#blazing a trail [riley]

[stargirlrchive]

BOOK BOYFRIEND

simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

cw: none this is fluffy, simon gets jealous of your book boyfriend (this is so self indulgent cause im out of my reading slump)

GENERAL MASTERLIST

simon grunted quietly, for the 5th time in the past five minutes, as a soft giggle left your throat. you were ignoring him.

deeply engrossed in a new book you had recently picked up, one that he had skimmed through a few pages while you were showering. only to realize it was written porn.

his fingers had shut the book as fast as he could, face blazing hot and flustered, but he ignored it. pushed it to the far back of his mind.

that was until you were both sitting on the couch, his hand on your thighs with your legs over his lap as you both relaxed on a day off. and giggle after giggle left your pretty mouth.

it was absurd, but he was jealous.

why read that when you had him right there? he was being ridiculous. and he was self-aware enough to realize it, but still. the green eyed monster ate at him as you devoured the words on the page.

another grunt of annoyance left his mouth and your eyes peeked over your book. “you alright?”

“what are you reading?”

another giggle, “just… just some romance book.”

he gave a short nod, brows pinching softly as you went back to reading. his eyes narrowed on the man on the book cover and glared.

your eyes glanced up again and snapped the book shut, “babe, seriously. what’s wrong?”

simon could feel the embarrassment creeping up, his neck and face burning, “just-you don’t need to be reading that when i’m home.”

“what?”

he colored deeper in embarrassment, “i read some pages, and i didn’t expect for you to read porn.”

you barked out a laugh, and simon grumbled in annoyance. but to his relief you set the book down on the coffee table as you sat up.

slithering your way onto his lap, straddling his thighs as your fingers ran down his abdomen, “are you jealous?”

no answer and another laugh left your mouth. this giggle he liked the sound of, when it was directed at him, for him. “jealous of my book boyfriend?”

he glared up at you softly, only to have you soothe over his annoyance with a soft, lazy kiss.

“don’t call him your anything.”

your mouth began to trail kisses down his jaw and throat as you giggled in disbelief, “you should be thanking him.”

his fingers had tightened around your hips, “and why is that?”

you nipped at his throat, “because he’s given me some new ideas.”

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

☾ @moralesispunk

☼ Simon is a tummy man

☾ @guttednights

☼ olderboyfriend!simon

☾ @youronlydarlin

☼ loser!simon

⭒Just loser!Simon who's unknowingly a sex god

☼ sucking Simon's dick like crazy

⭒ Suckin Simon's dick so good he starts beggin'

☼ loser!simon who's unaware of just how big he is

☼ jus suckin simon's dick til hes overstimulated

☾ @undercoverpena

☼ Keep You Close

⭒ he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.

☼ I'm With You

⭒ he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same.

☾ @bingoboingobongo

☼ In His Eyes

⭒ Gaz swears that there’s something going on between you and Ghost. Soap refuses to believe it until he sees it for himself.

☾ @ohmygraves

☼ After your leave you came back with a ring

☾ @peppermint-toads

☼ The night Simon retires

☾ @oceantornadoo

☼ Simon in love

⭒simon riley being in love but he actually just doesn’t know it.

☾ @shoukiko

☼ Ghost vs. Simon

☾ @konigsblog

☼ hickeys w Simon

☾ @suguann

☼ Husband!Simon

☾ @slvtforsimon

☼ bouncing on Simon's cock

☾ @tacticaldiary

☼ Capture in Tandem, Recovery in Tandem

⭒ "I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

☼ A Fighting Chance, Frayed Stitches Don't Hold

⭒ "When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

☼ It All Comes Crashing Down

⭒ She presses the metal radio against her lips and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.

☾ @halcyone-of-the-sea

☼ Til It Hurts; part 2

⭒ You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

☼ Harvest Storms

⭒ In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

☼ Another Word for Protection

⭒ Simon Riley x Niece!reader (platonic series)

☼ Black Metal Bourbon

☾ @lovelyghst

☼ soft tummy simon riley

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

[ghostybaby000]

After Hours | Part 6

Part 1

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: I recommend going back to part one (above) to start this juicy read!

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+, guns, smut

(Not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies)

He made his way back from the door, and nestled his large frame between your legs. There was no need for talking in this moment. The both of you had sat for what felt like minutes staring at one another, simply admiring the low lights that made it easier to see the coloration of your eyes.

You noticed his smaller details from before that you hadn’t taken the time to see. The way his arms fell to his sides when he walked across the room or how his hands were so calculated when rubbing your thigh, or even how he smelled. You had been plenty close to him before, but always caught up in shooting or listening to him speak, where as now there were no distractions to take your thoughts from him. You had expected to come into the room and feel a hot blaze of action, but instead were met with a slow burn of calamity and- intimacy.

You had known that you’d felt butterflies or the occasional heart jump when seeing him or spending time with him, but this was far different than any other time alone with him. 

His hands continued to graze over your things, stopping only for seconds when reaching your knee to head back up your leg. You watched him, his eyes and eyebrows as they met yours and then fell again to your legs and eventually landed again on your lips. You found yourself to be swept away by his stance, every touch coming from him leaving you wanting more even if it was just for a moment. He continued to touch your legs, as his hands made their way towards the inside of your thigh closer to your crotch when it stopped, and fell away again to the outside of your pants. 

Wanting him so badly to continue rubbing over you and for him to tear away your clothes, you see what he is paused for. Looking at you his hands stop moving, he was waiting for permission. Realizing this you slowly reach out and touch over his chest, both hands landing on your knees as they finish trailing down his body. You take one of his gloved hands and begin to remove the glove, not breaking eye contact in the slightest. Once you’d had both gloves off, you lead his hands to your breasts, and trail them down your stomach  slowly landing on your pants right outside your crotch. You then left his hands to his own actions as he began to move closer to you, lifting his mask just enough to land a kiss gently on your lips. You sucked in a slow breath as his kiss lingered for only a moment before he quickly pulled away. 

The next thing you knew he was out of between your legs and swiping everything off the desk, pushing you back so you were looking to the ceiling. Your breath quickly picked up as he was again in between your legs, now undoing his pants. Sitting up slightly and running your hand over his shoulder, pulling on the cloth. He looked to you and without hesitation began to take off his shirt, leaving his pants undone. Pulling your shirt over your head and your own pants down in one quick motion, this was a rush that left your thoughts too scrambled to form. 

You felt bare and almost intimidated watching the bulge in his pants soon become a leaking cock as he again moved in closer to you. He leaned over the desk, planting a kiss on your cheek and left trails of kisses down to each breast. You were wetter than you knew possible and were now squirming every time he left his touch from your body. Your hands reached to be behind his head and around his neck as he moved down your frame. 

You feel his tongue trace laps around your nipple and then down towards your stomach. You squeezed at his strong bare arms, closing your eyes and wincing as he pinched your nipple sharply. He came up to you and this time planted a strong and long kiss on your lips, one that afterwards left you begging for more of him.

‘Please.. please Simon I want more..’ You say as he sucks over a nipple that was now very sensitive to every touch he left. He leans again over the desk, his voice gruff.

‘Be patient love, gotta make sure your ready for me first.’ He backs away from the desk as his hands run down your hips landing on your panties. 

They come off slowly as he follows then down your legs and then entirely off, left on the floor near the desk. You watch him from your position on the desk, still facing upwards as your back arch’s aggressively to the ceiling, his small touch being electric to your cunt. 

‘Sensitive are we?’ He let out a small laugh as his finger traced the outsides of your lips, then began to insert them, one at a time. 

Your eyes came open again as you felt him remove the two fingers that had been pushed inside of you. The room quickly became hotter as you found yourself out of breath, not even feeling his cock inside of you yet, when another surge comes through your body. This time his warm and flat tongue had made it way to your entrance. You gasp as he begins to pummel you with his fingers his tongue aggressively playing with your clit, you wrap your legs around his head, resting them on his shoulders. 

Feeling like you might explode from the inside as your sensitive walls were being punished, again it stops. Without a moment’s notice large strong hands are under your hips pulling you closer to the edge of the desk as you begin to sit up. Through the gasping breaths you see his hands as one makes its way back to your hole, the other stroking his cock. He steps closer to you, fitting between your legs he lets the tip of his cock slide inside of you. 

You had previously had sex, but nothing compared to how intimate and connected this had felt in this moment, how he watched you as he did every action. He wraps a hand around the small of your back as he begins to push deeper inside of you, preventing you from falling backwards to the desk. You sharply inhale fully feeling his length and girth as you stretched around him. His hand falls away from behind your back as you slowly fall back to the desk, he pushes deeper. You groan out to him, the pain being blurred by the mounds of pleasure, one that you had never known before. He drills into you now, relentlessly slamming his hips into you his own grunts filling the room making a harmony with yours. 

You feel him start to slow as he pulls out of you entirely, again his hands landing around your hips. You were now pulled off the desk, one hand supporting your back as he spun you around to be planted face down to the desk. He grabs both of your hands and wraps them behind you as again you feel yourself stretch around his large size. 

This was what it took for you as you felt yourself begin to clench around him, squirming as he continued to crash into you.  You felt the heat in your stomach rise as he began to speed up, his own thrusts telling you that he was also close. You cum first as he lands long and deep strokes against your walls. You feel your body shake as you come down from your high, you feel him inside of you as his thrusts slow leading out of you and down your legs as he lets go of your arms. 

You both clean up as best you can before taking a look around the small office. You make your way around the desk to recover what had been lost in the intensity of the moment as you pull a small piece of bent metal from underneath scattered paperwork. 

Your eyes gloss over the words as you feel a rush of childlike laugher stifle in your throat. 

‘Manager’

 Trevor’s full name had been inscribed in small letters underneath the bronze stand. In the moment you felt the laugher begin to escape you as your hand cupped over your mouth. How long had it been? You knew it was a while you were shooting, and on top of what had just happened- you had no idea how many hours had passed. Suppressing a small tinge of guilt, you picked up the remaining bits of paper and pens placing them neatly back on the desk. You walked to where Simon had been reading the plaques on the wall from the establishments many years in practice as he turned to you. 

‘Find something amusing?’ His hands were behind his back as he continued to pace the small room, looking at pictures of people holding awards and large trophies, his gaze turning to you.  

‘No, nothing really.’ A smile came over your face as you looked at him and then back to the plaque, his eyes followed yours as he let out his own chuckle at the replaced stand on the desk. Simon then moved past you and shuffled the desk a few inches so it was straighter and then opened the door as you both walked out.  You grabbed the remainder of your things as you made your way to the main entrance of the building. You always let Simon leave before you and then turned on the cameras so nobody would be the wiser. He went to leave the store, pausing before touching the door handle to look down at you again. He pulled you into him as your smile brought a heat to your face that you knew well by now.

He stared at you, the same way he had before any of this had happened. When he was a customer in the shop that sparked your curiosity and made you feel butterflies when he spoke to you. The same way you trusted him with his touch against your skin, and desperately wanted to look into his eyes while he made you take him. You broke out of your trance as his voice again met your ears. 

‘Same place and time next week?’ He smiled through his mask as his lips met your forehead. You both let out a laugh as you looked for the key to lock the door. 

‘I would hope before then…’ You let the words roll off your tongue as casually as they had entered your mind, and you paused searching for the key now nervous of his response. 

He walked backwards from you, made his way over to the desk and fiddled with the drawer supplies eventually making his way back over to you. He held out a small bent piece of paper to you as he began to open the door. You try to slowly reach out and take the paper, but before your hand can make it to the slip, he takes it in his free hand and plants a gentle kiss on the top. You grab the paper as he makes his way out of the building, looking at you only to speak for a moment.

‘I hope so too.’ 

He walked around the corner to the building until you could no longer see him and you immediately began to unfold the paper. His number and address had been left in hasty handwriting, although still legible with a small scribble next to it that read: 

‘Let’s try my place next time.’ 

You quit work that week and found yourself a much closer to home job, although the regulars at the gun shop had detested you leaving. You left your manager with a short and sweet goodbye, knowing the truths of the events he hadn’t seen and felt a weight lift off your back as you left the front desk for the last time. 

[ateliersss]

Call of Duty

...is part of The Bookshelf.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Keep You Close Summary: He's pretty sure he's in love with you. Not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.

Fresh Ink (Series) Summary: You become Ghost’s artist and therapist in a way.

Polaroid Summary: You find a polaroid of yourself in Ghost’s vest.

When I Was Your Man Summary: Ghost regrets breaking up with you after seeing you again.

Little Lady, Big Guns Summary: A new weapons developer catches the eye of many, especially one balaclava wilding man.

Only One Boundary Summary: When it comes to his body, Simon is all ears for anything to do for you. However, he only has one boundary that he’s hesitant to compromise with now.

An Old Siren Song Summary: You're injuried on a mission early in you and ghost careers' and it affects him even 6 years later.

Lonely Summary: After Simon had left for his next mission, you were faced with the biggest challenge of your life and you had to get through that all by yourself.

Faking Summary: As the mission goes on, you are forced to fake your death, hurting the man you love most.

Fell Into You (Series) Summary: Ghost isn’t looking for anything and neither are you. But when a mission goes wrong, throwing you two together, where will things go from here?

The Little Things Summary: Five times Soap questions the relationship between Ghost and the 141’s Medic, and the one time he gets an answer.

Little Treasures, Life's Pleasures Summary: Now that Soap knows when to pay attention, he realizes you and Ghost aren’t as subtle as you think you are.

Life's Little Comforts Summary: Soap finally gets a better glimpse into your relationship with the Lieutenant- even if it’s not the way he wants.

Our Little Secret Summary: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some.

Interrupted Part 1, Part 2 Summary: When your make-out session gets interrupted, you shield Simon's face with your hands.

Zombie!Ghost Summary: Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...

Hate You Summary: Ghost seemed to despise you, making a mission you have to do together much tenser than it ever had to be…

Cat Got Your Tongue? Summary: Ghost thought you hated him, but he had no idea why. He didn't remember ever doing anything to cross you. When you're stuck doing a mission alongside him, he gets curious enough to finally ask.

Bad Day Summary: After a bad mission, Simon comes back and takes his pain out on you.

To Be Alive In Summer Summary: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

If You Bite My Hand Again Summary: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years? How dare you still find it in yourself to love him?

Untitled Summary: You, a civilian, kills someone out of self defense for the first time.

'Til It Ends Part 1, Part 2 Summary: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Simon "Ghost" Riley who protects you from your creepy neighbor

Simon "Ghost" Riley accidentally yelling at you Headcanon

Being Yelled At By Ghost Part 1, Part 2

Confessions

Sleepless Night

Don't Make A Habit Of Dying

Call Sign

Kindergarten Troubles Part 1, Part 2

Imagine going to sleep as 09 Ghost’s widow only to wake up next to reboot Ghost Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Captain John Price

The Traces He Left Behind Summary: You had never expected the dog tags to be so heavy, but, now, as they sit in your hands they’re just about the heaviest object you’ve ever held. M.I.A doesn’t mean John’s dead… but it might as well.

Baby Blues Summary: The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnaped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.

Let Me Lean On You Summary: You have a bad habit of putting yourself in harm’s way, enraging John to no end. But can you survive a wound like this? Or will everything you hate to love about John Price never see the light of day?

First Kiss Summary: It makes you want to laugh, it’s not how you’d envisioned your first kiss would go; you had hoped it would be romantic or passionate. Instead it was desperate battle of trying to breathe life back into John without ever having told him about your feelings.

Our Remains Summary: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Cheating Heart Summary: Your feeling for John were wrong - horribly wrong - but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what's to hold you back anymore?

See No Evil Summary: The flowers came every week - Tuesday, two O’clock, two minutes after your break. The only problem was that you knew they weren’t coming from John.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Shaky Fingers Summary: The perfect date night begins with a stolen wallet and a goose chase.

Reveries Of A Lost Lamb Summary: Tempers flare when it hits the seven-day mark. Could they all be sure you were even still alive?

Gossamer Silk Smiles Summary: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

A Little Small Talk, A Smile, And Baby I Was Stuck Summary: When Soap mentions the new medic, Gaz doesn’t think much of it. 

Keegan P. Russ

(Don't) Go To War Summary: Some days it became impossible not to lose your tempers with each other. Being enemies was easier than admitting you cared.

First Strike Summary: Keegan had always captured your attention. You've found out that maybe that's the best and worst thing to happen to you.

König

The Invisible String Theory Summary: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either.

Moths Hit The Window Summary: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

Overflow The Stars Summary: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Vladimir Makarov

The Great War Summary: Deadly, fast and a killing machine. Soldier was trained as a recon sniper and has been trained by allied forces as an insertion specialist. SAS has recognised this soldier as a necessity for most of its joint operations. Decorated with high awards and recognition by all military forces. TF 141 acquired soldier after a mission in Al Mazrah. Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.

No Title Summary: You have an encounter with a creepy guy.

No Title Summary: You are pregnant with Makarov's child and someone is stupid enough to mess with you.

Valeria Garza

Back When I Loved You Summary: It's been years since you had been stationed in Las Almas, returning opens some old wounds you hadn't realized never healed.

Valeria Garza

[gemmahale]

WIP Wednesday (5/1/2024)

Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Reboot Games

Title: The Feylands

Pairing: OFC Josephine ‘Josie’ Kaplan + Everyone (Capt. John Price, Kyle 'Gaz’ Garrick, John 'Soap’ MacTavish, Simon 'Ghost’ Riley, Kate Laswell (and her wifey!), Gary 'Roach’ Sanderson, Alex Keller, Farah Karim) (Not a relationships are sexual nor romantic here. It’s…complicated.)

Synopsis: The Court of Maevonia have been in search of a human for their court plaything for a while. Josephine Kaplan fits the description of what they want. But when she accidentally shows up unannounced just as a war with a neighboring kingdom is kicking off, it seems like things might work out differently. Can Josie work with the Court to save not only Maevonia, but also Earth from the Penumbra and it’s Shadow Bringers?

AKA: ...shhh. Gemma's worldbuilding. 😉

General CW’s: Stalking, Dub-con, Climate Catastrophe (Earth), mild horror, weird time-space-dimension distortions

Snippet CW's: None.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Josephine subtly let her eyes roam over the man as she strolled to the restroom. His eyes were focused on the TV screen above the bar, the hosts droning on about team points and predictions for the upcoming season. It was the perfect situation for looking him over without being caught.

He was tall, his leather work boots resting on the barstool’s rung. His shirt was cuffed up, displaying the gentle muscular curve of his forearms. He took a sip of his beer, raking his hand through his reddish brown curls that flopped back to their original position. Josephine got one good glimpse of his profile before having to look away - strong jaw, five o’clock shadow, a faint scar just along his cheekbone. 

Jane was right, he was attractive. Unfairly so, almost. He looked like he belonged out in the wilderness - with the sturdy work boots and dark jeans, he’d be better suited to chopping wood and blazing trails than here in the heart of the city. Josephine snuck another peek at the man as she returned to the table, irresistibly drawn to him now that she was aware of his presence. 

This time, his eyes caught hers in the mirror as she slid into the seat next to Jane. They held eye contact that way for a moment, before he smirked, winked, and raised his glass to her reflection in quick succession. Josephine’s cheeks warmed under the attention, and her eyes flicked down to her hands on the table - partially ashamed she’d been caught ogling the man, and partially excited that he’d noticed her. 

“See? I told you.” Jane whispered as she pushed Josephine’s fresh beer to her. “He’s into you, Jos.”

Josephine scoffed, taking another sip and letting her eyes roam over the stranger’s profile as he let his attention fall back to the screen. “Doubtful. He just happened to catch me staring and didn’t want to make it weird.”

Jane groaned, shaking her head as she stood. “Jos, you sell yourself too short. You deserve a good man in your life. I’m going to the restroom, don’t make eyes at him all night.”

Josephine snorted, pulling her phone out. “I won’t, Jane.” She flicked open her text messages, responding to a few texts from Lucy before starting to scroll through her social media accounts. 

She failed to notice Jane plopping down on the bar stool on the far side of the man, gesturing to their table, and clapping him on the shoulder before continuing on her path to the ladies room, wide grin on her face.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not intruding,” Josephine’s hand stuttered, inadvertently liking a post as she fumbled her phone. She blinked up into smiling amber eyes, her mouth drying further as she realized it was the stranger from the bar standing over her. “Your friend suggested I should come introduce myself.” 

Josephine wordlessly gestured to the seat across from her, sliding Jane’s beer off to the side out of the way. His voice was warm, honeyed and husky all at once and she suddenly wanted to hear more of it.

“I’m Gary,” he offered, as he slid into the seat Josephine offered.

Her voice warbled. “Josephine.” She absentmindedly traced swirls in the water droplets on the table, trying to mask the sudden onset of trembling in her hands. 

“A pretty name for a pretty lady,” Gary murmured, smiling at her.

Josephine’s heart pitter-pattered at the compliment, heat climbing up her cheeks as she mumbled a thanks, their eyes locking again. 

He was even more handsome up close, a smattering of freckles playing across his nose and cheeks, his heavy framed glasses accentuating his eyes. A small hearing aid was tucked beneath a curl of hair. The scar she noticed across his cheek actually stretched across over the bridge of his nose, like a pair of lab goggles had pressed a permanent indentation into the skin. He rubbed at his chin, smirking at her.

“So, Gary,” she started, taking a sip of her beer to mask the exhilaration and glee racing through her veins - no one this attractive sought her out intentionally. She coughed as the alcohol coursed down her throat. “Sorry, I’m not used to hot men just coming over and introducing themselves like that.”

He laughed, and it sent giddy shivers up her spine. “It’s understandable. Usually I don’t find such a lovely woman to introduce myself to.”

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 2: Undeniable Attraction

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,456

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

A room full of noise and dangerous boys Still makes you thirsty and hot

My other stuff: Master List.

He followed her through the familiar hallways of the palace. She led him to a room in the east wing of the first floor. The east wing was set aside for visitors, from nobles to diplomats, that needed sleeping accommodations during their stay, reinforcing his assumption that she was a visiting duchess or countess of some flavor. Perhaps from a neighboring country, as he was sure he knew all the members of Cordonian high society, having grown up amongst them.

They didn’t speak as he trailed behind her. She stopped at the last door on the right side of the hall. The largest of the guest rooms, reserved for guests closest to the crown. Interesting.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a smile that was almost shy before sliding her keycard through the reader.

That look-innocence and reticence, bordering on nervousness, mixed with anticipation and desire-turned his insides to liquid fire. He folded both hands into fists at his sides in an attempt to stop himself from grabbing her before they even made it into her room.

She placed her clutch on a small table next to the door as he closed it behind them. She turned to face him. The rise and fall of her chest betrayed her arousal. Her eyes lifted to meet his as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

His eyes dipped down to her mouth, taking in her plump, full, luscious lips. With a soft groan, he reached for her, and she stumbled into his embrace. His hand cupped her cheek as he tipped her head up to give himself access to that sexy, pouty mouth.

Her lips parted under his, warm and soft. She tasted like cherries and fine wine. She smelled like lavender and lilac; the sweet scent flooded his senses as her body melted into his.

Riley Brooks had never given herself so unreservedly to a stranger before. From the moment he’d run into her in the ballroom, she’d been thrown off kilter. Heat radiated from his body; electricity snapped between them. His gaze penetrated her soul and the musky scent he gave off made her mouth water.

There were a million reasons she shouldn’t be doing this, but her lust-clouded brain couldn’t remember any of them in the moment.

Drake Walker had never had a woman push him so far off balance before and he’d never had one yield under his touch so quickly and so completely. He wound her hair around one hand and pulled her closer as his other hand roamed from her cheek, down the hollow of her throat to close around a voluptuous breast.

The soft moans that spilled from her throat at his touch sent lightning bolts through the entirety of his being. Emboldened, he moved his lips from hers to follow the path already blazed by his hand. He laid gentle kisses on her throat, her pulse thundering under his tongue. His tongue lavished attention on her decolletage as he released her hair and pressed his fingers into her back.

She arched up into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair and pulling his head forward as the sounds issuing from her increased in both pitch and intensity.

Quiet curses fell from his mouth as he grasped and yanked the zipper of her dress. He shoved the dress, helping it fall down her body.

The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her bare before him, save for the strappy silver heels that graced her perfectly pedicured feet. He rested his forehead against hers as his eyes greedily drank her in. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Riley shivered as the huskiness of his voice, the warmth of his breath, and the awe in his tone sent goosebumps cascading down her spine. His fingers trailed fire along her body as they resumed their journey, probing and touching every part of her as if it was his to take.

And for the moment, it was.

She surrendered every ounce of agency to him, she craved him, every bit of him, her body was ready to combust under his touch.

She was already soaking wet when his fingers slid between her legs, stroking, arousing, exciting her, and sending pure bliss thrumming through her body. He lowered his mouth to ear, “That’s right, darlin’, let me see you fall apart for me.”

Her knees turned to jelly as she did exactly that. White hot pleasure built to a crescendo then crashed over her like a tidal wave as she screamed out every profanity she knew.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” His desperate need for her kicked into overdrive as he watched the ecstasy flood her features. Scooping her up, he crossed the room to the bed in several long strides, tossing her onto it as he ripped his own clothes off.

He nearly tripped kicking out of his pants as the lust-fueled frenzy she had inspired in him made him careless, clumsy, and heedless of what his own body was doing.

When he was free of the cumbersome clothing, he turned back to her, pausing to take in the sight of her sprawled out on the bed, naked, flushed, and trembling. He closed his eyes tightly as he struggled to hold out long enough to get inside her. Drake Walker had never been a premature ejaculator before, but he was in danger of it now.

“What are you waiting for?” her voice shook with desire.

“Fuck!” He muttered as he crawled onto the bed and positioned himself over her. Something that felt almost as emotional as it did sexual slid through his chest as he sank himself into her.

Her body arched up to greet him, her nails sank into his back as her arms encircled him and her teeth scraped across his chest.

He had intended to go slowly, at least at first, but her touch, her scent, and the sounds she was making all conspired to send his self-control flying out the window. She was warm and wet and tight around him, and he gave up the idea of restraint as he lost himself in her. His thrusts quickly increased in both speed and strength as he pounded into her frantically.

The sound of her screams as she came apart underneath him, coupled with the exquisite sensation of her nails biting into his back pushed him the rest of the way over the edge. He slammed into her again as he exploded inside her with a ragged cry of his own.

Sweat coating his body, he collapsed on top of her, unwilling or unable to pull out. He buried his head in her hair, inhaling the intoxicating lavender and lilac scent as if to commit it to memory.

They lay wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, not talking, for several long minutes before hands and lips started moving again. Soft caresses quickly turned into demanding ones and before he knew it, he was on his back staring up at her as she bounced on top of him, his fingers digging into her hips as he came inside her again.

“I’ve never gotten hard again that quickly before,” he told her as she moved off him and dropped onto the mattress next to him.

“Good,” she smirked at him, the earlier self-consciousness gone.  

He rolled up on his side to look at her, “You said you’d tell me your name if I made you scream. I believe you screamed about four times tonight, ma’am.”

She gave him that brilliant grin that turned him inside out, “A deal’s a deal! I-“

The landline on the bedside table rang and the smile ran away from her face, “Sorry, hold on.” She picked it up and put it to her ear, “Hello?.... Resting, the ball became a little much, I needed a break…..how very benevolent of you to understand…..” Her voice was acrid. She listened for a moment then closed her eyes and blew out a sigh before telling the caller, “Yes, fine.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Drake raised his eyebrows, “Boyfriend?"

“What?” she looked at him in surprise then shook her head, “Not really….sort of….it’s complicated…”

“Isn’t it always?”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He took her left hand in his and kissed the back of it while looking up at her, “There’s not a ring on your finger, I may have just met you, but I’m absolutely certain that any man who’s had the opportunity, but not the sense, to lock you down properly, probably doesn’t deserve you. Besides, I’m not afraid of a little competition.”

She laughed as she drew her hand away, “It’s a competition now, is it?”

“Damn straight it is! And I think it’s only fair that you should know….I always win.”

[altschmerzes]

🗣 for something to hold onto ? (i’m totally obsessed w chap 1 + v excited for the next one <3!)

THANK YOUUUU i'm so glad you're enjoying it :') i'm making excellent progress with it and i'm getting hyped for part 2

🗣 Share your favorite dialogue exchange.

many favourites but here's this one. it's a bit on the long side, but -

“I’m just- I know I’m a…” Mac trails off, frustrated and embarrassed. He looks away, out through the railing at the edge of the deck and to the hazy horizon of the city. Swallowing hard, he forces himself to finish, even though the words are thick and difficult to get out. “I’m a lot of work right now. Too much work. So just… Sorry.”

There’s a sharp inhale and a harsh exhale and Mac turns to look back at Bozer so quickly that his neck hurts from the movement. The expression on Bozer’s face isn’t what he was expecting. It’s twisted up and frustrated and Mac braces for what’s coming next, braces to find out he really has been too much this time and his oldest friend is fed up with it.

“So what?” Bozer finally says. It comes out in something like a snap, a bit loud and all determined and not remotely what Mac was expecting. “So what? Who cares? I mean, like- Look. I don’t think that’s what I’m probably supposed to say here, but just- So what? Who cares if you’re a lot of work?”

Stunned completely silent, Mac stares at him. Bozer is the one not making eye contact this time. He gets up and starts pacing and all Mac can do is sit on the Adirondack chair and watch him.

“I was a lot of work when I got stabbed,” Bozer announces, stopping mid-step and spinning on his heel to face Mac. His expression is intense and his eyes blaze with something that Mac can’t really identify. “You did everything for me for like, a month. And when things went bad with Elwood and Riley didn’t get out of bed for a week you basically lived over there, and you drove Jack all the way to fucking Texas and back when he broke his knee right before his mom’s birthday.”

Mac feels strange. His eyes burn and he feels brittle and hollow, like if the wind picked up it might carry him away. He wants to go back inside, to hide somewhere nobody can look at him, where nobody will so much as know that he’s there, but he doesn’t. Despite the frantic instinct battering the inside of his chest, Mac stays put and looks at Bozer, who is breathing hard, his shoulders moving noticeably up and down.

“Sometimes,” Bozer says, fierce and beginning to sound a little unsteady, “people are a lot of work when they’re hurt, and you’re hurt. He hurt you, Mac.” His voice breaks on ‘hurt.’ It honestly sounds like he might cry, and Mac’s own vision blurs at the same time. “So I don’t… I just don’t care, and they don’t care either. Whatever kind of work it is, however much, I want to do it, because it’s you, and that’s what you do when you love someone. Sometimes, it’s work.”

[dcbbw]

Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. Commoners Wife. 😘

Sorry (not really), I was thinking about it this morning and now I can’t stop lol

#My Meredith! Thank you so much for this ask!

I was going to throwback (it IS Thursday), but figured my readers have read through this incomplete series at least once.

I was going to snippet some of the WIP (Drake and Riley's wedding) I need to finish, but decided, naw.

So below is what the hell I pulled out of my ass while I should've been working at the job I get paid to do.

It's lemony, so giving it a blanket NSFW tag (but my smut is so rusty at this point, the story is probs safe for Bible study)

And here we go ....

The pads of his long fingers burn into her bare skin as he palms her full breasts; his lips whisper dry kisses along the side of her neck before drifting down the column of her throat. His hardened manhood, throbbing with need, presses insistently against a shapely thigh.

“I hear Lady Hana is staying at the Palace,” Duchess Riley Brooks-Walker states accusingly as she pours herself a cup of green tea.

King Liam looks over, his expression neutral but for the flash of annoyance in his eyes. “The Palace is home to many, Your Grace.”

The monarch has traveled to Valtoria for the duchy’s mid-year budget review, an appointment that has been on both their calendars since the beginning of the fiscal year. His eyes travel over the Duchess’ form, clad in a jewel-toned jumpsuit, before resuming his breakfast.

His large palms are splayed against her hips, his tongue blazing a southward trail along her midriff. Riley’s breath hitches as her legs spread open further. The faint aroma of her arousal reaches his nostrils and his ministrations become quicker, faster. Normally he is a leisurely lover, ensuring she reaches every peak and high she can consume before allowing himself release. But now is different; he feels the need to mark her as territory, claim her as property.

She allows it. They both need to be reminded to whom they belong.

“It’s not a good look, Liam. She needs to be housed in a duchy.”

The King laughs, though it is without mirth. “Currently, she resides in the ultimate duchy. And I see nothing wrong with her spending time in the Capital.”

His eyes narrow shrewdly at the Duchess who is using her fork to stab at her eggs. “You’re jealous,” he correctly deduces.

Her eyes lift and hold his gaze. “A single woman sharing the same roof as a single King who is searching for a wife? Tongues will wag, and rumors will fly.”

“Yet, you were fine with her at Ramsford.”

His shaft slides slowly into her entrance; he hisses at tight pink walls wrapping around his erection. Her legs are tossed over his shoulder and he turns his head to kiss her calf. Their dance, one older than time itself, begins slowly as he pushes into, then pulls his entire length out of her. Her hips undulate slowly against his groin, her nails scratching against random patches of skin. His scent fills her nostrils, causing her center to wetten even more.

“In case you have forgotten, Lady Riley, you are married. I am not. And as valuable as your contributions are to both Court and country … no one is looking to you to lead Cordonia. You could have been leading by my side, but again, that’s a choice you made.”

“I know both my status and my station, Your Majesty!” Riley responds snappishly. “I realize you need a wife and the country needs a Queen. All I am suggesting is that your search for one be conducted a bit more … discreetly.”

The King arches a brow. “Any potential courtships will be conducted as I see fit. I have to live with your choices, quite sure you can live with mine.”

The Duchess tosses her cloth napkin angrily, yet harmlessly against the table. “If you insist on keeping Hana at the Palace, whatever we are … whatever we have, it’s over!”

“The conversation perhaps,” the King partially agrees as he sips coffee.

The couple’s movements are frantic, almost frenzied. Slick skin slaps against slick skin as his cock sloppily slides within her slippery folds. Their breaths are gasps as they both feel their orgasms rising. His chest and back are marked and scratched, her neck and breasts are passionately marked. His fingertips dig into her buttocks as her legs slide down his body to lock around his waist. The heels of her feet dig into his lower back, spurring him on.

Muscles tighten, yells pierce the air, and stars explode behind closed eyes as they climax simultaneously. His seed splashes her walls, her juices coat his shaft; he collapses atop her, his breath ragged and hot against her cheek.

“God, I love you Brooks. The next two days in Lythikos will be the longest of my life,” Drake Walker murmurs against his wife’s shoulder before kissing her deeply.

Riley is grateful for the kiss; it swallows the answer she doesn’t have to give.

The Duchess leads the way to the formal library where the Cordornian Comptroller and the Duchy of Valtoria’s Financial Director await her and the King. Her strides are long and sure in her Louboutin stilettos; the King meanders behind her, his eyes trained on her ass as she walks.

“There is nothing between Lady Hana and myself,” he offers as both explanation and apology.

Riley stops, looking over her shoulder suspiciously at her monarch, her lover.

“I know I have no right to dictate who you see, but I’m still so in love with you,” she says softly. “I feel … I feel as if I’m losing you.”

Liam steps forward quickly, pulling Riley into a heated embrace, followed by a passionate kiss to swallow the answer he doesn’t need to give.

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbless @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiary

[beammeupbroadway]

Find the Word/ Manuscript Search Tag

Tagged by the lovely @setaflow (here is her post please go show her girl love Riley needs it)

Words I had to play with were wait, wind, teeth, and hope. Three are from a published fic (Fool on the Hill) and one from an unpublished longer fic I’ve been working on for a couple of years because I am very slow

Wait

Metal hand tapping against the floor, Johnny turned his gaze away from her. If she didn't know better, she'd have recognised shame on his face.

"Worst thing they can do to you, take who you are..." Johnny hit his head against the wall, metal fingers clenching in a fist. "Don't have any more answers than you do, doll. For what it's worth, don't fuckin' want this any more than you."

Johnny shifted, turning round to fully face her, steeled expression as he leaned into her space, Valerie tensing at the intrusion. "You want an out? Oughta take it now. Not how I'd do it, but you wanna go out on your terms? Do us both a favour an' make it quick." He gestured to the gun on the table beside her. An out. One last act she could make. Preserve her integrity to her last moment.

It would be easier. God knows that gun felt like it had been pressed to her head since the day she was born, always waiting for an excuse to pull the trigger. A cold, unloveable creature. Waiting for the day someone put her down. At least this way it would be in her hands. Her choice.

Wind

She'd felt the wind knocked out of her when Johnny asked to go on a date with Rogue. Which was unfair. She'd just told him how important it was to have connections with the people in your life, and now she was bitter because he wanted to fix the ones he had?

It wasn't just that though. There was something more with Rogue, the 'what if that always hung in the air around them. She wanted him to do this, to get some closure, but it felt like signing her own death warrant. She knew the moment Rogue was back in the picture she might as well be gone.

Teeth

"And what, you think you're somethin'? Got news for you old man, you've been dead 50 years, nobody gives a fuck about Johnny Silverhand anymore, not even Arasaka. There's no score to settle, they've forgotten you and it's time you moved on and fucked off."

She gritted her teeth when his metal hand tugged hard on her hair, dragging her back round to face him. His face was so close she could feel his hair brushing against her, his expression menacing and teeth bared, his breath hot against her face.

"What, and you think you're gonna go out in some 'blaze of glory? Not in this fuckin' life Princess. Look at your choom Jackie-"

"Dont say his name you fuckin' asshole." She spat. The grip on her hair tightened, causing her to grimace, pushing down a small sound of pain that threatened to escape. She wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

"look where he is now. Bleedin' out in the back of a cab your idea of a blaze of glory? That ain't happenin'. Not for you. You're no Night City legend darlin', you're gonna end up right there alongside your choom in the long list of nobodies who died thinkin' they could be somthin' in this city.”

Hope

"Can we stay here for a bit longer? I know we have shit to-"

He silenced her with the press of his lips against her own, moving in tandem as they twined themselves round one another. She felt him relax into the mattress and allowed herself to do the same, any desire to move from that spot vanishing with the soft touch of his hand trailing down her arm.

"Stayin' here long as you want Darlin'."

She let her eyes drift shut, tentatively reaching out to his mind with her own. What she found there lay any worry she may have had to rest, complete and overwhelming devotion tangling with her own, indistinguishable from each other.

As they lay there, basking in the faint glow of the setting sun over the pacific as it encompassed them in it's warmth, she realised for the first time since Jackie died, she felt hope. Hope for a different future, for them to stay like this forever, wrapped up in each other's warmth, feeling like for the first time, they had both found their way home.

Tagging @glitchinginthegarden @trashcatsnark @skippygiraffee @neon-pink-witch @synthsinner and anyone else who wants to give it a go! ❤️

For the words stop, alone, and warm

[fmhiphop]

Issa Rae, Gabrielle Union, and Charles D. King to be Featured on New Chad Sander’s Podcast

 In October, Audible will gain a new podcast series entitled "Deposit: What Happens When Black People Get Rich, " And none other than Chad Sanders, author, and serial entrepreneur, will serve as host. Crucial Topics of Interest Issues of wealth and progress are crucial topics within the community. And Surely, given the context of this podcast, this medium will stimulate deep and meaningful conversation on those topics. "Deposit" will feature prominent and wealthy figures within the community sharing their invaluable experiences. And sources indicate Issa Rae, Charles D. King, and Gabrielle Union will be some of the first contributors.   Who is Chad Sanders?   Charles Sanders, the host of the new podcast series, is a successful businessman. He is no stranger to struggle. Rather he has worked his way to triumph.  In fact, he has worked diligently to find his voice and establish himself as a success in a world rife with inequity.  However, he has never held back his wealth of experience. Wonderfully, Sanders put his experiences on paper. And in 2021 his literary work entitled "Black Magic: What Leaders Learn from Trauma and Triumph" was published. His ethos for the work can be firmly summarized as Goodreads notes, "A defining look at Black Magic: resilience, creativity, and perseverance, forged in his experience navigating America as a Black man. " https://youtu.be/oRdAwqDkOog And graciously now, he is expanding his platform for a broader reach.    Sanders Podcast Guest: Issa Rae Issa Rae: Image Source: Getty Images   Issa Rae is known for blazing trails in Hollywood. There is no doubt that Rae embodies the spirit of what Nina Simone envisioned in her work,  "To be Young Gifted and Black."  Rae's path has led her to become an award-winning writer, director, and producer. And she uses her gifts to pour back into the community. According to sources, she has not only knocked down doors but continues to hold them open via HOORAE, her multi-media company. And as an extra boon, HOORAE has allowed Rae to expand her Executive Producer slate with the Emmy-award nominated A Black Lady Sketch Show, docuseries Sweet Life, and the HBOMax series, RAP SH*T, according to issarae.com.     Sanders Podcast Guest: Charles D. King   Charles D. King. Image Source: Variety King is also sharing the platform with Rae and Union to share his experiences, and rightly so. Charles D. King is a multi-media Titan with a heart for his community. He is the owner of a media conglomerate missioned as a bulwark in the community for people of color. According to Variety, "King’s businesses include film and TV studios, talent and influencer management divisions (M88 and UNCMMN, respectively), a branding and creative agency, and a venture-capital firm.” Additionally, King's work extends to magnifying voices of color through stories with a cultural impact, such as "Judas and The Black Messiah," "Fences," and "Just Mercy."  King's positioning as one of the top 500 Business leaders in entertainment, according to Variety, solidifies his position as a valued resource to listeners. Sanders Podcast Guest: Gabrielle Union Gabrielle Union. Image Source: Getty Images   Gabrielle Union will be the third professional rounding out the panelist.  And surely, she will serve as a worthy contributor. Gabrielle Union is an acclaimed actress. However, it is her diligence that has helped her ascend. From minor walk-on roles in "Family Matters" in the early 90s to more prolific roles in films like 2016, "Birth of Nations" Union earned her position. Now It is no secret that Union hasn’t always lived a “Life of Riley.” Regardless she remains grounded. And she now uses her growth and gains to empower others. According to IMDB,  the impactfulness of Union's activism has garnered her much respect. Reportedly the artist has even received praise from Oprah Winfrey for her activism and the passion she puts forth on the platforms available to her.  Cultural Treasure While the podcast is yet to air, it will be one not to be missed. Progress is like a staircase.  And sturdy staircases require a solid foundation built by contributors with a vested interest in heights of probable reach. Sander’s podcast stands to be a model within the community. and worthy of spotlighting. So, to discover what these enterprising professionals have to share, tune in to Sander’s eight-episode podcast series on its October 13th premiere. Written by: Renae Richardson Read the full article

[pledgedsouls]

@sakurarisen​ cont. from here!

At the question, Sera didn’t hesitate to hold up a pack of cards, beaming a bright, but soft, smile. It was only deliveries and watching the stall for the owner, but she’d still been quick to accept the job when offered - Especially when she’d found out the setup would let her get a good look of the duels going on for the tournament. Maybe she could pick up a few tips and tricks for her own deck, while she was at it?

“Deliveries and... Perhaps watching a few duels, myself.” But first, she’d needed to answer, a light laugh following it; that wasn’t much of a greeting, was it? “I’m sorry - Are you participating, today? Or just here to watch someone else dueling?”

“Oh--no, no, no! I don’t even have my own cards,” Riley admitted quickly. She didn’t want to be mistaken for a contestant!

But at the very least it seems like she ran into someone that actually knew what was going on here. After hearing Mokuba talk about the game so much, she’d finally taken some time to try and learn a bit more about it on her own time. 

“I was planning on watching a game or two to try and get an idea what all this is about. A friend of mine has a lot of experience with it and urged me to check out some tournaments. Do you know a lot? Anything you can suggest for a newbie?”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

➺ All works are F!Reader

➺ 18+ fics will be marked & all works will be sorted from most recent upload to least recent.

➺ Popular fics will be marked with a '✧'

ONE-SHOTS:

✎ STREET LAMPS & STORIES - Fluff, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [You have a nightmare; Simon is there to comfort you.] ❞

✎ TO BE ALIVE IN SUMMER - Intense gore, torture, angst, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.] ❞

✎ IF YOU BITE MY HAND AGAIN - Heavy angst, abandonment, Simon's comic backstory, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.] ❞

✎ UNTITLED - Angst, death, panic attack

╰┈➤ ❝ [Civilian reader kills someone out of self defense for the first time.] ❞

✎ BROTHER'S COWORKER - Fluff, banter, pining, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.] ❞

✎ BLOOD WAS ITS AVATAR - 18+, angst, blood, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him?] ❞

✎ HARVEST STORMS - Angst, father!Simon & daughter!reader, injuries

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.] ❞

✎ BETWEEN DREAMS AND SUGAR - Torture, gore violence, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.] ❞

✎ A GOOD MAN - Simon's past traumas, his psyche, fluff, ✧

╰┈➤ ❝ [If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.] ❞

MULTI-PART WORKS:

➺ 'TIL IT HURTS:

✎ PART ONE - 18+, gore, violence

╰┈➤ ❝ [You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?] ❞

✎ PART TWO - 18+, gore, violence

╰┈➤ ❝ [See above.] ❞

➺ NEICE!READER:

✎ ANOTHER WORD FOR PROTECTION MASTERLIST - Simon's comic backstory

╰┈➤ ❝ [To you, another word for protection wasn't even a word at all, it was a single name: Simon Riley.] ❞

[kaibacorpbros]

In with the New

Mokuba was a tolerant person. Even to a fault.

But there were still certain lines, ones he wouldn’t allow to be crossed.

Which was why this kid sitting near his table badmouthing Kaiba Corp for a solid hour had Mokuba as tense as a bowstring in his seat.

It wasn’t his business. Besides, probably a kid of someone that got kicked out when the KC switched to a gaming company. Kid looked like he could have been old enough to remember that many years ago.

Mokuba shouldn’t get involved.

“And Kaiba himself is sketchy. Ya know how he took over? His predecessor died. But all that news was swept under the rug like no one’s business. And he doesn’t give a shit about his employees. Threw my old man out on his ass over nothing—”

And then one of the members in the little posse said what Mokuba assumed was the name of the kid’s dad. Saying how nice the man was. But there was something that sounded familiar…

Mokuba didn’t even realize he had crossed the distance between him and the other guy. He knew who the kid’s father was. Seto had kicked the man out because he was a traitor. A lingering supporter of the Big 5 that was part of the employee purge Seto conducted. What kind of story did the guy give the family!? Not the truth by a long shot.

“Who the hell are you? We got a problem?” the kid barked.

Mokuba pushed the other boy out of his chair, and his fist collided with the other’s cheek. A couple of people around them started screaming. But this boy was much bigger than Mokuba, and after the initial shock, it didn’t take long for him to strike back.

It got messy, and eventually, the bystanders managed to pull the two apart.

Thankfully Mokuba had his hair up and a hat and scarf on, so it didn’t seem he was recognized. But looking down at the flecks of blood on his knuckles, a bit of the other boy’s and his own, the gravity of what he’d done settled in, and he bolted.

_____

“Ya don’t look like the brawling type,” the cashier at the gas station Mokuba had ducked into remarked as she rang up a bag of ice.

“I’m not, I—” but no decent explanation could leave the younger Kaiba’s tongue.

“It’s whatever dude, just try not and make it a habit, especially not around here, I was just about to close.”

Oh great. Oh great, it just kept getting worse.

“S-sorry…”

Mokuba handed the cashier a twenty and told her to keep the change as he pressed the ice to a bruise on his face and turned to leave.

“Hey! Don’t leave like that, all that blood on your knuckles is just gonna make a mess if you don’t patch it up.”

The young lady who’s nametag read “Riley" had taken her own backpack out from under the counter and within a few moments flung a box of band-aids at Mokuba’s face.

“Go outside and start opening those up while I lock the doors. But don’t put them on yet—I got some medicine somewhere in this thing, just gotta take a minute to find it.”

“R-right, on it.”

_____

“And I honestly don’t even know what came over me. I don’t usually get angry, nor do I even have much of a reason to be defending him after everything. Hell, I felt conflicted enough by shipping him a gift for New Years this morning.”

Was it wrong to be venting so much to a stranger he just met over hot cocoa in a twenty-four-hour diner? Probably. This lady wasn’t a therapist—but honestly with how she listened and discussed as the younger Kaiba babbled could have fooled him. But then again, maybe it was largely due to the fact that he hadn’t stopped for very long enough to really get a read on what opinion Riley had on everything he was info-dumping.

“Really? What’d you send him?”

“Just an outfit I designed, more lowkey than his usual stuff because I heard he’s been leaning that way anyway.”

Riley dropped another handful of marshmallows in her mug.

“That’s not exactly a low-effort gift, Mokuba.”

“O-Oh! I didn’t sew it all myself or anything—I can do a bit, but I had some friends in the theatre crew I’ve been working with help me out. Ha, pretty simple compared to what they’re used to.”

“What’s on their usual to-do list? Costume with exploding fake head?” Riley asks with a smirk.

“Well….”

A marshmallow gets tossed at Mokuba.

“Now you’re just pulling my leg.”

“It was worth a shot,” Mokuba says with a cheeky grin. “But we did an exploding dummy once. Or…several.”

Light laughter lays between the two before Riley carefully considers her next words. She didn’t want to kill Mokuba’s mood more than it already was unless he wanted to truly hear what she had to say.

“Do you want my honest opinion?” The tink of a spoon hitting the edges of the cup as she stirs seems to be the only sound in the building.

After a moment of deliberation, Mokuba nods.

“I think…you’re so used to caring for your brother that you can’t imagine not doing so. But going how it sounds, it seems this isn’t a new thing. And I don’t think people like that change. No usually anyway.”

The expression Mokuba now had on his face made her want to backpedal. It felt like kicking a puppy.

“Of course not saying it’s a sealed deal or anything just—you know.”

Mokuba took to picking at the Band-Aids on his digits.

“No, I know—get what you’re saying. I…I’ll keep that in mind.” He clears his throat with a cough.

“I’d like to change the subject though. You uh, been working here long?”

“Ha! That old place? Nah, just a placeholder.”

Like every job was.

“I’m going east after this, everything’s too crowded here. And the prices are insane, I don’t even want to know how you’re getting screwed over by the conversion rate.”

Oh, Mokuba had an idea. And he was sure Seto was seeing that loss.

“Very. You traveling too, huh?”

Maybe they didn’t have to say goodbye so soon.

 _____

Front or back? Seto wondered as he fiddled with his scarf hanging down his front. He’d grown used to wrapping it loosely around his neck and fall over his back so the eyes on it stared out behind him. But the design sketch for the outfit he’d gotten from Mokuba had it just hooked over the back of the neck down the front of the coat.

Turns out, he wouldn’t have time to debate over it anymore as the door to the apartment he was standing outside opened.

“How many white coats do you have?” Diva asked.

“I’ve…not really stopped to count.”

Maybe he should do that sometime. But what could he say? Blue white and black were his colors.

He gave a half turn. “Mokuba designed it.”

“How do you know? I thought—”

“He’s the only one who sends me clothes. And he has a style I can recognize. But no, there was no letter or anything like that.”

Diva held out a hand and after Seto nodded, straightened the scarf, so both sides were a bit more even.

“He has one I approve of,” the ex-Plana said with a small smile as the two-headed out together for the night. _____

// this is a hella late new years/holiday thing thanks to my lil hiatus rippp. Anywho, hope everyone had a nice holiday/winter. 

The outfit that Mokuba designed and made was the one Kenjiro-san had for the Duel Opera! I’m sure you’ve seen fanart of Kaiba in them-- it’s all the same sans he’s got the previous blue chaos max themed scarf instead.

Also introduced and OC who may also be a bit of an NPC over on this blog for interactions with Mokuba. But mostly Riley will be over at @pledgedsouls

[refinedbuffoonery]

This one screams MacRiley to me: “There’s a storm and omg I’m losing signal are you okay?? Hold on let me drive 489432 miles to get you the night before christmas” 

I got a little carried away with this one lmao.

Mac doesn’t expect his phone to light up with Riley’s name at 11 pm on Christmas Eve. What is she calling him for? She’s supposed to be spending Christmas at a cabin near Lake Tahoe with her mom. 

Frowning, he accepts the FaceTime call. As soon as her face fills the screen, he asks, “Are you okay?” 

A flash of emotion crosses her face, but it vanishes before Mac can figure out what it means. “Yeah, we’re fine. Although, I can’t say the same for the radiator.” She tilts her phone, bringing an ancient radiator into view. “It quit working, and I can’t figure out how to fix it.” 

Mac exhales a sigh of relief. She’s okay. Once the panic recedes, he smiles and offers, “I’ll walk you through it.” 

“Thanks.” Mac barely catches Riley’s sheepish smile before she flips the camera around. 

“Merry Christmas, Mac.” Riley’s mom’s voice echoes in the background. “Who are you celebrating with this year?” 

“Mom,” Riley groans, “I already told you. He and Bozer drove home to spend Christmas with Bozer’s parents.” 

“Oh hush, baby girl,” her mom chastises. “Let the man speak for himself. Is Bozer making his pastrami again this year?” 

Mac chuckles. “Well, it wouldn’t be Christmas without Bozer’s pastrami.” 

“That’s good to hear. Now hurry up and fix the radiator. It’s cold in here!” 

“Yes ma’am,” Mac says. Addressing Riley, he asks, “So, what are we working with?” 

Fixing the radiator is easy enough. Riley sits on the floor, holding the phone between her feet so she has both hands free. Mac leans back against the headboard, content to watch Riley’s manicured fingers work. “The dark green looks nice,” he says, absentmindedly. 

“What?” 

Crap, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Your nails,” he rushes to clarify. 

“Oh.” A moment later. “Thanks.” 

Oh god, why did he have to make it awkward? Talking to Riley is never awkward. Now he’s being weird. Why is this so weird? Mac shakes his head, disrupting the spiraling chain of thoughts. 

“How’s Tahoe?” he asks, determined to break the now-awkward silence. 

“Good!” The mood shifts instantly at Riley’s bright tone. “It’s so gorgeous here, Mac. If Matty doesn’t have us off on some real-life version of Die Hard, we should come back at New Year’s.” 

Mac snorts. “With all the tourists there for SnowGlobe? No thanks.” 

“Mac,” she scolds. “Don’t be mean to tourists.” 

“Says the woman who grew up in LA. You hate tourists even more than I do!” 

Her silence only confirms that he’s correct. 

“So,” Mac continues, “your mom said that it’s cold there. Is it snowing?” 

Finished fixing the radiator, Riley flips the camera so it points at her face again. She isn’t wearing any makeup, Mac notices right away. She looks pretty without it. “Yeah,” she says. “There’s going to be a big storm tonight. Donner Pass is supposed to get a couple feet of snow overnight.” 

That’s a lot, Mac thinks. He tells her as much. Riley and her mom are staying near there, in some off the grid area between Sugar Bowl and Donner Lake. She’d sent him the details before she had left, in case of an emergency. 

“Anyway,” Riley says. “I’ll let you get back to the party. Thanks for your help.” 

As much as Mac loves Bozer’s family, he wouldn’t mind talking to Riley all night. He doesn’t know how to tell her that without it being weird, so he just says, “Of course. Anytime, Riles.” 

She hangs up, and Mac realizes he’d trade Bozer’s toasty house for a too-cold cabin in the middle of nowhere in a heartbeat. 

*****

Mac definitely doesn’t expect it when Riley calls him again at 2 am. It’s just a normal call this time, not a FaceTime request. 

The line goes dead as soon as he picks up. 

He tries again. Nothing. 

Again. It goes straight to voicemail. Before he can hang up and try again, his phone rings. Riley’s calling. 

He picks up immediately. 

“Mac—” she starts. 

The line goes dead, again. Shit. 

Mac races to the living room. He turns the TV on to the local news, quickly lowering the volume so he doesn’t wake anyone up. A blonde news anchor stands in front of a map of Lake Tahoe, and Mac reads the headline scrolling across the screen. 

STORM KNOCKS OUT POWER THROUGHOUT TAHOE AREA, OVERNIGHT TEMPS EXPECTED TO DROP WELL BELOW FREEZING. 

Riley. She needs help. Why else would she call in the middle of the night? 

Mac scrambles to find his boots and a coat. Bozer shuffles into view, rubbing his eyes and looking less than thrilled at being awake at this hour. 

“Mac, what are you doing? It’s 2 am dude.” 

“Riley called. I’m going to go get her.” 

“In the middle of the night?” Bozer frowns. “Is she okay?” 

Mac pats his pockets, looking for his keys. “I don’t know. She called a bunch of times but the line kept going dead before she could say anything. They’re getting snow tonight and the power went out. I just need to make sure she’s alright.” 

Bozer clears his throat, and Mac looks up to see his best friend dangling his car keys in front of his face. He mutters his thanks. 

“Tahoe’s more than three hours away man,” Bozer says. “Are you sure she didn’t just butt dial you or something?” 

They both know Riley Davis never butt dials people. Ever. 

Mac sighs. “I’ll just drive myself crazy sitting here and not knowing, so I might as well go.” 

Bozer gives him a knowing look. “Okay. There’s chains in the garage, and you can borrow my dad’s ski jacket.” 

“I have chains in the truck, but I will take the jacket.” Mac starts filling water bottles and collecting snacks while Bozer fetches the coat. Keeping his hands busy doesn’t do much to staunch the worst-case scenarios running through his head. What if she—

No. He couldn’t think like that. 

Bozer returns with the heavy coat and accompanies Mac to his truck. “Be safe, okay?” 

Mac squeezes his best friend’s shoulder. “I’ll be safe.” He jumps in the truck and flies backward out the driveway. 

I’m coming, Riles. 

*****

It’s almost 6 am when Mac pulls up in front of the cabin. An unfamiliar car is parked in front, buried to its bumper in fresh snow. It must be Riley’s mom’s. 

Mac trudges through the snow, suddenly wishing he’d traded his Christmas pajama pants in for snow pants. He kicks away the snow piled in front of the cabin door that’s preventing it from opening all the way. “Riles!” he calls. Mac raps his knuckles against the old wood. “Riley!” He knocks again. 

He’s about to call her name a third time when he hears a faint, “Mac?” 

There’s a scrambling noise on the other side of the door, but then it swings open and Riley’s standing in the doorway, nose pink despite being bundled up like she’s planning on spending the night outside. Considering how cold it must be in the cabin, she might as well be. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks. 

“You called.” 

Bewilderment contorts Riley’s face. “I—” she trails off. “You drove all the way out here just because my call didn’t go through?” 

Now Mac feels awkward. And kind of stupid. “Uhh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

There it is again, that emotion he can’t place. “Wow,” she says, and not in a sarcastic way. She shakes her head, stepping aside to let him in. “God, come in. You’re probably cold.” 

Mac follows her inside, muttering, “Like it’s any warmer in here.” 

Never letting Riley out of his peripheral vision, Mac scans the small cabin. It’s cute, with well-loved furniture and lake themed decorations. The blazing fire casts an orange glow over the room. Mac’s eyes land on Riley’s mom, curled on the couch underneath a mountain of blankets with a fluffy, white dog butt covering her lap. The dog’s head rests beside the free end of the blankets—presumably where Riley had been sleeping. 

“When did your mom get a Husky?” he asks in a low voice. 

Riley shoots him a “get a load of this” look. “She didn’t. That’s what I called you about. I brought in a new load of firewood around one, and I heard her barking. There’s a pond maybe twenty yards that way—” Riley points— “and she’d fallen in.” 

Riley rubs her hands together. Without thinking, Mac gently grabs her icy hands and holds them between his warm ones. Both their gazes suddenly snap to their joined hands, but neither comments. 

Riley continued her story. “We got her out okay, but I was afraid she’d end up with hypothermia. I called you because I didn’t know what to do.” 

Oh. “So what did you do?” 

“We managed to dry her with a hair dryer and let her drink warm water before the power went out, but since then we’ve just piled on the couch.” Riley shivers. “I think she’s okay now.” 

“Are you okay?” Riley’s tough, but she’s not immune from scary situations. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s false bravado, but Mac doesn’t call her on it. 

Instead, he jerks his chin toward the couch. “Is there room for one more?” 

Riley visibly relaxes. “I don’t know,” she drawls, “the dog’s quite a bed hog.” Mac laughs. 

There’s definitely not room for four on the couch, but they make it work. Riley moves a few cushions onto the floor to give them more space. Mac waits for her to squeeze between the dog and the back of the couch before taking the remaining space between the dog and the edge. He doesn’t fit. 

He hisses, “Can you move over any more? My butt’s hanging off the edge.” The dog lifts her head and licks his face in a mocking “no.” 

Riley scoots back, but there’s barely a difference. “Sorry. That’s all you get.” 

Mac sighs. “Well, then the dog’s getting squished.” He reaches across the mass of white fluff to wrap an arm around Riley’s back and pull himself further onto the couch, pinning the dog between their stomachs in the process. 

He doesn’t need to keep holding her—hell, he probably shouldn’t keep holding her—but Mac doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps watch over his girls as they fall asleep, first the dog, then Riley. And when their soft breathing is the only sound in the eerie stillness of a snowy morning, Mac lets himself drift off as well.

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts chp 30

T/W: blood, gore, death

A/N: finally. It’s finished. I’m sorry this took so long, my mental health was not good. Thank you to everyone who’s enjoyed this story, it means a lot 💜

Billy’s POV

“She’s not waking up!”

Steve pressed harder on Katrina’s chest, forcing her heart to keep beating and yelled back at me, “I know!”

He forced her head back to blow into her mouth, pausing for a moment before resuming CPR. There was an audible crack when one of Katrina’s ribs broke under Steve’s hands.

“Oh god” Riley gasped as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

I looked over at the girls. Riley, with her frightened eyes and glistening cheeks. Brook, with her fingers digging into Riley’s arm as she tried to look anywhere but at Katrina’s body on the ground. Audrey, who couldn’t look away even as her sisters clung to her. Tris, who was holding Audrey’s hand with a white knuckle grip.

“Bring her back!” I hissed.

“I’m trying!” Steve snapped, “just back the fuck up!” He scrubbed a hand down his face and huffed before continuing, “just…take the girls and go to the road, flag down the ambulance.”

–

Katrina’s POV

I came to with a gasp, still in Neil’s world. Fire had started to spread outside the fireplace, slowly moving to consume this world. Neil stood in front of me, a knife in his hand as he clutched his head. His head snapped up to look at me when I moved.

“Katrina,” he breathed, falling to his knees to gather me in his arms, “I thought you were gone…I thought I was too late but I stopped myself. I can be in control, Katrina, I can. We can be happy, you just need to wake up…please.”

I wrapped my fingers around the knife in his hand, slowly pulling it into mine.

“Don’t you want to be with me?” He asked, “we can be together, Katrina. I love you.”

“I know,” I murmured, “I know you do, Neil.”

I slid the blade between our chests, tipping the point against his skin. He pulled his face from my shoulder to look at me, eyes watering.

“Don’t,” he murmured, “you don’t have to do this.”

My hands shook and the blade nicked his chest, bringing a drop of blood to the surface. A flash and he was glaring down at me, pressing into the blade.

“Do it…do it…do it!” Neil yelled, grabbing my arms tight.

I flinched, the tip of the knife slipping into his skin. Screamed when the fire exploded out, raining bits of metal and brick around us. Neil pulled me close, shielding me. One of his hands fell behind me, keeping us stable until the rubble stopped falling.

“If I can’t have you, I’ll take you with me,” he growled in my ear.

I choked on a cry when hot metal pierced the skin on my stomach, sizzling past muscle. A sick clattering when he pulled the metal from my flesh and dropped it to the ground.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his hand moving to cradle my face, “I’ve got you.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, salty water catching on Neil’s tongue.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “we’ll be together now.”

His blood stained fingers wrapped around my wrist, forcing me to slide the blade of the knife between his ribs. A breath hitched when it pulled free and blood poured down his chest. Fingers gripped at burnt flesh, pressing in until I curled into his shoulder, teeth bared against his skin. Tears flowed hot down my cheeks, dripping to roll down Neil’s shoulder. He tried to talk, to comfort me, but a wet cough sprayed into my neck instead.

I could see the edges of this world he’d created crumbling. Burning to ash and floating away into the darkness. I watched through unfocusing eyes as the pink bathtub slowly disappeared.

“I…love..you,” he choked.

“I know.”

–

Billy’s POV

“You’re gunna wear out the floor, pacing like that.”

“And you’re going to be chewing on bone pretty soon,” I quipped back, turning to look at Audrey.

She lowered her hand from her mouth and returned my glare with a huff. A smile pulled at Tris’s lips as she untangled her fingers from Audrey’s other hand and stood up.

“Come on,” Tris soothed, touching my arm gently, “let’s take a walk..get some coffee.”

I followed her from the waiting room, neither of us talking as we made our way to the cafeteria. Tris ordered the coffees, quietly talking to the older woman behind the counter while I stared at the too white walls around us.

This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Katrina put herself in danger in the first place. I didn’t need to talk to my mom.

“It’s not your fault,” Tris murmured, pushing a steaming paper cup into my hand.

I tightened my fingers on the cup, letting the sting of burning skin distract me. She led me towards a lonely table against the back wall of the cafeteria, set the tray of coffees down and pulled out a chair to sit. I slumped into the chair across from her, wrapping both hands around the cup now.

“You a mind reader or something?”

She smiled, pulling the lid off her coffee to stir in sugar, “don’t need to be to know what you’re thinking, you might as well be screaming it to the world.”

I sighed, “it was stupid, letting her do that for me..”

“Did it heal you? Talking to your mom?”

I thought back to that night in the basement, my mom’s voice mixing with Katrina’s. The feeling of old walls breaking down, of relief washing over still raw wounds. Wounds that didn’t hurt so much anymore.

I thought of Katrina hitting the floor, the cruel voice that came from her after that. Her burnt skin after blacking out in the shower, the smell of her blood in the cabin.

“Yes, but-”

Tris’s smooth fingers wrapped around mine, “then it wasn’t stupid. Katrina knew the risks, she wanted to help you. And Olivia.”

“But…if she dies..”

“Don’t give up on her, Billy. She’s strong.”

–

Katrina’s POV

I woke up in a forest, surrounded by black, twisted trees illuminated by roaring flames. The cabin where Neil had taken over poured black smoke as it burned.

“You’re going to die here, with us.”

I spun to see the dark version of myself step out of the trees. Her skin had paled even more, black veins now visible through near transparent skin. Black eyes now burned like embers in the hollows of her face. Her fingers had turned black and I could see trails of ash floating away from her.

A haunting wail sounded through the forest, making my hair stand on end.

“You’re dying,” I murmured.

A smile, “we’re dying, Katrina. You’re coming too.”

“Is he gone?”

She shook her head and pointed to the cabin, a wisp of ash following her movement. I watched as a figure appeared through the blaze. Neil strode forward through the fire, unbothered by the heat and the smoke. But he had changed, back to the twisted man from my nightmares. His beautiful, sharp face was now a bloody agonized snarl. His chest and torso bent and broken at harsh angles. Blackened fingers curled into sharp claws that dug into my skin when he grasped my chin. The sound of metal twisting and screaming rang loud in my head at his touch.

“We could have had everything,” he growled, dark blood pouring from his mouth when he spoke.

“Neil, please,” I pleaded.

“I loved you!” he yelled, sharp fingers moving to twist in my hair and yank my head back.

His other hand dug into the wound on my stomach, fingers reaching and cutting into my body. Tears ran down my face as I screamed and pleaded for him to let me go.

Olivia’s words played in my head, ‘I thought I found my Prince Charming in Neil, but now I understand. Prince Charming and Bluebeard are the same man and you don’t get a happy ending. Not unless you can love both of them.’

I looked up at Neil’s mangled face and cupped it gently with my hand. He looked confused when he met my gaze.

“I…love…you,” I whispered, shivering violently as I tried and failed to keep my eyes open.

His face had returned to normal when I opened my eyes again; I realized he had lowered us to the ground and was crying.

“You what?”

“I…I..love..y-you..”

He smiled softly, tipped his head forward to touch his lips to my forehead and pressed a handle into my hand. His fingers wrapped around mine, keeping the handle tight in my hand and pressed the tip of a blade to his chest.

“Neil…I-I’m..so cold,” I stammered.

“I know,” he soothed, “it’s okay, it’ll be over soon. I love you..”

His grip on my fingers tightened and he pushed the blade into his chest in one fluid motion. He gasped and shuddered, leaning heavy over me. I laid there, under his dying body, as the forest around us went up in flames.

I opened my eyes again when I felt the weight on my chest fading away and saw ash floating off Neil.

“Olivia,” he breathed before disappearing.

A jagged chasm ripped open in my chest when I felt his absence. A final searing pain before I would fade with him.

Slowly, I heard humming getting louder and louder. That same tune that I grew up listening to Olivia hum.

I’ll be with you soon, Olivia. You and Elle.

Cool fingers brushed my forehead, bringing the feeling of warm sun on my face and the sound of rolling waves.

“My girl,” she soothed, gently brushing my hair off my face.

I fought to crack my eyes open to look at her. Olivia’s blonde hair shone like a halo around her and she smiled softly through her tears.

“O..liv,” I struggled.

“Ssh..it’s okay now, Katrina. You did it, you fought so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“C..old..”

Her hand scrambled for mine, squeezing my fingers tight, “I know, my girl, just let me help you, okay? I’ll make it all better.”

She leaned down and pressed a feather soft kiss to my forehead and with a last labored breath, I slipped into darkness.

–

Billy’s POV

A frantic call over the intercom had doctors and nurses running past Tris and I as we made our way back to the waiting room. We glanced at each other and hurried to follow, finding the girls holding hands like scared children while Steve talked hurriedly to a nurse he had pulled aside. I stared at his face, watching it pull tight as Tris handed out the now cooled coffees. He nodded, lips tucked into a thin line and let the other nurse run off. Took a second to breathe before coming back to us.

“Steve, what’s going on?” Riley asked softly.

Steve’s mouth opened and closed and I saw his lip tremble a bit before he exhaled and ran a hand over his face and through his hair.

“Her…her heart stopped.”

The air punched out of my lungs and I felt the room narrow around me.

“No. No, that can’t…There’s gotta be a mistake.”

“Yeah, I fucked up,” Steve snapped, “I shouldn’t have agreed. I’m not a fucking doctor,” his resolve broke and he started shaking, “I broke her ribs…I made everything so much worse..”

Riley left Audrey and Brook in the chairs to go to Steve, wrapping her arms around his neck as he leaned to tuck his face into her shoulder. His hands gripped at her shirt so tight that I could see his tendons strain under his skin.

“You did everything you could, Steve. This isn’t your fault,” Riley soothed.

–

“Come on, Billy. It’s been two days, let’s all go home and shower. We can get some good food and a nap then come back,” Audrey tried.

“You guys go ahead,” I mumbled, “I need to be here.”

Tris’s lips pulled into a frown, “you need to take care of yourself too, Billy.”

“I need to be here,” I repeated, an edge to my voice, “she needs me to be here when she wakes up.”

Steve knelt in front of me, his blue scrubs too vibrant against the white floor, “buddy, we don’t know if or when she’s going to wake up…or if she’ll remember us even. Go home and get cleaned up, I can take care of her.”

“Steve, I can’t. I need to be here for her, I can’t leave.”

He sighed, stood up and squeezed my shoulder, “okay.”

“Can I see her yet?”

He gave me a strained smile, “I’ll see what I can do.”

–

“You’ve got five minutes,” Steve explained as he led me to Katrina’s room, “I’ll be right outside.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

He stopped at the door and looked at me, “just…she wasn’t doing well. Brace yourself.”

I nodded and pushed through the door, stopping dead on the other side. She looked like a corpse lying in the bed, skin pale and dull. Her face looked hollow, all too tight skin and dark shadows.

Monitors beeped all around her, breathing for her and keeping her alive.

I breathed out heavily and stepped up to the side of her bed, taking her limp hand in mine. Careful not to touch any of the IVs, I squeezed her hand gently and knelt to kiss her knuckles.

“Hey Katrina,” I croaked, “I hope you can hear me…It’s probably selfish to ask you to hold on…So, I just want you to know…You don’t have to fight anymore…I know you’re tired and…if you want to stop…” I clenched my jaw tight and sniffed, “if you…it’s okay..you can let go…” I took a second to steady myself before continuing, “I love you, Katrina.”

–

I sagged in the chair, head falling heavy to the side. Steve and the girls had gone home this morning and I was falling asleep waiting for them to return. I let my head fall back, closed my eyes and let myself drift.

“Billy…Billy, wake up.”

I jerked awake to see Riley smiling at me, “you know, you’d sleep better at home.”

I grabbed the coffee in her outstretched hand and mumbled, “can’t leave,” before taking a swig.

She smiled and sat beside me, “hear anything?”

“No, got to see her for a bit earlier though. Her fingers moved.”

Her smile widened, “well that’s good news, right?”

Steve sipped on his coffee across from us, “it happens sometimes, nerves firing.”

“I think it’s a sign,” she mused.

“Maybe,” I murmured.

–

It was the middle of the night when suddenly there were nurses and a couple doctors crowding into Katrina’s room again. Steve, Riley and I sat up, watching the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Riley asked.

Steve shook his head, “I don’t know..”

“Do you think..?” She looked at him with watery eyes.

“There’s no code being called…” he mumbled, standing to stare down the hall.

Riley pulled her phone from her bag to call her sisters and curled into her chair, chewing her nails as we waited to hear something.

–

An hour later Audrey, Brook and Tris rushed into the waiting room with us just after a nurse had come to update us.

We’d get to see her soon.

We waited with baited breath for someone to let us into her room. Waited to see if Katrina was herself or a shell. Waited to see how badly things had gone wrong.

Almost an hour later and we still hadn’t heard anything new. Almost an hour later before we heard a door open and a nurse walked put into the hall. She stood just outside the door, looking into the room and waiting.

Slowly we saw an IV get pushed out of the door.

“Oh my god,” Riley whispered.

The nurse reached out to offer a steadying hand to Katrina as she shuffled through the doorway.

“Holy shit,” Audrey gasped.

The girls and Steve gathered in front of me as we watched her make her way down the hall. Her hands gripped the nurse and the IV pole tight, keeping her up on shaky legs. She was battered and bruised, a ring of purple circling her throat. But she was here, awake and alive.

But does she remember?

Katrina made it to the waiting room and was immediately swarmed as everyone else ran forward to hug her. I hung back, watching tears of relief run down cheeks. Felt a wave of warmth brush over my heart and the sting of tears in my eyes.

After a moment, everyone broke away and Katrina looked me, a pained expression on her face. I came forward, stopping just in front of her, waiting to see if she remembered.

“I know,” she murmured, “I look like roadkill.”

“No, you look beautiful. As always.”

“And you’re a charming liar.”

She rested a hand lightly on my chest, slowly trailing up to my neck, a smile playing on her lips as she pulled me close.

“As always.”

@alias-b @charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama