptible. He followed you into the bathroom and watched your every move, his mind and body still stuck in fight mode. When you ducked under the sink to look for a towel and realized there wasn’t one you turned to him, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get you a towel.”   

You hesitated before leaving him.

And when you returned your heart sank.  

He’d already climbed into the tub, still in his clothes and gear. Aside from his still-masked face, he was fully submerged in the hot water.

The water was still running and steam wafted up.  

Blood was already staining the water in tendrils around him. You couldn’t see any major injuries and he wasn’t acting wounded so you knew none of it was his. 

Red rimmed his eyes and they were glossy. His pupils were blown as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“Simon…are you okay?” you padded over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. 

He didn’t react. 

You reached for his mask, scared that the fabric would soak and he was going to accidentally waterboard himself.

His hand snapped to yours, squeezing your wrist until you whimpered. 

“Let me help you,” you pleaded, your chest aching at the sight of him like this. 

After a minute of silence, his grip on your wrist loosed.     

A/N - This takes place after the end of the MW3(2023) campaign.

[mistyresolve]

Hi just wanted to ask you if this was your other account?

https://www.tumblr.com/rulesforwhores/157323339717/some-rules-to-be-a-better-woman

lol. no.

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 6)

Word Count - 3k

Summary - TF 141 has regrouped at their safe house, and in the past two weeks they have been of trying to figure out their next move. Doc and Ghost finally have a little talk about their night together.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn

A/N - hi

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 7

Masterlist   

The two of you were back in the garage the next morning. Ghost getting up significantly earlier than you did; leaving you to wake up alone and slightly chilled from the morning air. 

There was also a delicious ache between your legs that wasn’t normally there. 

Ghost was servicing one of the armoured vehicles to make sure it was ready to go when the squad needed to move. It’s matte tan painting normally nothing significant but you couldn’t help but feel some sort of familiarity with the vehicle. While taking stock of your medical supplies you stared at the lettering on the side of the vehicle trying to pinpoint where you had seen it before. 

“Riley,” you called out, eyes still locked on the bolded lettering on the side of the hood. He paused what he was doing to look up at you. With narrowed eyes, you said, “Why do I feel like I’ve read about this ATV before?” You recalled reading about a vehicle being swiped from a convoy a few months ago in one of the weekly newsletters the military put out. 

“Uhh,” you could’ve sworn there was a slight blush underneath that mask, “Yeah, we stole it. Wasn’t our intent at first, but figured it would be a waste of an opportunity if we returned it.”  

You made your way to the stool beside him, “‘We’ as in?”

“Soap and I…” he thought for a second, searching for the right word, “commandeered it on our way into an active combat zone. In the report, we said it was a hostile.” he shrugged. Everything here was stolen, sure, but it was mostly little things like rations and ammo; which he had mentioned took forever to compile. The other vehicle was just a modified truck. This was an Oshkosh MPAP; equipped with a turret, and bulletproof windows, and was worth a million dollars.

And these goons just took it.   

Despite his seemingly nonchalance demeanour, there was clear pride in the set of his shoulders. You also knew he and Soap chuckled about it on their way here to stash it.   

“What did Price have to say about it?” you inspected the manual for the ATV to see all it came with. There was a hesitance from him and you lifted a brow at him, “What will Price have to say about it?” you reworded the question, getting the sense that Price doesn’t know. 

“I doubt he’ll even notice,” Simon set back to work, reaching for something and tightening it with a wrench. 

The rest of the squad arrived later in the morning and Price undoubtedly noticed. In fact, he pointed right at it, eyebrows raised but didn’t say a word. 

Soap pretended to be just as shocked, “How did this get in here?” 

Ghost did a good job of redirecting everyone’s attention, “We’ve got almost a week's worth of food reserves.”

Gaz swung his gear over his shoulder heading towards the makeshift barracks, “You leave any hot water for us?” he asked Ghost. 

“Nope,” he shot back dryly, failing to mention there was never any hot water to begin with. He shoved a finger in Soap’s direction, “You better get in there next. I can smell you.” 

“It’s a musk,” Soap retorted, feigning offence.  

“Go stand downwind of me,” Ghost strained as he looked an ammo crate into one of the trucks.  

You couldn’t smell Soap from where you sat but you were sure every one of them smelt like a little ripe from all the traveling. They looked weary from it. 

A strange feeling of unspoken uneasiness hung overhead all of you. Everyone was purposefully avoiding the obvious fact that we didn’t have a solid plan.    

When Gaz returned from his shower, he had a strange look on his face. A mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He had pulled a a pack of cigarettes from his pocket throwing them to Soap, “You win,” he said bitterly. 

“Really?” Soap caught the pack, immediately putting one in his mouth. He turned to Ghost, “You’ve just made me a very happy man.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ghost looked genuinely confused. He glanced at you with questioning eyes, wondering if you had any insight into their exchange.

You offered him a subtle shrug.  

Price was talking quietly with Laswell outside the garage. With dark bags weighing down his eyes, accompanied by a frown, Price looked uncharacteristically tired. Knowing him, he probably didn’t get the best sleep last night. It was us against the world right now, and since he was our captain every single one of us was looking to him for direction. It was a lot of pressure for one man. But there was a good reason he was Captain. He was level-headed and experienced. This probably wasn’t the first time he found himself in this situation either. This was just another Wednesday for him. For all of them. 

Except you. 

You don’t belong on a task force like this. You weren’t even sure you were meant for the medic life anymore. Lord knew you couldn’t save anyone when it mattered. 

Your teeth sank into your lip as you pondered your life choices so far. The hair on the back of your neck began to tingle and when you looked up to see Ghost watching you from across the room. His eyes revealed nothing before he dragged his attention back to Soap.               

Price called for a meeting after everyone was a little more settled in, “We’ll need to lie low for the next few weeks. Keep our footprint to a minimum,” Price took a seat on the bench next to you, swiping a hand down his face, “Laswell said that the brasses have been keeping it tight-lipped about our situation. So either they don’t know and someone is working on this alone or they do know and don’t want it getting out,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Which one is worse? I don’t know.” 

If they do know we risk giving ourselves away by trying to make contact. This was going to be a waiting game. 

We were in this alone and the thought of the world being completely oblivious to our disappearance was frightening. The idea of your family never knowing what happened to you left just as fast as it came. 

“Until we come up with a plan?” Gaz sneered, his eyes hardening making it evident it was hardly a question. 

“How long will that take?” You asked, your knee bouncing in a clear show of anxiety. 

Laswell cleared her throat, eyes peeking over the laptop she was sitting in front of, “I’ve got a few contacts on US soil who are doing some internal investigations. I won’t be able to exchange information with them as often as I’d like but they’re good at what they do,” She assured, this usually perfect braid falling loose down her shoulder. “I trust that they’ll be able to find some leads.”

“How long with that take?” Ghost repeated your question.

Laswell huffed, “I have no idea.” 

“Let’s aim for a few weeks at the very least,” Price said, lifting a fresh unlit cigar to his mouth. 

“We’ve only got a week’s worth of food,” you exchanged a look with Ghost, who was already looking at you, his dark eyes unreadable. Before the rest of the team got here he had donned his mask, making it all the harder to gauge what exactly he was thinking. 

“Ahh,” Laswell flipped her laptop to face the rest of us. You leaned forward and squinted at the bright screen with multiple windows pulled up, “There’s a little townlet three hours from here with no military presence. We can go into town to stock up when the time arrives.”

Two weeks. Two whole weeks passed and Laswells weren’t any closer to finding out who Specter was, and everyone was getting antsy. She did, however, discover that we have all been flagged as deserters. 

Price and Gaz were out doing recon every morning, and every time they came back with the same news. Which was no news.  

You and Ghost had gone into the little town Laswell aforementioned nearly every day since that first week. You spent most of your time at one of the schools there. It was a symbiotic relationship where you were providing medical services wherever you were needed in exchange for more medical supplies. All the while Ghost went off on his own sometimes coming back with food other times with information on the movements of the military. “For your safety” he wasn’t able to tell you who exactly he was meeting with for this information. 

You were cleaning the wound of a smaller child, her dark hair and wide glassy eyes flitting to everything that moved. Considering how her wound looked a week ago she was healing well. In a few more days there will be nothing left but a pink scar. You couldn’t understand each other because of a language barrier but there was mutual respect between you two. She couldn’t have been older than 10 but her eyes showed she had seen more than her years. Her eyes would sometimes glaze over and would stare far beyond what you could see. Her mouth would loosen and she would murmur to herself. A prayer, you were later told by a woman who spoke English. It was unsettling to see someone so young so grown. 

That’s what growing up in a warzone will do to you. You chastised yourself, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Here,” you secured her bandage showing off your work to her. Her delicate hand grazed it, her face void of emotion. With a slight bow of her head, she left. You watched as she disappeared back out the school door. 

You felt someone take a seat beside you, her identity easily discerned by her scent of pepper and rosemary. “Her mother would have been so devastated to see her like this,” she spoke softly, her accent almost undetectable. She was one of the teachers at the school, and also the one who let you use her classroom as a makeshift station when she didn’t have any classes. 

She seemed like a great teacher, artwork and previous school projects lined her classroom walls. 

It didn’t go unnoticed that she was using the past tense. Your mouth opened and closed as you fought to find the right words, “She’s too young,” too young for this kind of life. Too young to be seeing death. Too young to be this broken. 

“Is anyone ever old enough?” She began helping you pack your supplies, offering you a new medical kit for today’s services, “We are having trouble getting shipments in so this is going to be the last time we’ll be able to pay you back.” 

You tilted your head at her, “What do you mean by troubles?”    

She smoothed out the wrinkles from her shirt, “They’ve put up checkpoints at every roading leading in and out of eastern borders. It is almost impossible to get transport trucks through,” Her blue eyes had grown tired in the last few days.

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, let me know.”

She smiled and shook her head, “You’ve done more than enough,” she leaves you to turn her attention to a group of students coming in for her next class. 

Ghost returned to the school a few hours earlier than he usually did, his pace hurried, “Grab your stuff. We’re getting out of here,” he panted like he’d run the entire way back to the school but he was already moving to pack your supplies back into your pack. 

You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together, “What’s wrong?” 

“A convoy was sighted three hundred kilometres to the east,” he didn’t wait for your reply before he slung ur pack over his shoulder and strode for the door, “And they aren’t insurgents.” 

Which means they’re American. And they couldn’t know we were here. They would take us all back in, and the last thing we wanted was to be getting into gunfights with our own. 

Ghost opened your door for you, “Get in.” 

You gave him a side glance before stepping up into the truck and letting him slam it shut behind you. Apart from the sound of the rocky road underneath the wheels and the whir of the engine the ride back was silent. You watched out your window, turning thoughts over in your head, debating whether the conversation you’ve been wanting to have with him but never the time, was worth it. 

Since that first night, nothing more has happened between you too. There hasn’t been the time for a conversation about it. Let alone actual sex. Still, a conversation needed to be had at some point. You wanted to know what he was thinking. He was always difficult to read and never shared his thoughts and feelings with anyone.  

“What’s on your mind?” Ghost spoke first, sensing your hesitation, his eyes flickering between you and the road. 

“A lot,” you tried laughing but it came out more like a sigh, then shrugged, “I guess mostly…about that night,” you started off.

His eyes widened before he quickly turned to face the road again, “Go on.” 

“We haven’t discussed it, or… haven’t really had the time to explore what it means. If it does mean anything. Don’t get me wrong,” you caught yourself, “There really isn’t a worse time for something like this,” it wasn’t like things had grown awkward between the two of you in the last few weeks, but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be feeling. Or how he was feeling. Doubt had crept into the corners of your mind in the last few weeks. 

Maybe it was just a distraction for him. 

Your breakfast soured in your stomach at the idea.      

The clouds overhead began to turn a sombre grey, bringing with it the threats of a storm. 

Beside you, he’d grown impossibly still. His shoulders were taut with discomfort, “If you’re going to say it was a mistake just do us both a favour and say it.” 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, “Was it–” you swallowed, “Was it a mistake for you?” 

“No,” he spoke with conviction, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Just as fast as the air left your lungs, they were filled, “Ohh,” you released a sigh, your head falling back onto the seat. 

“Once we get ourselves out of this we can talk about it all you want, but–”

“But, now isn’t a good time,” you finished for him, agreeing with the statement.  

“I don’t want you to think I used you like some sex-crazed caveman,” he shifted, the light of the day dwindling as we rolled down the road, the shadows from the trees creeping closer and closer to the truck. 

“I dont…” you started but he was already pulling the truck over to the side of the road. 

“I need you to know that the moment we get back to society that this,” he unbuckled his seatbelt and gestured between the two of you, “Isn’t going to end. I care for you but I need you to stay alive. So, I’m deciding for us to put things on hold because neither of us needs the distraction. It wasn’t a mistake. Do I wish I had waited until I was able to fuck you in a real bed? Kinda.” 

The first few drops of rain splattered onto the windshield, fat and heavy. 

He released the strap on his bulletproof vest to his chest and reached for my hand, “Feel this,” he brought my hand, dwarfed in his, to his racing heart. The heat radiated off his body, “That is what you do to me. Every time you look at me, or speak, or enter a room. I feel like I  can’t breathe around you. I’m terrified of you, and the possibilities that come with you,” he squeezed your hand, and he took in a shuttering breath, “And when you look at me like that,” his voice dropped and his eyes searched yours before bringing your hand lower, where you felt his member hardening. 

Your cheeks heated and you felt your own heart quicken its pace. 

The sounds of the rain became a rhythmic beat as it began to downpour, and without the windshield wipers to wipe away the downfall it was nearly impossible to see to the outside. 

He let out a low, agonizing sound when you gave him an experimental squeeze 

His attention flicked to the clock on the dash, his eyes darkening, “If I had been a smart man I wouldn’t have told Price we were leaving early. So if we take much longer it’ll raise questions,” he pulled away from you, slowly, like it was taking every sane part of him to do so, “And I’m sure you don’t want that.” 

You shook your head. You did not want to talk with Price about your extracurriculars. 

He took one last look at you, “Fuck sake,” he lifted the bottom half of his mask and pulled your lips to his. It was a chaste, desperate, open-mouth kiss. One where his hands dipped your head back to gain better access. His thumbs cradled your jaw, his fingers curling in your hair. 

It was just like the last time you kissed him. He was all fire and heat. He was explosive. 

When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet and rosy, his eyes half-lidded, “Promise me you won’t go anywhere?” he said lowly. 

You couldn’t help the sheepish smile, “I’m here.”  

His Foresight - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae  

[mistyresolve]

some times i like going back and rereading my old posts bc i have a shit memory and it's like a little treat

[mistyresolve]

| Rolling Credits - Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Word Count - 1.2k

Summary - Just a movie night turn into a hot night

Tags/Warnings - MDNI, explicit language and content, soft sex, fingering, switch -> soft dom, P in V , he whimpers

A/N - I'm going to have a lot more time on my hands again so maybe ill get back into regular posts.

Masterlist 

The night started off with you and Simon watching a movie, an older movie that you’ve rewatched more times than you’d care to admit. It took you a whole week of convincing to get him to sit down and watch it with you. It was about three-quarters into the movie when you looked over to see he was knocked out. He attempted to hide himself from your view with a pillow so you wouldn’t catch him slacking on you. 

Slowly, you crawled towards him and with your knees on either side of his hips, leaned over him and flicked on the lamp. With the sudden change in light, his eyes popped open. His glossy, groggy eyes finding yours, “Wha,”

“You were asleep,” you tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing. 

His large hands came to wrap around your hips, the heat from him warming your skin, “No, I wasn’t. I was just resting my eyes,” his thumbs made slow circles, slipping them underneath the fabric of your shirt.

“You were snoring,” you teased, even though he wasn’t.

He flashed a knowing smile, “No I wasn’t. I was as quiet as a mouse.”

You hummed, shifting lower down his body, You’ve never been one to be quiet,” you turned down the sound of the movie. You rested your hands on his bare chest and dug your nails into the hard muscles underneath. 

He hissed at the sensation, his pupils blowing.

“See?” you rolled your hips down on him, eliciting more low strained sounds from him. 

His fingers curled into your skin, holding you closer to him. He nodded, his eyes shutting and his mouth opening ever so slightly to let out a sigh. He moved his hips in tandem with yours. There was a light blush dusting his cheeks, most likey overtly aware of the sounds coming out of him. He was tired and didn’t have the resolve to try and hold anything back. You reached up and placed a hand around his throat, your fingers finding his pulse. 

His heart was thrashing against his heated skin.

“Shit,” he breathed, his brows knitting together, “Just like that, baby,” his hands guided you and his head fell back into armrest, “You feel so good.” 

Underneath you, you could feel his hard cock brushing up against your clit, and the whimper that slipped from your throat was so lewd. 

“You had a long day at work?” you asked. 

He nodded, but you had a feeling if you told him the sky was red he’d agree with you right now. 

“Want me to take care of you?” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, to his neck, and to his chest. You felt him nod again, “Use your words.” 

It wasn’t often he let you take the lead, and it was even more rare for him to let you speak to him like this. This was a real treat. His dark eyes flashed you a warning looking, “Yes.” 

A hand reached between you two and dipped under the elastic waistband of his pants. He was large and heavy in your hand and the moment you touched him his entire body stiffened. You dragged your thumb along the slit of his tip, precum already leaking from it. 

Oh. Oh, he was about to be a mess. 

You licked up the exspance of his chest, dragging your teeth and leaving goosebumps behind. At some point his hands had dropped to your thighs, his fingernails leaving little crescents behind. 

You stroked him, so very slowly. Setting a leisurely pace, tugging moans out of him like threads, “I love making you sound like this,” you pressed your mouth to his only to pull away when he tried kissing you back. When he attempted to chase after you you pushed your free hand into his hair to hold him back. 

“You’re getting real bold,” you quipped at you but made no move to take over. 

You kept up with your agonizingly slow pace and he began to squirm against you. His breaths coming in faster. 

“So close already?” you taunted. 

That was it. You were done. It was his turn now.

With an annoyed growl, he flips you guys. He was pushing up your shirt and tugging your underwear to the side. He dragged a finger up your slick heat, coating his fingers before dipping inside your cunt. You immediately gripped around him, whispering. 

“Open,” he ordered with his usual no-nonsense tone. 

As soon as you opened your mouth the same fingers that were just inside you were shoved inside your mouth. Far enough that you gagged around them. 

“Busy that filthy mouth of yours, huh?” he tsked. Then he was sliding his cock between your folds, getting himself ready for you. He rocked his hips and the both of you groaned in unison. You felt the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten “Good?”

This time it was your turn to nod. 

“Good,” he said again. He watched and slowly guided himself into you, “Shh shh” he hushed you when you started moaning against his fingers, which he had started thrusting into your mouth in time with his hips. Drool dripped down the side of your mouth bc you were imagining they were his hard, thick member instead. 

He moved just as unhurried as you were. He loved the way you writhed under him and chased something only he could give you. 

You could feel him twitch inside you, feel his struggle to keep his composure. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me,” he brought his finger out of your mouth to bring them to his before rubbing circles into your clit. 

“Ohmygod,” you rushed, your finger marking his arm with harsh red lines. You clung to him, arching your back into him in search of just the right angle. 

Still, he was moving so goddamn slow. Too fucking slow. 

You felt the knot tighten to a nearly uncomfortable sensation. 

You reached up, cupping his face and held eye contact with him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he cooed.   

“Move faster,” you gasped, frustration building. 

“You’ll have exactly what I give you,” the borderline sneer he gave you assured you that he would not be going any faster. 

Sweat coated both your bodies in a light sheen, but there was nothing better than the feel of his bare skin against yours.    

That ever-burning heat between ur legs slipped and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan. Finger gripped at his hair as he leaned down to suck at the supple skin of your neck. You gripped at him, feeling as he twitched inside you. 

He quickly followed, his breath hot against you. He...whimpered against you. 

“Fuck sake,” he groaned, half in embarrassment. 

“Oh, I like that,” you giggle, scratching at his head. 

This time when you looked back at the tv screen, the ending credits were rolling, “You missed the movie,” Simon quipped, pulling away from you to get a better look at his handiwork.

Masterlist

[mistyresolve]

| Getting Nowhere - Keegan Russ X Reader

Word Count - 1.1k

Summary - You are trying to hone in on your interrogation skills but Keegan Russ refuses to take it seriously. That is until you decide to make it all too real.

Tags/Warnings - Fake interrogation, flirting, Implied sexual content, slightly spicy, dominate/sub relationship???

A/N - Oh, to get a chance to put handcuffs on this man :(

Masterlist  ❤︎  

You leaned back in your chair, trying to conceal your smile from him, “Is this how things are going to go?” You ask, giving Keegan a faux annoyed look. 

His eyes twinkled and you were sure there was one of his sly smiles underneath his mask. He shrugged a shoulder, the chains on his handcuffs rattling against the table. The singular light hanging above you hummed, the sound adding to the ambiance of the fake interrogation. 

“You don’t want to talk to me? Do you want me to ask someone else to come and question you?” you asked, sitting forward in your chair and slowly standing up, “I can’t promise they’ll be as nice as me though.” 

“Oh, I could talk to you all night,” he cooed, laying his charm on thick. He was still seated and had to crane his neck to look up at you. Very seldom was he the one looking up at someone, but he had no issues with it when it was you. He lifted the handcuffs, tugging at them when the chain connected to the table stopped him from going anywhere, “Usually, I’m not the one wearing the cuffs,” he admitted, “I’m not used to it.” 

You could look at his statement one of two ways. The first being the fact that he was usually the one interrogating. The second being how a few weeks ago he had your hands handcuffed above your head in his bed. 

You kicked his shin underneath the table. You were alone in the room but there were still people listening on the other side of the glass. Evaluating you, you might add. When you walked into this room an hour ago you had to force down the annoyed groan at the sight of him. Your squad mates must have thought it was so funny to have Keegan as your hostage for interrogation training. 

You took a quick note on the computer in front of you, “Chatterbox,” you said aloud as you typed it in.    

“Never been called that before,” he leaned back into his seat, his legs splaying out to accommodate his large frame. 

“Hard to believe,” you quipped as you settled him with a glare, “Now, will you cooperate?” 

“What do I get out of it?” his head cocks to the side, his voice suddenly serious.

“Well, what do you want? I’m sure if it’s reasonable we’ll be able to give it to you,” You narrowed your eyes at him, warning in your eyes for him to behave himself. 

He clicked his tongue, “Nothing I want from them,” his eyes raked down your front, and his voice dropped so low that there was no possibility your spectators would hear him, “You on the other hand.” 

You were so damn lucky this was a mock test. Mostly because you knew there was no way you were getting this man to talk, “You’re going to get me in trouble,” you hissed across the table at him.

His bright eyes widened for a split second before he rolled them, “Doesn’t sound like that’s a ‘me’ problem.”  

Two could play this game, “I can make it one.” 

Confusion flashed across his eyes, and you could practically see the gears in his head turning as he tried to decipher your words. He came to his conclusion when you unzipped the top portion of your black tactical shirt, exposing enough skin that he could see the marks he placed there just last night. You watched as his pupils dilated at the sight of his claim on you. 

“I’m quite sure that there are things that I have and that you want” you declared, already knowing the answer. 

He remained silent, his attention wholly on you. His chest rose and fell slowly, “This isn’t going to work,” he deadpanned, all his bravado and taunting dissipating. 

“Do you know why it’s common for somebody to blindfold their captives?” you press on, revelling in this power dynamic, “Because it disorientates them. Forces their brain to make up for its loss of sight with other senses. Like sounds and touch-” you froze at the look in his eyes. 

He liked being in control, especially when it came to you. He liked it when he had you begging on your knees for him, and when you pleaded for him with teary eyes. He wasn’t sure he liked it when it was you who had a leash on him like this. 

And the look in his eyes right now told you that the moment you got out of here and somewhere decently more private he was going to make sure you still knew he was the one calling the shots. 

There was a moment of silence before he said, “Cargo is headed to the east port with a twenty-car caravan.” 

Your mouth fell open. You looked to the one-sided window and waited for a voice to come over the intercom. 

“Uhh, this completes today’s training,” they said, confirming that that was the correct pre-established phrase you were meaning to get out of him. You turned back to Keegan, your blood pressure rising. 

How dare he fuck with your training to prove a point. 

You stood up from your chair with so much force that it clanked to the ground behind you. You didn’t bother helping him with the handcuffs, instead, you left him there for someone else to let free for two reasons. 

The first being that he was going to hunt you down for the rest of the day to put you back in your place. And the second is because you were legitimately upset with him for messing with your training. 

You decided to take a shortcut through one of the back hallways. You were just about to turn around when you heard quick footsteps behind you but you were already being pushed into one of the corridors leading towards the storage rooms. His hand placed a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming as his body pressed yours against the wall. He had pinned your hands behind your back. 

He was at your back so you couldn’t see who it was, but that didn’t matter, you knew 

who it was just from how his body felt against yours. 

“Since when did you get to bold?” he hissed into your ear with enough chill that you shivered. He kicked apart your legs and pressed a knee up between your legs to make sure you didn’t try and close them. 

You pulled your mouth out from his hand and seethed “You made it so obvious you’re in my bed.” 

His knee pushed up between your legs, “Don’t get it twisted, Sweetheart,” he moved his hand to entangle it into your hair, “You’re the one in my bed.”   

[mistyresolve]

| This Isn't Normal - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 560

Summary - Simon Riley believed himself to have moved past the anger issues. He never thought he'd have an outburst again, least of all have it directed towards you.

Tags/Warnings - Trigger Warning! Abuse, untreated anger issues, yelling, established relationships (ending of said relationship), angst, disassociation.

A/N - As some may know Simon canonically had anger management issues and I'd like to think my baby girl version of him would NEVER act like the Simon in this one shot. I would also everyone to know that this type of relationship is not healthy and if you find yourself in a similar situation please seek help. Everyone deserves love and respect.

Masterlist  ❤︎   

It was nights like these where Simon truly wished he was anyone else, where he could step out of his own skin and turn away from himself. The nights that were made silent by his shouts and outcries of anger. He hated the putrid rage that seeped from his pores, how his fury rushed through his veins like fire. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t control himself. His mouth had grown a mind of its own and words had left his lips before they were a fully formed thought. 

At some point, he’d stopped seeing. His vision of blur of colours and shapes. His perception of his surroundings was made skewed by the overwhelming disgust toward himself. He couldn’t remember what even started this fight. 

He was sure whatever it was wasn’t deserving of this reaction. 

But he couldn’t stop. 

You had long since stopped responding. Your eyes glazed over as you stared off into the distance, your mind undoubtedly protecting itself from the onslaught of his anger. You didn’t even try to defend yourself. 

He would never understand why you didn’t just get up and walk away from him. He didn’t understand why you didn’t lock the bedroom door behind you and call the cops on him. 

He has never and would never hit you. He never got violent like that. Never punched walls or threw glasses but he yelled. He spewed hatred like it was a sport when he was triggered. 

He thought he was doing better. It had been nearly a year since his last outburst. Or his first outburst with you, depending on how you wanted to look at it. He had promised you it would never happen again.      

A memory flashed before his eyes and he froze, his eyes widening his shock. His father's face, red from yelling at him and his mother, seared into him. The air was sucked out of his lungs and his mouth snapped shut. 

The silence in the room was deafening, and his ears rang from it. He backed away from you, biting hard into his fisted hand. 

Finally, your eyes shifted to his, emotionless, and his heart shattered. What was he doing to you? He was once again sick with himself. 

You took the pause in his attack as your time to leave. You stood from the couch and walked out of the living room. 

Several hours later he found you on the back balcony, leaning on the banister with a very full glass beside you. 

He opened the door to the balcony, stepped outside and leaned on the banister a few feet beside you.   

“I think you should leave me,” He murmured into the cold air, his breath curling in front of him, “I know,” he corrected himself, “I know you should leave me.” 

You turned to face him, your cheeks blushed from the cool air. Your eyes searched his face, before looking back out the skyline. You remained silent for a while before saying, “You need to get help…This isn’t normal.”  

He nodded, “Yeah. I do,” he had gone to therapy and gotten treatment for his anger before, and had thought he’d moved past this. 

“I think you should find a place to stay for the night. Maybe even the week,” you took a sip of your wine. 

He bowed his head between his arms, his chest tightening, “I do too.”