#ghost cod fanfic

[ghostlychief]

*riding ghost*

NSFW: MINORS DNI

warnings: riding; smut🥴 is that enough warning lol pls don’t read if you’re a minor 😭

this honestly just popped up into my head and I frantically started typing on my phone (bear with me bc I haven’t written anything smutty in so long and never have been good at it lol) anyways happy Friday!

--

You legs start to shake as you continuously lift yourself up then effortlessly slide back down on Ghost’s dick. The stretch is immaculate and you find yourself with your head tilted back with your eyes closed, soaking in his size and the euphoric current flowing through you right now.

In order to ground yourself, your hands move to hold onto Ghost’s that are grasping your waist. Although his grip is firm, it’s not too much for you and you love the pressure. As you move up and down, your breasts graze his sweaty chest, making your already overly sensitive nipples tingle.

You’re getting tired, and you’re about to reach your max. This will be your fourth climax and your poor body is reaching its limit. You let out a whimper and move one hand so it’s resting on his shoulder now. Ghost can tell you’re almost there.

“C’mon, baby. Just one more for me.” His grip tightens just a little so that he can help you move up and down, alleviating some of the stress on your legs. The slickness between your legs is getting more and more out of control as you get closer and closer to your demise.

With a shaky breath and a hint of a whine, you confess, “I don’t know if I can.” Your legs are exhausted, heart is pounding, but he just feels so good that even in your tired state, you still feel such a sense of blissfulness; you can’t stop.

“Yes you can.” His hands continue to help you move, which makes it easier to go at a faster pace.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You let out a whine at his praise.

His hand moves where your two bodies meet and moves his fingers in slow agonizing circles. You’re at the precipice, ready to drop any moment. When you finally do, you feel a bright warmness spread through your entire body, and you can also feel Ghost shudder under you.

You collapse against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. His hand gingerly comes up to stroke your spine and you’re trying your best not to fall asleep.

“See, I knew you could do it.” He has a teasing lilt to his tone, and even though you can’t see his face, you know a smirk is coating his lips. If your body wasn’t drained of energy, you would have slapped his shoulder.

You let out a grunt against his shoulder, “You owe me a massage.”

You feel him shrug under you, “Fair enough.”

—

IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3 I haven’t written anything smutty in so long so this is probably trash 😶

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 1: The Snare

Series masterlist > Ch. 2

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, violence

Summary: It is a beautiful autumn afternoon to go for a last run before reporting back to base, until it isn't.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1400~

Task Force 141 member sheet

Name: [REDACTED]

Call sign: Canary

Rank: Corporal

Specialty: Sniper. Infiltration.

Status: On medical leave until November 18th XXXX

November 17th

Socked feet padded across the cold ceramic floors, a soft amber hue bathing the living room in the late afternoon sunlight. Canary readied herself for her run, the last one before her reinstallment in the task force after a two-month medical leave.

There was now only a faint scar where her shoulder injury had been, a reminder of a mission almost gone terribly wrong. She had been lucky, nonetheless, as she was allowed to carry most of her leave at her own apartment. She appreciated the six weeks of almost-civilian life she was granted, being able to buy her weekly groceries at the nearby farmers market, and catching up with old friends. But to say she was anxious to return to her military routine was an understatement.

Besides, she would be able to see her lovers once again after so long. Just as she was hospitalized, both Simon and Johnny had been shipped off who knows where. All communication had been nonexistent ever since, and every day she dealt with the dull weight in her chest of not knowing where or how they were. One of the reasons why she had requested to carry her leave out of base, was actually not being able to sleep at her barrack, knowing that the one next to hers was quiet and empty. Price had assured her that they would be back around or at the same time she returned to her duties, which may or may not have caused her to count the days down until her leave was up.

Canary whistled a tune that resembled a catchy pop song that had been playing non-stop on the radio for the past week as she secured her running shoes with a double knot. She felt light and airy, all her belongings were packed and her fridge had been emptied. The apartment was sparkling clean and ready to become unused again for who knows how long. The only thing left to do was to get herself takeout dinner on her way back and go to sleep early, to be up at 4 AM sharp to report an hour later on base.

She grabbed her running hoodie - which had been Johnny’s until she refused to give it back - and her gloves. She took a moment to admire these with a blossoming smile.

~~~~

Canary had just sat down on her bed when the door knocked. After an awfully eventful day as a newly appointed corporal in the infamous 141 task force, she barely had any energy to take off her boots, but she still swallowed the groan that nearly escaped her and called out for the person to walk in.

An instant later, Ghost - her Lieutenant and the protagonist of her dreams as of late - was inside her barrack. She stood up straight, but he dismissed her before she got to salute him. Was this a surprise inspection? Canary resisted the urge to look around her own room to see if anything was out of place. She felt a wave of panic rise when she realized she couldn’t remember whether or not she had picked up her dirty socks from under the bed.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” she asked, almost regretting it when he locked his stare on her eyes and her heart rate spiked.

“...I came to bring you this,” he said after what seemed like hours - but were probably just a few seconds - and extended his arm to her, on his hand was a box roughly wrapped in yellow paper.

Canary gingerly took the box from his hands and inspected it, before looking up at him again with a questioning tilt of her head. She thought she heard him gulp before crossing his arms over his chest.

“...It’s from me,” he explained, “and Soap.”

She blinked and nodded, carefully unwrapping the box and opening it from the side, sliding its contents onto her open hand. They were a pair of tactical gloves with bone designs - a replica of his own, she noticed. She looked up at him again, this time there was a slight warmth on her cheeks. She wouldn’t know until much later, but the same flush sat on his own cheeks, beneath the balaclava and skull mask.

“...Happy birthday, Canary.”

~~~~

Whenever she thought back to that moment, the warmth returned to her chest. And whenever she slid the gloves on and adjusted them to her wrist, she imagined Simon and Johnny holding her hands.

With her gloves adjusted, she secured her ponytail and walked out the door, saving her keys in the pocket of her hoodie. She greeted Marian, her elderly neighbour, and left on her run.

Her route wasn't a complicated one, it was a long road that crossed the University campus and ran through the forest, then turned before the bridge and led back into the city. In total, it was about 10 kilometers long. It was often frequented by other young people, mostly university students, who chose it to exercise. This didn't bother her, she tended to prefer this as it made her running route less solitary.

However, an unusually long weekend and the closeness of final exams made the route more solitary, as students either traveled home or shut themselves into their homes to cram. Canary didn't mind this at all, taking the chance to do more sprints and put herself back into the mindset she would be in during her missions soon enough.

Her rhythm was good, cutting through her route like a sharpened knife. She imagined herself at times doing a sprint race with Johnny, like they would during training. It wasn't the same without his taunting and their bickering, but she knew they would do it in no time, any day now.

Canary crossed a few people during her run, but the crowd dwindled even more when she crossed the forest. The trees blocked most sounds from the city, allowing her to enjoy the chirping of some birds that hadn't migrated, and the brush of a breeze in the forage. It was a calm day, the sound of her breathing and the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her feet being the only disturbance in the area.

Out of nowhere, the hairs at the back of her neck stood and a chill ran down her spine. She was being watched. Canary stopped and looked around, trying to find whoever was looking at her. She decided to continue this time being more mindful of her surroundings, although her instinct screamed at her that she was walking into a trap.

As she got closer to the road near the bridge, Canary felt a sharp pain on the right side of her back. She swallowed a cry and reached for the object that pierced her skin. It didn't feel like a bullet, but something with a needle. Her blood turned cold when she pulled it out and examined it.

A tranquilizer dart.

Judging from the direction from where it was shot, she realized it had come from the forest. Soon she heard a rustling of leaves, and she now had only seconds to reach the road and hopefully flag down a passing car for help.

Canary abandoned the trail to run in the muddy grass, nearly slipping twice. She was still gripping the dart in her left hand, when she realized that the drug could knock her out at any moment now. Her pursuer was gaining terrain on her, and a quick look over her shoulder didn't help her nerves. She unfastened her glove and secured the dart in it to make sure she wouldn't lose it, when she felt a weight being thrown on her back.

Both her and her assailant tumbled down violently onto the grass and she struggled against him, only to find out her legs weren't moving. In her panic, she tried to move around to try and get a better look at the man, but her face was shoved down in the mud. Soon, her arms felt numb as well, the only feeling was the sensation of being zip-tied, and a fog began clouding her eyes and mind. She tried to scream for help, for Simon, Johnny, anyone, but her voice was hoarse and weakened, her breathing growing shallow and heavy under the weight of her attacker.

She barely caught the sight of a gray van pulling up in a hurry, and male voices shouting to each other, then her world went black and silent.

Do not repost, translate, or transcribe any of my works in this or any other social media. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated though ♥️

[arithestrawberry]

Drunk, and in love.

A very small fluff!

Intro: your drunk at a bar and find a pretty masked man called ghost. You drunk both in love and intoxicated. Shoot your shot!

Afab!reader, intoxication, over all fluff of my boy Simon.😔

Holy shit this bar is empty.. and holy shit your drunk. A group of soldier, or that’s what it seems from their pretty uniforms, masks, and vests. One catches your eye. A masked man with a creepy skull on his mask. And the prettiest fuckin eyes you’ve ever seen on a man.. whiskey brown like the liquor in his glass. holy shit, do you want him now.

He talks to his lads barely laughing seemingly more serious than the rest. You stare, more like gawk.. but how can you not. You’re intoxicated in two different ways and love both. He walks off to the bathroom you’d assume and you follow after. He turns a corner and you lose him. Right at the bathroom doors. Shit! You look around and finally feel hand on your shoulder. Iron grip. You turn around surprised. Only to see that pretty mask you’ve been gawking at. He questions your motives.

“What were you planning. I noticed you starin’ did you think it’d be that easy t—”

You drunkenly cut him off.

“Oh my goosshhh Hii..! SSorrry for staring your like.. realllly pretty.. wait is that rude-? Well. Handssssome!”

Obviously drunk Simon looks at you baffled.. this is now to him. So upfront. So drunk. He can’t help but chuckle, as you stare at him so pround of your confidence, and confession. You go to take a kiss

You hurk at the alcohol in your system making you sick.. and .. you black out. Only to be found awakened with the task force around you.. laugh and talking lively as ever. And a certain some ones jacket on laid pretty on your sleeping shoulders..

“She awake?”

Comes a heavy accent, Scottish maybe..?

“Think so- she did move.”

Says the bearded one.. they all turn to Simon and laugh getting up and walking over to pay their tabs. Simon looks at you as you sleepily look at him ever so slightly blushing. Half remembering what you’d done. Still tipsy, he just stares at you but if you could see his face a small smile would be there. You lean up. Apologizing for what you’d done and handing him his coat.

“Where ya goin’? Think you can kiss and run love?”

He stares into what feels like you soul.. then you hop down from your bar stool and your legs weaker you almost fall. He catches you of course. Grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as any gentleman would.

“I’ll take you home love. Now will it me mine or yours?”

“Wha-.. mine your your what?”

“Home. Of course.”

——————————————————————————————

AHHH!! ty for reading! I don’t write very often but this is what I live to write for. Idk personally I think Simon is sweet under all that military. Ghost tho..- he can be mean

It’s okay! I can fix him. (Probably not.)

[holycryptid]

The Death of Peace of Mind

Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” MacTavish.

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 1.9k

Tags/warnings: masturbation/use of sex toys, explicit language, sexting…?, objectification, possessive/obsessive simon, depictions of sex work, simon’s head is empty yet he has so many thoughts (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: Camboy!Soap AU - Simon is Soap’s most dedicated and loyal subscriber.

Notes: i never thought i’d write soapghost tbh. however, do not take this as factual or use it as educational! this world is different for everyone in many ways :) enjoy!

Simon Riley is a calm and collected man until he opens his laptop on Sunday nights.

The days on base are starting to blend together as he quickly approaches his requested leave, desperate for some prolonged peace and quiet to soothe and recharge after months on end of constant impassioned interactions with no time to decompress.

He is drained.

Simon quickly opens a new private tab, typing the desired website into the search bar and pressing the return button a little harder than necessary.

He navigates the explicit site with embarrassing ease, immediately clicking out of the onslaught of clickbait pop-ups he’s started to memorize by now. Various thumbnails of pleasure-filled faces consume his probably too-bright screen until he finds his subscriptions tab to the left under his profile.

A single rational thought isn’t able to find a way to his brain as he lands upon what he’s been waiting for all day. All week.

Too many arduous days on base have made him unsettled and irritable. This is his cure...at least for the next seven days until the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

Subscriptions: Soap_Strokes [live show happening now!]

Simon clicks the username and is redirected to the livestream before he can even think to get his dick out.

He should feel...dirty? Remorseful? Maybe sympathetic for himself, for how much he enjoys something he knows he probably shouldn’t. He hasn’t quite made time yet to think through his ethics regarding this hobby.

He knows he needs to unwind. He knows he needs a good wank. He knows who can give him that.

GhostWithTheMost has joined.

Simon’s alert eyes skitter across the screen as he assesses the violently colourful, and clearly custom, page layout Soap has set-up for his weekly shows. Indistinct music is playing in the background of Soap’s room, but it’s nothing that will be able to hide or cover the erotic sounds of self-pleasure.

Simon finds the small live chat at the bottom of the screen already running rampant with poor excuses for compliments and sexual declarations that hold no real value anywhere besides here.

Then his eyes find Soap—the man who has made his weekends slightly more bearable and his cock painfully hard on too many occasions, now included.

Soap’s pretty. A real, true “pretty boy” if Simon ever saw one. A perfect specimen in his (correct) opinion. Toned muscles, well-groomed body, soft yet defined features with the light shadow of stubble, a wavy and very overgrown mohawk that’s still kept short on the sides, a small septum ring, and barbells through each nipple that glint with every breath he takes.

Simon felt like he had found God when he accidentally browsed his way into one of Soap’s shows. When he joined, Soap was busy sliding a small black prostate massager in and out of his hole at a desperate pace, his other hand firmly squeezing the base of his twitching cock to torture himself. His cheeks and neck had fallen victim to a deep pink blush, either from arousal or effort, but it was the intensity of the scene that caught Simon.

This didn’t look like a man simply performing for others and their money, it looked genuine and passionate. Maybe that was the goal. A professional at the job, then. He had Simon fooled, if so.

Simon was instantly enthralled with his seemingly effortless beauty and physique. So much so, that he forgot to do what he was there to do: get off.

Soap’s own abrupt, and loud, orgasm was the thing that brought Simon back to reality that night, and he didn’t realize what he had just experienced until Soap ended the stream breathless and with a stomach covered in cum.

Soap left Simon in the darkness of his room, staring dumbfounded at the now empty screen of his laptop, blue-balled by no fault but his own, and with immensely scattered thoughts that couldn’t form into something coherent.

He was completely under the spell of whoever this man was when he’s in front of a camera. Soap. Simon later made himself cum to the sounds of whimpers that already housed themselves deep within his memory.

Now, Soap takes up the majority of Simon’s screen, already naked and partially spread with a cheeky smile on his lips, like usual, as he silently pretends to read through some of the “flattering” comments.

thekingcock commented: I’d fuck you so good baby !!!

Gazzy_xo commented: sexy sexy sexyy. I really need a taste of you

MrPriceAlmighty commented: im so hard already. Can’t wait another second

Soap is situated comfortably on his bed with his camera angled straight on, shooting between his parted legs and obnoxiously highlighting the huge Scottish flag pinned above his bed, yet everything is still framed perfectly. His cock rests semi-hard against his defined stomach while he teasingly runs his fingertips along the insides of his thighs to maintain viewership.

Simon takes this “opening lull” as a chance to organize himself. He manages to pull himself out of his trance of devouring Soap with his thoughtless gaze.

Laptop: placed on the small table in front of him.

Pants: off.

Briefs: also off.

Cock: out (and hard).

He sits back on his couch, laptop mere inches away and potentially damaging his retinas if they haven’t been already from times previous, and he confidently clicks the DONATE button flashing in the top left of Soap’s page.

The default amount he set goes through in seconds.

GhostWithTheMost donated £5!

A small ping echoes throughout Simon’s dark room as it goes through to Soap’s side of the screen, the donation popping up in the corner for everyone else watching to see.

He sees Soap’s attention move from the comments to the sound. “Ah, the ghost wants to get started, aye? Alright, let’s fucking go.” Another smile blooms across Soap’s face.

Simon reaches for his cock at the same time Soap reaches for his. But for Soap it was a mindless gesture—maybe instinct—just to keep it in place as he leans closer to the camera to press some buttons on his keyboard.

Simon notes how biteable and lickable his shoulders and neck look from this perspective.

“Prices are going up now. You control me and what you want to see.” Soap flashes a quick wink as four bold lines appear at the top right of the page:

15 SECONDS - £30

45 SECONDS - £80

2 MINUTES - £250

10 MINUTES - £500

“The show ends when I cum, so...don’t make it too quick.” He teasingly glares at the camera with a light chuckle that makes Simon turn his volume up a few notches.

He wonders how fast he could make Soap cum. A shiver crawls up his spine and his cock throbs at the thought.

Simon is willing to lose (and has lost) as much as it takes to see Soap cum, but he squints at the list, noticing that the prices aren’t what they usually average out to.

Has Soap just become that popular? Simon frowns at the idea. It feels like Soap is a secret between him and a handful of people, and he wants it to stay that way. It makes it feel more special, even if it isn’t. He likes the delusion.

Soap repositions his camera, angling it higher and tilting slightly downward so watchers will have a better view of the entirety of him, not just his cock and hole. He ducks to shift something into frame, and Simon very quickly realizes this isn’t going to be like Soap’s other shows.

Simon fixates his glare on the sizeable dildo that has been brought centre-frame in front of Soap’s bed. It’s very pink and very big, probably bigger than him, ribbed with prominent veins near the head. He follows the thin silver rod it’s attached to until it disappears out of frame.

It’s a goddamn fuck machine. A fucking machine. A machine that fucks you.

An excited-anxious feeling fills Simon’s gut, and a light sweat breaks out over his neck at the knowledge of Soap being in possession of one of these realistic and elaborate toys.

This is not how this is supposed to go, Simon thinks.

Well, technically yes, it is.

But to this extent? Technically, also yes. It’s Soap’s job. Two weeks ago, it was a translucent jelly stroker that Simon wished was his hand. Last week, anal beads and a body-wand that Simon wished was his cock and tongue instead.

And now this.

Soap slides back onto his bed with a bottle of lube in hand with that shameless smile on his face again. He sets himself back into the position he took before—leaning back on his elbows with his legs spread for everyone, and even the Holy Spirit, to see.

“In case you all haven’t put it together yet, donations control the amount of time the machine will fuck me for. You donate thirty, it’ll automatically fuck me for fifteen seconds, and so on,” he trails off, popping open the cap of the lube and squeezing a generous amount onto his cock and stomach.

Simon’s mouth has fallen open and gone dry. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he whispers into the darkness like a prayer that will save him from whatever he is about to experience.

His fist starts slow movements over his cock. Not even some spit needed to aid him; the amount of pre-cum leaking from him already should be embarrassing.

Soap tosses the bottle aside, takes that same hand, and rubs it over his now hard cock to spread the lube around and down to his hole. A heavy sigh releases itself from his throat as he presses two fingers in himself immediately, pumping them a few times before going back to carefully stroking his length. The slick sounds of his hand tugging on his cock has Simon adjusting his volume higher again.

Is it bad that Simon can tell he had a plug in before the show to better prepare for the dildo? Definitely bad.

Soap indulges the audience with this light foreplay until more donations begin to roll in. “A-ah, as soon as donations hit one-hundred, it’ll be the machines turn.” A breathy laugh is pulled from him on a particularly good downstroke of his fist, eyes fluttering for a moment as he shudders.

Simon is about to risk it all. He looks at the donation meter total: £75.

With his left hand, he clicks the DONATE button again, this time changing the amount before sending.

GhostWithTheMost donated £25!

The meter flashes as it hits its first milestone. £100!

Soap glances over to his monitor, hand never slowing or leaving his wet cock, and his lips turn up into another mischievous smile. “The ghost saving you all once again, huh?” His accent almost slurs the sentence to something unintelligible.

Soap lets out a soft moan as he pulls his hand away, gathering the excess lube on it and leaning forward to stroke the dildo waiting for him. “Thanks, ghosty. Dinnae know how much longer I could wait.” Another smile for the camera.

No. A smile for Simon.

It’s easy for Simon to forget that he’s not the only one watching this right now, but he forgot that fact as soon as Soap acknowledged his presence earlier.

Simon watches how Soap’s hand works the silicone, making sure to cover its entirety with the leftover lube. “Bastard,” Simon growls, still pumping himself with a lose fist just to ease some of the ache that’s settled deep in his cock.

Simon notices a light pink has already begun to paint Soap’s cheeks as he falls back onto the bed with wild eyes, some of his unruly mohawk flopping onto his forehead in divine strands.

Simon knows better than to screenshot something of this nature, but fuck, if his self-restraint is ever being tested right now.

[konigs-whore]

Had you- Ghost Riley

{ warnings: sad, sad as hell. Hurt and absolutely no comfort.}

> little something I thought of a few hours ago, so I decided to write it. Not a proper fic, but the feels are the same. ( not proofread)<

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years ago I would’ve punched someone in the face for telling me that love makes you weak. That it reduces you to ash. But as I’m sitting here, on a stone cold chair in the infirmary, where I have been sitting for twelve hours. Waiting and praying for a doctor or a nurse to come rushing through the door, telling me you’re okay.

All comprehension of time slips through me. Reality morphs into a nightmare. Fear crippling my soul, my heart. Fighting the urge to scream at the top of my lungs as I bare the news.

When I close my eyes, you are here; with me, holding my hand. Guiding me through the dark and telling me to weather the storm.

My lighthouse in the chaos of the storm, as I am yours.

The promise of forever hanging off our lips as our legs are tangled together, love and safety wrapping us in a timeless bubble.

All those missions, never leaving each others side as we storm through the worst- with the promise of walking away together. Making it another day.

I scream, so loud I fear my eardrums may burst. My body trembles with each scream, throat burning and raw.

I kick and scream at anyone that comes near, anyone that’s not you. No one has your touch, your smell, your beautiful soul.

The way you held me so gently, always whispering in my ear how I was your sun, and to live without me would be impossible.

What about me? Did you think about that? How you came stumbling into my life, a hardened wall almost impenetrable, yet you let me break down those walls.

Let me hold you as you broke down, telling me of your childhood, the horror you faced and your nightmares at night.

How you wished to grow old with me and our family, holding our daughter with such tender care, so much love and protection.

The way you cried from happiness the day she was born, being forever grateful for our family that we made.

The agony I felt gripping my heart as I watched that bullet pierce your chest, watched you collapse onto the ground.

My world, my everything. Collapse. Never once did I think I would lose you.

We were meant to be forever, but forever never really lasts.

The news never came.

The doctor didn’t tell me you made a miraculous recovery.

That you ’re okay.

They gathered around me, solemn faces peering into my heart.

They told me you were gone.

Lost the very moment we made it through these heavy doors.

My whispers to you, to keep fighting for me, for our daughter. Rang upon an empty shell of the man I loved.

You were not here.

Gone somewhere I cannot follow.

You left me here, holding your lifeless hand.

And it kills me with such agony.

Like a flower that withers away once it’s plucked. You were my nourishing soil.

Each day apart from you, a petal is lost.

Until I am left as nothing but a stem.

[magnoliabutters]

• TAKE ME •

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader (they/them, 18+)

summary: there he goes again, pissing you the fuck off…

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; cod mw 2 campaign spoilers; reader referred to by rank (lieutenant, "lt") and call sign (aero); weapons, gore, violence; angst to fluff to smut/porn; enemies to lover trope, toxic love dynamic (only to be fantasized in fanfics, not encouraged irl - you deserve better hunty), possibly problematic coping skills, rough sexy time, etc.

word count: ~5.7k

support your author: reblogs for the sexy masked menace, ghostie boy ✨

• ghost stories series • previous part •

note: part two. sorry for the delay! let's live this bad boy fantasy together...

specific warnings: mature/serious topics mentioned - please read over; *trigger warning* small insinuation of sexual assault and questionable interrogation methods (to avoid, begin reading at second red line; skipping will not impact story)

Do you know how unbearably painful it is to just stop - right when it was getting good? As you walk down the hallway, Soap at arm's length away, you attempt to slow your breathing. Anything to get your blood pumping around your body again. Anything to keep your mind off the pulsating feeling in your groin.

Ghost walks ahead, fists clenched. You wonder how he must be feeling. Practically on on the verge of cumming and being made to stop. It's one thing to be edged, but its another to be forced to conceal a raging boner and not knowing the first chance you'll have to address it.

Soap continues down the hallway with heavy steps. His face solely showing determination. Further confirming your hope that he did not see, nor suspect anything. Ghost opens the door to the others' debriefing room and quickly drops it behind him. The heavy door almost slams against Soap's shoulder. "What the hell, Ghost?" he asks with his thick Scottish accent. "Aye, don't take it personal, Soap. Must just have an itchy trigger finger," you suggest as you lug the door open. The room looks exactly like the one you and Ghost explored earlier.

Ghost pounds his fist against the steel door. He waits to hear movement as the door lock pops open. "Perfect, you're going to want to hear this, hombre," Alejandro says as he widens the door. "Qué es?" Ghost asks as he walks in. You can't help the "humph" that leaves your body. He knows some Spanish? It leaves a smile on your face, whether you'd like it to or not.

Alejandro keeps the door open for both you and Soap. "Hermano," Alejandro says with a nod directed towards Soap. "Teniente," he adds as his eyes fall upon you. "Do you want to tell them what you told me or should I get that car battery I promised you?" Gaz says as he points towards the side of the room. Nadia Sidorov blubbers in the chair. Her black mascara smudged down to her chin. She must have been crying since she woke up from her unexpected slumber. You wouldn't blame her. It's not easy waking up in a US black site.

"AQ wants a stealth bomber, okay? They wanted something quick and quiet, to get the job done," Sidorov mumbles between tears. "What job?" Ghost's voice booms from the corner. God, did this man love dark corners. "They-they wanted to take out some gang. I don't know! I don't really ask questions in my line of work. I don't need to know what they're being used for," she yells, exhausted. "You mean, you don't care to know about who your weapons are being used on," you correct her. Her careless and dangerous attitude bubbling up an anger within you. It's a nice distraction.

Sidorov rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Do they have the bomber?" Soap asks as he walks under the light from the overhead lamp. Her eyes squint as she looks his way. They widen as a smile forms across her face. She begins a slow laugh as she leans her head back onto her shoulders. "Oh, Soapy-boy. What do they have you doin' now?" she says with a soothing, yet unsettling tone. Her entire demeanor has now shifted. The blubbering mess is suddenly exuding confidence and happiness.

Ghost's eyes quickly rush towards Soap. Soap returns with a confused, but suspicious look. Several brutal questions rush through your head. How the hell did Soap know the target? And why didn't he mention that before? "Why don't you go discuss in that other room there," Sidorov suggests as she nods towards the locked door. "I'm sure you have plenty to talk about." You quickly walk over to the woman and crouch before her. "Why don't you tell me what there is to talk about, Nadia?" you ask with a tilt to your head.

"Soap tells the story best," Sidorov seethes through her teeth. "Car battery, huh?" you ask as you quickly stand. You turn towards Gaz. "Who taught you that trick?" you scoff. Ghost watches your every move intensely. Almost as though he is trying to memorize your patterns. Maybe just in case you get into another physical altercation.

"Now, Nadia. You're a very smart woman. That's obvious. You're one of the most prominent arm's dealers in all of Europe," you continue as you make your way behind her chair. “I know you’ve done this before and you know what comes next.” The boys still stand barely outside of the shadows in the small sound proofed room. "Show me how smart you are and start talking," you say as you land a tight grip onto her shoulders.

Sidorov shivers at your touch and remains silent. "Alright," you shrug. You quickly pull the woman down by her shoulders. She falls onto her arms as they are tied behind the chair. She releases a heavy breath as the wind is knocked out of her. She now rests onto her back.

"We got your AQ contact in the other room. He gave us names. Las Almas Cartel and Los Vanqueros," you share as you crouch down beside her. Alejandro and Rudy quickly shift their eyes from you to Ghost. Rudy's upper lip is stiff as he continues watching over Sidorov in disgust. Alejandro's nostrils flare as he pops his knuckles.

"See, we already have all the information we need," you whisper. "I really don't care about how you know Soap here." You stand as you stretch at your arms in front of you and walk towards the front door. Her eyes watching you intently with a stern lip. "Boys, do your worst," you mumble. Sidorov quickly shouts in panic, "Wait! Wait!" You turn around slowly. "AQ showed me Soap's picture. They've been passing it around to anyone with a gun. He's got a hit on him," she stutters out. "Clear out," you instruct.

The boys look at you with either dumbfounded or confused looks. They are both in shock regarding what was implied of them, but also the results of your threat. You received vital information about Soap. Going forward, he will be unable to go into the field for a mission. If he was in the restaurant instead of Gaz, you both could have easily been made and ambushed. Now, he will remain protected and protect his squad by staying in overwatch.

"Clear out," you repeat again at a higher volume. The boys quickly walk outside. Ghost waits at the door. He watches you as you grab hold of the back of Sidorov's chair. You lean her up. Reaching back into your pocket, you reveal another knife tucked in your left sock. You quickly cut the restraints that hold Sidorov's wrists. Without looking back, you walk out. Ghost locks the door from the outside, rendering the inside lock useless.

You walk into the debriefing room with your head down. "How'd you know she'd talk?" Rudy asks. You look up and see the two sergeants, colonel, and sergeant major staring at you. Ghost leaning back against the wall. "Nothing scarier then a room full of men," you say with a deep sigh. "Ghost, you move forward with the plan of action. Brief me in the morning." You leave the room behind in a haste, hell bent in making it back to your cot.

Today was rough. It's time to go to sleep and start over.

Despite making it back to your quarters, you couldn't get yourself to sleep. Insomnia always keeps you up. Some nights your body doesn't accept the sleeping meds. You are just forced to stare at a ceiling as your mind begs for sleep and your body continues to deny the request. Counting those damn sheep as they continue to laugh at your attempts at rest.

With a sigh, you quickly sit up from your cot. Your oversized t-shirt falling to your upper thighs. You walk over to your backpack - the same designated backpack that you will be living out of for the remainder of the mission. "How many knives do you have?" you hear. Ghost. He closes the door behind him as he walks in to your private room without hesitation. Not turning around, you reach into your pack for your untraceable modded phone. "If you get to ask a personal question, I should be able to too," you say to the wall as you note the time. Fuck, 3:00am? you think to yourself as you tuck your device back into the pocket.

"I didn't know that was a personal question," Ghost asks with a low-toned voice. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. You turn around to see him in a black long-sleeved shirt. The tight sleeves emphasizing his bulging biceps. He has grey sweatpants that hang loosely at his hips. You note a small sliver of skin between articles of clothing. A thin black inked line flowing up from his hip.

A lighter skulled balaclava mask pulled over his face. Just like you, his eyes rake all over your body. They pay special attention to your bare legs. You enjoy having him watch over you with adoration and temptation. You swear you can hear deep breathing against his clothed mouth. "Do you sleep with that on?" you ask as you point towards his face. You walk over to your bed and lay onto your back in exhaustion, crossing your ankles. "Is that your question?" he mutters from across the room.

You scoff as you rub your eyes. "I don't know, Ghost. I don't know if I care enough to ask a question," you mumble as you rest your head back onto your pillow. Your mind already working as a thinly stretched elastic band ready to pop. "Fine," he says with a hint of frustration as he reaches for the door knob. "Wait," you say involuntarily. This poses as another moment to trust your body over your mind. Unfortunately, you are too tired to hold back any of your body's impulses.

"Can you just lay with me?" you ask. Part of you is deeply uncomfortable with the request. You do not enjoy being vulnerable and holy fuck, were you putting yourself in quite the tricky spot. The fact of the matter is you fall asleep best in someone’s arms. Through trial and error, that has been the best trick to aid your insomnia - if you exclude a good old fashioned orgasm. In an effort to protect yourself, you curl against the wall - putting your back towards Ghost. Maybe it would hurt less if you didn't see him walk out in response to your question? God, being pushed to the edge of exhaustion really does wonders for your decision making.

After a few seconds a silence, you hear Ghost mutter, "I don't do that." You immediately shake your head. Self-deprecating thoughts rush through your brain as you curl tighter and closer towards the wall. You feel his eyes still on you. You mutter disappointed, “Okay, you can leave now.” You are still curled together in a ball, desperate for sleep to take you away from this day. Nevertheless that you are expected to wake in a few short hours to move on your next targets.

Suddenly, you feel a light hand placed upon your upper arm. You quickly turn over, ripping your dagger from under your pillow and hold it to Ghost’s neck. His body tensed as he watches you from the side of his eye. His head tilts up, exposing freshly shaved hair underneath his jaw bone. His hand raises off your skin. “Bloody hell,” he says quietly. “How many fuckin’ knives do you have?”

You roll your eyes and tuck your knife back into its designated spot. “How many fucking masks do you have?” you whisper under you breath. Ghost slowly sits down on the cot, making the cheap mattress squeak. You turn around, feeling his weight shift the bedding. "I thought you don't do this?" you murmur. His big brown eyes turn towards you. Despite their warmth, they still appear dead, a void of human emotion.

"You look like shit. You haven't slept have you?" Ghost asks as he peers down at you. You turn onto your side as you rest your hand upon your pillow. His hand lightly placed in between your stomach and his hips as he twists his torso towards you. “Not all of us can hide behind a mask,” you mumble with your eyes tied to his.

With a huff, Ghost leans back onto the mattress and rests beside you. His face towards the ceiling. His body inches away from you. You try to hold back your expression, completely shocked. When you asked, you were confident that he would never agree. That you messed up by playing your hand too early. But here you are now, reaping the benefits. You slowly raise your hand from your pillow and lower it onto his chest. As your hand meets his warm torso, you feel a growl grumble from his sternum. A warning. You can’t help but smile.

Your hand slowly travels down towards the waistband of his sweatpants. You wanted to feel Ghost again. You wanted that thick girthy cock flooded in your mouth - maybe in other places. Him lying down with you was supposed to put you to sleep, but fuck did it just turn you on more. This small inkling of vulnerability that he’s given you, just by resting beside you. Adrenaline pushes through you, putting you further from rest.

Ghost quickly grabs hold of your wrist, so tight it hurts. You look up to him with your upper lip pulled. "We're here to sleep, Aero," he says sternly. His eyes widened with anger. You smile as this is the first time he says your name. You hate the context, but it felt beautiful heard aloud with his accent. You try to contain your grin as you pull your arm back rather harshly. "You're telling me you came into my room wanting to sleep at 3:00am?" you scoff. A small laugh bursts through his mask. It must have been unexpected for him, seeing as he immediately cleared his throat.

"No, but it's definitely what you need," Ghost says with a low tone. His eyes not daring to move away from the ceiling. "Well, if that's what I need, I sleep best when I cuddle," you murmur as you inch closer towards him. Your hand slowly makes contact with his shoulder. You feel the muscles tighten under your finger tips. Ultimately, you know he would stop you if you did anything that made him uncomfortable. Your fingers continue to travel down to his right peck as you pull yourself closer towards him.

You cannot help but smirk as you are curious how far he will let you go. The man who said "he doesn't do this," but now, you rest your head upon his firm peck. Your arm wrapped towards his hip as you pull him closer into your chest. Your leg over his and tucked between his two. And to perfectly end the night, Ghost tilts his chin down towards you and rests it upon your forehead. As your mind drifts to sleep, you feel his hand gently placed at the base of your spine. You fall asleep, against his warmth, without further trouble.

Your eyes begin to flutter as you are pulled from a restful slumber. You immediately notice the emptied space beside you. However, it does not surprise you. What surprises you is that you aren't hearing your annoying cranked alarm. You quickly shoot out of bed and rush over to your pack. Pulling out your phone, you note the time - 10:06am. Fuck!

Confusion rushes over you as you quickly look for your alarms. You know you put a specific alarm on for 5:00a, for today's mission. You are absolutely confident. Yet, there it rests on your screen toggled off. Quickly, you look around the room - angry as you reach for your clothes. That's when you notice the note resting on your bedside table. A harsh breath pushes from your nostrils as you reach for the paper.

Aero, Thought you needed more rest. Ghost.

Upon reading, you abruptly crumple the paper within your hands. Ghost made sure to go on the mission without you. Your fucking mission! What even made you angrier was that he didn't own up to it in his stupid note. He wants to still pretend the he actually cares about your sleep. You rush to quickly put on your clothes and run out into the hall. You find that your entire squad has gone out on a mission and will be back later in the day.

Fire flushes through your body. All you can see is red. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds. Ghost hijacked your mission and let you behind. He jeopardized your authority as team lead, as lieutenant of the 141. You are fuming. Returning into your room, you slam the door behind you. You grab hold of your phone and rapidly call your mercenary contact. You need to hurt something or someone - bad.

"Johnson, I need a contract," you grumble into the phone. "I'm in France." The man laughs on the other end of the line. "Lucky you, I need some supplies destroyed in Marseille," he shares. "I'll be there in less than two hours," you sternly reply. "I'll text you the details," Johnson says before hanging up the phone. You reach for your pack and grab hold of you rolled up grey mat. Unraveling it upon the mattress you slept on with Ghost, you admire the twinkling dark knives in front of you.

The next time you find yourself at the home base, you are splattered with blood and filled with bumps and bruises. You wanted to take your anger out with that contract, and, holy fuck, did you do just that. You walk past the briefing room as the squad of men sit and stand round a table. Ghost at its head. You continue to walk by, not giving a single glance in their direct. Yet, you feel all their eyes stuck on you.

You hear chairs screech against the floor and a fumbling of two pairs of footsteps. “You okay, LT?” you hear that deep Scottish accent ringing through the hallways. His tone hesitant and concerned. You hear Gaz’s melodic British as he asks, “Should we call medical?” You push down the feeling of disappointment, knowing that Ghost wasn’t the one to rush after you. “I’m good, boys. Thank you,” you say as you raise your hand and continue walking forward.

“We missed you,” Gaz says as he reaches for your elbow. You turn back to see Soap making a “oh shit I shouldn’t be here” face before jogging back to his other Lieutenant. “Yeah, wish I could’ve been there,” you mumble. “He told us you were off doing something for Price,” he shares inquisitively. “I feel like you would’ve told me.” You laugh as you naturally pull done Gaz’s soft hand. “Trust that gut of yours,” you say as you walk towards the showers. Gaz backs off and walks back.

You slowly undress, careful to peel away the dried blood drenched clothes from your skin. You look up in the bathroom’s mirror to see a fresh cut across your eyebrow. A bruise forming across your cheek bone. Your bottom lip busted. All you could do was smile at the sight of yourself. You wanted to cause pain, bring down hell and havoc. You did. You were undeniably successful in your mission.

Pulling down your pants, you see a bruise on your hip. That one is not from your mission, but from last night’s foolish impulse. When Ghost pushed you down onto that desk. When he had your legs spread. When he had you begging for his cock to be inside you. Back when he barely spoke, and didn’t have access to your phone to fuck up your mission. Fuck. You are angry again.

Your shirt comes off in one swift movement. Your shoulders scream at you as you raise your hands above your head. As the pain pounds through your head, you land your hands against the sink’s counter. Another look at yourself. You understood why some wear masks.

Walking away from the stalls, you choose a designated nozzle for your shower - tucked away in the back corner. Of course, home base doesn’t have individualized rooms. You find yourself stuck in a steamy space meant for communal showers. Luckily the water is hot. The warmth truly soothes your sore muscles. You find your first bit of comfort after this morning’s atrocities.

As you rub your soap bar across your skin, you begin to hear movement in that initial stall area. Your eyes open, pulled from their comforting relaxation. The last thing you want is one of your men to see you, and for you to see one of your men. You quicken your lathering so that you may end your shower early if needed.

“Why're you in such a hurry?” Ghost asks. You shudder at his voice. Another shudder once you see his darkened torso behind you. A bright light shining behind him makes his facial features indistinguishable. “Fuck off,” you say as you turn around. He quickly slaps a hand against your ass and takes his other to grab hard against your muscle. You head butt your skull back into his nose. He stumbles back as you turn to face him. The hot water still falling upon your chest.

You watch as his fingers lift his skin-tight mask and reach for his nose. He quickly flings off the blood to the tiled floor. “You’re still upset about this morning?” he asks with a bit of amusement. Your teeth grind together. “How fucking dare you?” you seethe. “You were supposed to brief me in the morning. I’m the fucking Lieutenant!” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Not the only Lieutenant,” he replies softly.

“Riley, get the fuck out of my face,” you shout as you point towards the exit. “What? No more call signs?” he asks with a laugh. “Okay, Lieutenant y/l/n.” In this moment, it doesn’t matter how naked you are. You are pissed. You swear you must have steam rising from your skin.

“You’ve got those eyes again,” Ghost says as he points his gloved finger towards you. “And what fucking eyes are those?” you ask as you drastically turn off the shower head. The warm water quickly pulling away from your body. The cold air hitting you like a truck. “Those ‘I’m going to kill you’ eyes,” he mutters. “I haven’t decided on that just yet. Figured I’d wait ‘till the mission was over as a courtesy to Price,” you say as you move through the man to grab your towel.

Wrapping it around your waist, you continue to walk towards the bathroom exit. You hear Ghost’s wet boot steps behind you. You turn before he makes the horrible mistake of placing his hand atop your shoulder. “I don’t do well with competition,” he quickly mutters as your eyes meet his. His white spray painted skull balaclava staring back at you. “Well, I do especially well with competition but I don’t know how to do things nicely.”

Ghost walks up to you slowly. “You’re competition. Difficult, precise, exceptional,” he says softly. “The kind of competition you sabotage with minimal guilt.” You laugh as you cross your arms around your chest. “Minimal guilt, huh?” you ask. “It might have been a moderate amount,” he says as he inches closer.

“If you jeopardize my position or the mission again, I will have your head,” you say as you welcome his hand on yours. “And my knife will have something else of yours,” you murmur as your fingers tuck under his waistband. He nods as his eyes look down onto you. Those eyes serious and unforgiving.

"Understood," Ghost says without hesitation. "On your knees, soldier," you demand as you tilt your chin high. You peer down at him. His darkened brown eyes stare back at you as he slowly kneels onto the cool tiled floor.

You softly lay your hand upon his cheek, rubbing the fabric of his mask against your thumb. Slowly, your fingers reach the edge of his mask. Your fingers hooked within are met with a stiff grasp around your wrist. “No,” Ghost sternly says. You shoot him a look of dismay. “What you’re about to do cannot be done with your mask on,” you say as you feel his grip loosen.

Finally, his hand drops. You take it as a sign to continue. Lifting his mask, you reveal brown and red stubble to his chin. His lips flushed with pink. The bottom lip slightly larger than the top. You felt your body drawn into him, wanting to feel those perfect lips on yours.

As you pondered how soft his lips must be, you watch as a smile forms at the edges of his mouth. “What I’m about to do cannot be done with your towel on,” Ghost mutters as he softly places a hand at your waist. He untucks the edge of your towel, allowing it to fall at your feet and his knees. His eyes fall upon your naked body. You watch as he licks his lips.

Ghost’s hands immediately press against the tops of your thighs, pushing you back onto the sink counter. A sharp breath escapes your lips as you feel the surface’s chill. He gradually leans in and presses his mouth against your skin. His lips softer than you predicted. You feel your lower back arch as you lean your head back. His lips felt like butterflies, leaving flutters and ripples with every touch. You could feel your skin on fire anytime he pulled away for another kiss.

Your hand involuntarily explores the top of his head. The grooved cloth beneath your fingertips adds to the satisfaction. Ghost's thumbs begin to circle your hip bones. A moan is let out as his tongue trails from your knee to inner thigh. You cannot deny all your blood rushing between your legs. You feel that familiar throbbing as you crave for his touch.

Suddenly, Ghost pulls his mouth from your sensitive skin. You look down in dismay, only to be gifted with those brown eyes staring back at you. You watch as a smile forms on those perfect lips. He slightly opens his mouth as his lashes close upon his eyes. Following his lead, your eyes close as well.

You feel his warm, wet mouth against your skin. Electricity shoots straight through your body, just as intense as any taser. You gasp as you hang your head back off of your shoulders. Your hand travels from his head onto his cheek. Underneath your palm, you can feel his mouth opening and closing as he places sweet kisses upon your nasty bits. His hot breath flushes against your skin, leaving you comforted.

Ghost's tongue presses hard against the most sensitive of your skin. In between moans, you whisper, "Yes, just like that." You hear a chuckle as his hands grip tighter onto your thighs. "Oh, you like that, love? What about this?" Ghost murmurs amusingly. His tongue curls and twists against you. You catch yourself gripping against the tuff of hair of you found on the side of his neck. A moan rips through your body as your hips thrust against his mouth.

"Mmmm, that's good," Ghost whispers. Even his words have direct lines to your pleasure sensors. "I want more," he growls. His tongue pushes firmly against you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. The pleasure is enough to pull you right out of the environment. Do you even know who you are? Who is he? What are you doing here? All these facts that mean nothing - details that mean nothing when his tongue flutters against you like that.

Abruptly, the details return. With a strong force, you push Ghost backwards. He stumbles upon his knees, but quickly readies himself for your next move. You grab hold of his neck and pull him up and onto you. One of his hands now against the back of your neck. The other tightly pressed against your chest. "I want you, Ghost," you murmur against his lips. His waist now between your legs. Your ankles tighten into a lock against his back. His eyes pull from your mouth and finally fall on yours. "Take me," he states.

Without pause, you quickly reach for his belt buckle. You feel the smoothed bumps of his abs as you pull up a bit of his shirt. Ghost's mouth places gentle kisses against your collarbone. They travel down to your chest and sternum. Your hands shake, something that frankly never happens, as you pull against his belt. A smile forms across his face once again as you grip onto his pants' buttons. You cannot help but match his smile.

As you reach for the zipper, you could feel the growing bulge against your hand. You feel the thumping of your blood as it travels to your lower extremities. "Look how hard you are for me, Lieutenant," you taunt as you pull down his heavy pants. "Only for you, Aero," Ghost's voice flutters against your chest. "Good," you state as your finger pulls his chin up to your mouth.

With a bite, your lips meet in an incredulous manner. You have never felt so aggressive in this setting. You push roughly against him, forcing him to stumble once again - this time with his pants gathered at his ankles. One hand holds tightly against his shirt as you push him against the bathroom wall. Your other hand is on the base of his thick cock. You swear you can feel it pulsate in your hand. The bit of precum helps as a lubricant against your palm. You know this part of him well now. Your hand pumps against his hardened tip. You feel his breath heavy against your cheek as you press your body against him.

"Oh, you like that, L.T.?" you taunt. You place a hardened kiss against Ghost's mouth, pulling away with a bit of his bottom lip tied between your teeth. You could see a little red of blood as you catch another glimpse of him. Those brown eyes with black saucer-like pupils. The mask hanging on for dear life at his cupid's bow. His pale mouth now reddened after a multitude of embraces.

"What about this?" he adds before you can finish admiring him. His hand places against your groin. You feel your breath taken away as his fingers and palm move beautifully in between your thighs. "Fuck," you gasp as you crash your forehead against the nape of his neck. As you struggle to maintain your rhythm, you quickly peer down to spit onto your hand. With a bit of lubrication, you can feel him harden beneath you. You cannot help but smile and press yourself firmer against his chest. He feels so. fucking. good.

Ghost's fingers begin to play tricks with you. They quickly change from fast and slow movements. You can feel bit of frustration burn a hole within your body. You know he's doing it on purpose. You squeeze tighter against his cock. He hisses against your cheek with gritted teeth. You smile as you crash your mouth against his once more.

Both of your hands move at a quickened pace. Thank goodness for that soldier stamina. You hear his breathing shift rapidly. "Fuck, Aero," he whispers. He flicks the "ro" of your callsign a bit longer as he rides through his high. He's close, you think to yourself. You maintain your movement as you feel his body move underneath you. Such a strong and firm body. "Cum for me," you mumble against his lips.

Almost as a reaction to your words, Ghost's movements become harder and rougher. How does he know exactly what you need? The abrupt change leaves you gasping - throwing you off your game. You feel a tightness at the pit of your stomach. A tingling sensation boiling over your temples and forehead. "Shit," you whimper as you struggle to hold your grip.

"Cum for me, baby," Ghost demands. You can hear the struggle in his voice as he is determined to last longer than you. As much as you would want to beat him at his own game, you cannot ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest. Your legs begin to tighten as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth hangs open. He quickly places his lips against you, not wanting any breath to go to waste. "Ghost," you whimper as you feel your knees pull together. Your thighs clench against his wrist and arm. Your entire body feels the overwhelming pleasure that is Ghost.

With a mere mention of his name, Ghost cums alongside you. You feel his hot breath push against your mouth. His hands tense around you. His moans like music to your ears. You feel his hips rut against your palm. His warm cum splashes in your hands and upon both of your stomachs. With a chuckle, you look down to admire the mess you both have made upon each other. Cum everywhere, just how you like it.

Ghost smiles as his hand returns to the back of your neck. His grip hard and pulling at your hair. You watch him with excited eyes and a smile. "Join me for a shower?" he says as he abruptly drops his grasp. He quickly turns and begins to walk towards the showers, where this all began. He takes off his shirt, revealing several pale scars ripped against his back. Scars that peak your curiosity. Scars that match yours.

That's when he takes off the balaclava, turns on the shower head, and stands beneath the falling water.

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[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.83 - No Such Thing as Quick

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

^ GIF is self-explanatory; Simon and Kiera engage in much-anticipated sex.

A/N: I got carried away with this smut chapter and I'm not sorry about it. Please enjoy because I know I did.

Simon lay on the couch with Evie on his chest, a pacifier between her lips as she slept soundly, her right hand clasped around the chain of Simon's dog tags, leaving them exposed as he knew they always sparked curiosity in her, using them to his advantage as Evie was still restless after returning home. 

His lids became heavy as the steady heat from the fireplace kept his skin warm, listening to the light clatter of pots and pans colliding in the kitchen nearby as Kiera was preparing for dinner, keeping the baby monitor on the counter to listen for signs of Jacob waking up from his nap, satisfied that he was rather hungry after his appointment, assuring his mother that a long nap would follow, giving her plenty of time to get things done around the house while she had the advantage. 

As Simon's eyes were about to shut for a nap himself, they shot open at Kiera's hushed scolding, knowing immediately that the cat had gotten up to mischief. "Church! You motherfucker! Stop trying to knock the glasses off of the counter!" She scolded, picking up the cat and setting him on the floor, hating how he was always entitled to jump up on the counter as he was always nosy when Kiera tried to cook. 

He breathed a chuckle at her slight aggravation, moving slowly to stretch his arm above his head to cradle the crown of his skull in the crook of his elbow, sighing through his nose while his eyes looked down to Evie, suckling calmly on the pacifier and her eyes relaxed closed. His free hand rested on Evie's back, keeping her secure against his chest just in case she tried to roll over in her sleep while the remote to the television rested on his hip, purposely putting on a show Kiera liked as she had a habit of trying to watch the television while the oven pre-heated or when she was cutting vegetables, Simon putting on a show that matched her mood. 

When she was in a loving mood, he put on This Is Us.

When she was in a funny mood, he put on Reba, Jackass or Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory

When she was in a frustrated mood, he put on 90 Day Fiancé. Which he understood, because when he'd watch it with her, he became frustrated too. Especially with how ignorant and oblivious to how some of the people were. Love is definitely blind, he would think. But my eyes are wide open with Kiera. I see no flaws. 

On this particular day, he put on Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory, smirking at the sound of Kiera's distant giggles every time something happened, finding the show just as amusing as he wished he could have that much fun in his younger years.

"Do you need any help, love?" He asked, looking up at her as she sat on the edge of the couch, her eyes locked on the commotion within the television show as her free hand rubbed circles along his sleeved arm. 

"I'm alright, babe. Just passing the time while I'm waiting for the water to boil." She assured him, moving her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, slowly moving its way to his hair, pushing it back away from his face, his eyes growing heavy with every delicate stroke of her fingers. 

"What're you making tonight?" 

"Steak tips, macaroni and cheese, baked potatoes, creamed corn, and sweet peas." She smiled. 

"What's the occasion?" He chuckled, moving his head to kiss her palm as it cupped his cheek. 

"Remember? You invited Price over for dinner tonight since he didn't want to participate in the festivities the wranglers are hosting tonight." 

He shrugged, "What festivities?" 

"Teeter put it together." 

"Bloody hell," He scoffed. "I can understand why he doesn't want to participate." 

"Teeter was explaining to Gaz and Rudy that she can team rope while being plastered. They didn't believe it, so she and the wranglers talked them into trying and if they fall off, they have to play Cowboy Poker." 

"Christ," He grumbled. "Please tell me they're not using a horned bull." 

"You should know better than that, babe," She giggled. "For the first round they won't." 

"Remind me to go down there and check on them." 

"They'll be fine, Simon. We'll go down there after dinner and when I put the kids to bed." 

"Okay, love. What time is Price supposed to be up here?" 

"Around seven. Him and Alejandro went into town to pick up some tequila. Alejandro was wanting to have a "Mexican Welcome" of his own by grilling at the barn for the wranglers." 

"I grow more worried the more you tell me what their plans are." He chuckled. 

"Trust me, I am too, especially if it was Teeter's idea, but I'm going to assume that no news is good news and that they really don't fuck with a bull." 

"I hope so," He sighed, his eyes wandering over her, pupils dilated at the sight of her in his military sweatshirt - a sweatshirt that he wasn't able to fit in anymore due to his muscle gain. "I hope you plan on changing before Price gets here." 

She giggled, "I will. I know it's not appropriate to wear just your shirt without anything underneath." 

She watched his breath hitch at the thought of the new information, Simon assuming she had been wearing a pair of shorts under his shirt instead of just panties. "Don't tell me that." He sighed, his heartrate quickening. 

"And why not?" 

"Starting something you can't finish, love." He arched his brow. 

His index finger couldn't help but twitch as she bit her bottom lip playfully, "Oh, I'm not going to start anything unless you have a condom. Can't risk getting pregnant again so soon." She teased. 

"Give me a half hour to go into town and back, then." He smirked. 

"By the time you get back, we won't have much time before Price gets here," She shook her head with a giggle. "But I'd consider it knowing you can make it quick." 

She knew it was a lie, but fuck if she didn't enjoy teasing him about it.

Mainly knowing that he always made it a point to last just ten minutes longer when she was overstimulated and begging for a release.

He scoffed, "Then I'll pull out." 

"We both know that's a lie, babe." 

"You're right. Can't help it." He chuckled playfully. He knew he could if it came down to it, but he enjoyed teasing her. 

"My point exactly," She giggled, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. "Until you can control yourself or get a condom, I'm going to continue making dinner for us and our guest." 

He huffed at her answer, licking his lips as he took a glance at her rear as she got up, knowing exactly what was underneath that sweatshirt. 

He waited until she got back into the kitchen, looking down to see Evie sleeping soundly against his chest, holding the same position except her grip on his dog tags had loosened, letting him know that she was fully asleep. He got up quietly, seeing that Kiera hadn't noticed him stand up to take Evie into the nursery, laying her down in her crip and swaddling her with the handmade blanket Eva had made for her, Jacob having one to match except he was growing to not being a fan of being swaddled in the evening, seeming to want more room for his arms as his habit was stretching his arms to the side as he slept. 

Ensuring Evie wasn't disturbed when he ensured she was comfortable in her crib, he refrained from closing the door completely by leaving a slight crack in the doorframe before proceeding on the mission that Kiera had started. 

The couple had refrained from being intimate due to Kiera's healing journey which Simon respected, having no problem waiting to have sex until she was ready, although many conversations occurred during the predicted abstinence trial after having her C-Section. 

His steps were silent as he approached her from behind, his gaze targeting her as she had her back facing him while she had been washing the potatoes in the sink, his senses going mad at the sight of her hair in a messy bun to keep her hair from her eyes as she worked. 

Steadily, his hands found their place on her waist, Kiera gasping at his sudden appearance from behind her. "You like teasing me, yeah?" He whispered, nuzzling his face against her bare neck, placing a kiss where he felt her pulse quicken with excitement. He knew she was getting aroused, imagining how wet she was getting just by his touch alone. She may deny it was a playful remark, but he knew her body like the back of his hand just as much as he imagined his palm was her on occasion. 

By instinct, she arched her back against him, her head lulling to the side to give him better access to her neck. "I gain enjoyment out of it." She hummed, inviting him further by her body language, pressing her thighs together subtly, feeling an enticing throb from between her legs, imagining how he could bend her over the counter effortlessly. 

"Just like I gain enjoyment out of watching you try to hide your arousal from me, love," He whispered against her neck, using his left arm to reach in front of her to turn off the water flow on the sink before grasping the sink basin where it met the counter, his veins protruding with arousal. 

"Is that right?" She giggled, feeling him hum against her neck before placing another kiss there.

"I can almost hear your heartbeat," He whispered. "Just like your thighs are pressing together." 

She bit her lip as she turned around in his arms, caged between him and the counter as he pressed his lips to her forehead while her arms snaked around his shoulders. "We just have to be careful, babe." 

He nodded, placing another kiss to her forehead before stepping aside to reach to turn off the stove before quickly and tenderly picking her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, holding her securely against him with one arm while the other grasped the baby monitor to take with him. She giggled as she placed kisses along his jaw and cheek while he closed the bedroom door with his foot. "What're we going to do if Price comes over early?" 

"He'll understand." He grumbled, using his knee to brace himself as he easily lowered her onto their made bed, careful not to lay his entire weight on her to refrain from putting pressure on the healing scar from her C-Section. 

His kisses were gentle and passionate, letting her hands explore his body while his made a trail of their own, one arm propping himself up next to her head while the other trailed down her side and towards the inside of her thighs, cupping her through her underwear, feeling the soaked pad of her underwear. "Fuck, love." He grumbled into her mouth. 

"What is it?" 

"You're so wet, I'm afraid you won't be able to feel me." He rasped, his heartrate increasing at his discovery. 

"Only one way to find out, baby." She panted, her fingers splayed through his hair. His fingers curled around the pad of her underwear, the top of his fingers already soaked before he could even get her underwear off completely. He tossed them to the floor, his lips starting at the inside of her knee, his lips leaving one kiss along their trail until they reached her core, an immensely sweet taste engulfing his tongue, Simon unable to restrain the satisfied groan that left his lips, the vibration around her clit making her gasp in pleasure, her thighs nearly caging his head in place. 

His tongue made slow, sensual strokes between her folds, his free hand coming up to line up the tip of his index finger with her entrance, watching it slowly disappear within her and making his cock twitch almost painfully. He didn't care about his pleasure when it came to their time in the bedroom, his sole purpose but pleasing her before himself. And tonight, it was about her pleasure. 

"Best be quiet, love," He said against her core, a sharp reminder of their reason to be quiet, the vibrations from his mouth causing her to tremble. "Don't want to wake them too early." 

"I'm never quiet when I'm like this," She giggled. "Guess you'll just have to make me." 

He huffed a chuckle against her, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before standing to his feet to walk around the bed, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the bed, sitting on his knees to look down at her, bringing his shirt into her view, Kiera unintentionally giving him the ultimate siren eyes that drove him wild, begging him. "Open that pretty mouth, love." 

She smirked, doing as she was told, watching him fold one of his sleeves before placing it between her teeth, using the remaining fabric to cover her eyes while he used the other sleeve to wrap around her head and tying it off upon itself. "Good girl," He praised. "If you get uncomfortable, just tap on my arm." 

She nodded, her breathing quickened as she felt his presence move throughout the room, hearing him open up the drawer from her nightstand, knowing that he was getting an ally. Oh, fuck, I have two toys in there! She wondered. Which one is he going to use?!

He chose the butterfly dildo and vibrator, smirking as it nowhere near resembled his size, thinking it was cute how she could still satisfy herself with such a smaller toy. He turned it on, pressing the tip of it to the outside of her hip, tracing it along her bare skin and to the inside of her thighs, feeling her tense of nervousness as she sensed the light turning on, growing immediately insecure that he was seeing her core in direct light again, forcing herself to remember that he never would judge her. She felt him lay between her thighs, putting the vibrator on its lowest setting before testing it against her clit, hearing a muffled gasp leave her lips before he pressed the tip to her entrance, teasingly pushing it in, watching how she contracted her muscles unintentionally as if she were trying to suck it in herself. 

His cock couldn't help but twitch as he thought about how he felt it when he would slide himself inside of her. Fuckin' amazing, he mused. His eyes kept their gaze on her as the tip disappeared within her, feeling slight resistance from how tight she was, leaving a glare on the silicone with every slow thrust, his eyes glancing up at her as she arched her back, muffling another moan once she felt the vibrations against her G-Spot. 

After a few thrusts, he used his thumb to turn on the butterfly of the vibrator, sheathing it fully inside of her before the butterfly could make contact with her clit, hearing a wince and a moan leave her lips as her hands trailed down to find his free hand, letting her dig her nails into the skin between his thumb and index finger. She felt weightless as he continued to use the toy on her, wondering how he knew to use it better than her own when she would use it, but she didn't care as she always knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

She heard him groan as well as the sounds the vibrator made once he pulled it out before pushing it back in, unaware that Simon was groaning at the sight of a faint white ring pooling at the base of the vibrator, answering his assumption of how wet she truly was. "Fuuuuckkin' hell, love. Not even a half-hour in and you're already making a mess on this fake knob," He teased, his heart pounding against his chest. "Makes me think you prefer this over mine." 

His head was pressing against her inner thigh, fascinated with how he was able to pleasure her with the toy without the use of his cock, but immensely excited at the sight, knowing that he did even better with his own, only using toys on her to intensify her pleasure, although he could admit that the feeling of a vibrator against his cock as he thrust himself inside of her was equally as pleasurable. He smirked as he watched her shake her head in disagreement with his statement, rewarding her with a kiss to the inside of her thigh as he continued his enjoyment of using the toy on her, knowing that a lot of her pleasure came from clitoral stimulation instead of vaginal, conquering this theory by also grabbing the regular vibrator from the drawer when he retrieved the other toy, knowing he'd be using it on her when he buried himself within her. 

"S-Simon," She panted, using her hand to remove the shirt from her mouth. "Need you inside of me." 

"Is that a command, love?" He replied, a smirk against her thigh. 

"I can make it one." 

"Let's hear it." 

She bit her lip, "Inside of me. Now." 

"I like when you get assertive with me, sweetheart." He replied, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee before moving to sit on his knees, pleased to see the toy still inside of her without his grasp on it while he slid down his sweatpants, pumping himself once before using his right hand to slowly slide the toy from her, turning it off before setting it aside and using the same hand to turn his dog tags around his neck, the tags resting between his shoulder blades before he lined himself up with her entrance after sliding his length through her folds to lubricate himself, watching himself slide in without having to use his hand, nearly whimpering at the sensation he missed so much. He propped himself on his elbow with his left arm, bringing his right hand up to reveal her eyes, able to see the pleasure he was bringing to her. 

Her legs moved to wrap around his waist, moaning into his mouth as his thrusts were gentle, yet assertive, their tongues dancing with each other as if it were the last time. "Oh, Simon-" She panted, her hands splaying across the built muscle of his back, feeling them tense with every thrust, his entire torso nearly twice the size of hers, fully hiding her beneath him. 

"What is it, love?" He whispered into her jaw. 

"You-You're so...big." 

He chuckled at her remark, unable to resist the seemingly harsh thrust while he rolled his hips, feeling the skin of his hips making contact with hers, an almost-sticky sensation residing in its wake as he withdrew. 

"I like to think I am." 

"You should know." She whimpered, digging her nails into his back, opening her eyes briefly to make contact with his. 

"Better make sure you leave scratches if you're going to dig those pretty fingers in my back." 

She hummed in amusement at his filthy talk, biting her lip as she began to do as she was told, making it a personal mission to leave several scratches along his back from his tailbone all the way up to his shoulders. "Is that why you always insist for me to get my nails done?" 

"I wouldn't say I insist since you like having your nails done, but keep in mind that I always want you to get them done so you can leave scratches on me later." He teased, his right hand leaving her hip to feel for the single vibrator, using his thumb and index finger to grasp it as he turned it on, his mouth filling with her moan once it made contact with her clit, turning it upwards to find the perfect spot that wouldn't overstimulate her too quickly, finding the perfect rhythm to follow with every deep thrust, purposely rolling his hips as he did to hit her G-Spot every time. 

"Just like you're giving me your last name so I can scream your first?" She hummed, legs tightening around his waist. 

"Oh, how I like the sound of that. Fuckin' clever girl." 

They lay in immense passion, Simon whimpering every time he felt the spongy material with the tip of his cock every time it hit her G-Spot, his right hand nearly soaked in her natural stimulation, her nails digging crescents and leaving long welts along the thick muscle of his back, their lips dancing with each other, their teeth nearly making contact with every other deep kiss, a thin sheet of sweat appearing on them as the time went on...

Only to be interrupted by the ringing of Simon's phone from the nightstand, his head shooting up to fix his gaze on the screen, wondering who was calling. He stilled, sighing at the feeling of Kiera tightening around him as he reached for his phone, a mischievous grin appearing on his lips when he recognized it was Price calling him. Seeing that it was five minutes past seven o'clock, he pressed his hips tightly against her, pinning the vibrator between him and her clit, slowly rolling his hips to continue giving her pleasure, "Let's see how quiet you can be, yeah?" He whispered, watching her bite her bottom lip at the challenge ahead, watching him use his thumb to slide across the screen, putting it on speaker before laying it on the bed to resume using his right hand to dive between their hips, placing the vibrator back against her clit as his thrusts resumed to a devilishly and teasingly slow pace. 

"Yeah?" 

"Hey, mate, I wanted to let you know I was here. I didn't want to knock and risk the dog barking and waking up the kids." Price answered. 

He saw that Kiera was about to release another moan, shooting her a playfully threatening glare before she covered her own mouth and turning her head to the side just in case one slipped through her fingers, her other hand digging into his tattooed forearm. 

"Thanks," He answered, no evidence in his tone that he had been interrupted. "I'm coming." 

"Alright, Simon. I'll be right outside." 

"I'll be just a few minutes," He stated, feeling Kiera's thighs starting to tremble, letting him know that her orgasm was on the tide. "Just got out of the shower and need to change." 

"Take your time, mate. Is Kiera home from town?"

Yeah, she's right under me, Simon chuckled to himself. "She is. She's feeding Jacob right now. I'll be there in a minute." 

"Okay." 

He refrained from hanging up first, not wanting to risk Kiera losing sight of her orgasm. Instead, he held his own breath as he waited for Price to hang up first, letting his phone fall asleep before Kiera removed her hand from her mouth. "That was close." She panted. 

"Poor bloke was completely oblivious that I was railing you throughout the entire conversation," He chuckled, "But I know you're close." 

She nodded, moaning into his mouth once his lips returned. "Let it go, love." 

He felt her contract around him, her walls fluttering with the intense stimulation. "There you fuckin' go," He nearly whined, coaxing her through her much-needed orgasm. "Come all over it." 

She sighed, her eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head as she chased her high, Simon continuing his pace, nearly losing himself inside of her before he rapidly reminded himself to not release, knowing it would put her at risk. 

He felt how sensitive she was, removing the vibrator from her clit to continue thrusting so that he could withdraw and shower her stomach with his spend. That was, until she intrigued him with a request. "Come in my mouth, Simon." 

"Dessert before dinner, yeah?" He smirked. 

"Always." 

He withdrew, watching her move to where her head dangled over the edge of the bed, willingly opening her mouth and flattening her tongue as her hands clasped around the back of his thighs. She had never done this before, but it aroused him all the same as he imagined viewing the bulge of his cock in her throat. Bloody fuckin' hell.

She took him willingly, managing to twirl her tongue around him as he filled her mouth, Simon feeling her throat constrict as he pressed further with her guiding hands, releasing a slight gag at the semi-burning sensation, but he continued when she pulled him further. His mental image coming true, he saw the bulge of his cock within her throat, making him groan at the sight, watching her breasts recoil under his shirt with every slow thrust until he began to pick up a pace, that familiar flame in his loin growing hotter and hotter, his hands cupping her jaw as he continued to climb the mountain of ecstasy. 

After a few more thrusts, he stilled, filling her throat full of his spend, watching her willingly swallow him down as she sucked on him lightly as he slowly withdrew, a string of saliva connecting them as he began to grow flaccid. She hummed as she watched him enter the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth to rid the sticky sensation from between her thighs before he cleaned himself off, offering his hand to help her to her shaky legs, smirking at how her mascara pooled at the corners of her eyes. "Better go get that door, babe." 

He smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips before readjusting his dog tags around his neck, scanning the floor and the bed for his clothes while Kiera dismissed herself to the bathroom to rid any evidence of sex, taking the two toys he had used on her to clean them and put them away. 

[brainrotcharacters]

She Wasn’t Always Like That part 1 (It’s Not Enough)

ship: Ghost x reader

summary: Ghost knows you differently, but cares about you just as much. Maybe more. 

a/n: I’m relapsing into my cod era.

tags: sfw. angst comfort. reader is a member of 141. will they won’t they trope. reference to there’s only one bed trope. Ghost would rather die than acknowledge feeling feelings and honestly mood. 

part 2

She wasn't always like that.

Ghost knew that people didn't believe him when he describes you this way. They could never imagine the only woman of the 141, trained in espionage and assassination, as anything but sunlight given human form when you're off duty. You told Ghost you didn't mind, but he found the need to mention it regardless.

"Why?" You ask him at some point, handing him another washed plate to towel off. When he only stared at you sidelong, you continued. "I mean, why do you want people to know what I was like... before?"

You always sounded so ashamed, so uncomfortable, when you spoke about 'before'. As if keeping other people at arm's length because the alternative meant you were in danger was such an embarrassing way of thinking.

Put that way, Ghost was guilty of being inspired by you. The world knows you, but they don't know you, and it makes his skin crawl. But the words got cut up on the way out his mouth. He finished drying off the plate in his hands, placing it on the nearby rack. "Do you want me to stop?"

You blinked once. Unguarded, but intelligent eyes― the only times Ghost saw fear in those eyes was through camera feeds when he was separated from you, or when you were in active spy work. "I want to understand.”

He took in a breath, shoulders lifting slightly. How to say it? Better yet, how to say it without you catching on to him? Knowing you, you'd be too fucking quick with it.

You only angled your head at him, waiting patiently. Kindly.

Fuckin' hell. "You're happy running around with the boys here, yeah? For all your whinin' about Johnny, you'd kill for the man." 

"I already have," you chuckle, reaching for a mug. 

Right. Ghost's eyes tracked the way your hand gripped the cup. Firmly. "You'd be a hell of a lot happier if they didn't take your performance at face value."

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" 

"It's not enough, sweetheart.”

The tone of his voice was tense and unusual enough that you turned away from the sink to look at him. "They don't know what it takes for you to keep laughin' about with them. Fuck, they don't even know how much it takes you to get out of bed in the morning." 

Your eyes softened. As the person beside me in that bed, you'd know.

Ghost didn't look away. I do. "They rattle on and on about how good you are, how strong or how kind. I agree. Believe me, I'm with them. But..." 

Your thumbs slide over the now-scrubbed mug. Squeaky clean. You hand it to him, and he takes it, all too grateful for a reason to break eye contact. "Dude, I don't mind the opinions of the outside world. Yours is enough." 

Something in your mind clicked into place. It's not enough. I am not enough.

Ghost saw the realization flicker in your eyes, and rushed to speak before you managed to ask him about jealousy or self-pity or some bullshit like that. "I don't want to see you burn yourself out, is all." 

"Oh, I will." You laughed cynically. "And when I finally burn out―"

"Y/n, say if. Not when―" 

"Simon, when I burn out," you lift a serving spoon between you and him. Your hand visibly trembled. "I want you with me. The laughing and the jokes are nice, but I've been looking inward these days. Sooner than I'd like, I'm going to burn out. When that happens, I hope you're nearby." you twist the spoon in your fingers, handle facing Simon. "No pressure, but I don't know what I'll do if you aren't." 

Though he was still reeling at the sound of his name, he plucked the piece of cutlery from your grasp and toweled it off. "The thing about you and me: if I'm not with you, then it means one thing. I'm on my way." 

A small, affectionate smile lit up your face, or maybe that was the sunlight from the open window several feet behind him. The sky had the fucking audacity to have correct fucking timing― 

The door burst open, and a gaggle of your sisters-in-arms, plus Gaz, pushed through. "Y/N! Ghost, can we steal Y/N from you for a bit?" 

It was a rhetorical question; whatever you and him were, no one knew the entire story, and no one asked. Maybe Ghost was getting tired of people not understanding you the way he did, the same way they didn't understand what he was with you. Maybe not.

Simple as that, your practiced smile appeared, and you hollered. "LADIES! I told you not to bring goddamn Kyle into this." 

An outraged noise from the young man had you giggling. "Jokes, jokes. Let's go. Ah, hey Ghost?"

He turned.

"Thank you." you smiled, eyes shining. 

Ghost paused. Then nodded once. 

When the door closed behind you, and the noise of friends enjoying your performance faded away, the image and sound of you burned in his memory. 

God fucking damnit.  

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!reader fic)

Act One, Chapter One: No Moksha

Slayyy! We're here! I hope you all enjoy!

For context, the reader is AFAB but I included gender neutral pronouns :).

Ah! I'm so excited, I've never written something like this before!

Apologies in advance for any grammar mistakes, I have proofread this to death but things always slip under the radar. There is also a poll at the end of this for you to choose how this should go- majority vote dictates the direction the reader takes!

Word count: 5,718

Warnings: Strong language, horror elements, mentions of blood

The night you had arrived at the base of the Mexican Special forces, right on the outskirts of the cartel-owned city of Las Almas, the sky was starless, and the weather was muggy. The air had felt heavy, slightly suffocating, so much so that you had this unnerving feeling that the heavens may open any minute now. A storm was going to arrive soon, you just knew it, and that storm would most certainly bring lightning. It was humid after all, and thunderstorms thrived on humidity. You were grateful that you had shelter to retreat into should there be a raucous downpour, and that was all thanks to Kate Laswell. 

The CIA Station Chief had taken pity on your circumstance as a runaway from the Red Room, and thus, elected to temporarily take you under her wing. Once she felt secure that you had removed all implanted trackers, the woman allowed you to take refuge here in the base for the time being. You were briefly- though not properly- introduced to 141 and soon realised that they were in a similar situation, except they weren’t running away from a shadow government organisation. Instead, they apparently were going rogue due to some infighting within their own team and superior. You hadn’t heard the full story, but a few familiar names were dropped and you had an idea of what had happened. Anyways, you didn’t really care, 141 seemed amicable enough and that was all that mattered. You had decided that it was best to keep out of their way, provided they do the same for you. You weren’t looking for trouble, you were just looking for a few moments to breathe. 

Soon, though, you’d change your mind and decide that maybe dipping a toe into some idle conversation and seeing what became of it wouldn’t be a bad idea either. 

“Hey!” A friendly voice called from behind. 

You turned around from where you had been kneeling in front of your rucksack, to see a man with a black mohawk waving at you from a few feet away. He had a friendly face. 

“Hi.” You replied, subtly eyeing him. 

He took a few steps towards you, holding out his hand. 

“I’m Sergeant MacTavish. But most folks call me ‘Soap’.”

You smile. 

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

Soap quickly found you had a firm handshake. A very firm handshake. As he pulled away, you spotted him nursing his wrist, drawing it close to his chest as he continued to strike up conversation. 

“Quite a handshake you got there!” He remarked, chuckling. 

“Comes with the training.” You shrugged.

“Training?” Soap asked, “Laswell never mentioned you being military.”

“I’m not military.”

“Ah, I see. So, where are you from, then?”

“That’s classified.”

He nods, almost to himself. Another mystery man on the team. 

“I’m not on the team either.” You said absentmindedly as you turned back to grab your canteen, “I’m just staying here for the moment, I’ll be gone soon.”

When you got up, you noticed Soap was staring at you, mouth hung slightly open. He seemed to have a mixture of expressions going on, one of confusion and another of… surprise. Well, it was more like poorly-hidden shock. 

“What?” You tilt your head to one side, flinging your rucksack over your shoulder.

Did he… He could have sworn he never said that comment aloud. Or… Or maybe he did? Soap mumbled a “nothing”, letting you walk on ahead to the barracks. Sometimes his mouth was three steps ahead of his mind and he was known for occasionally letting things slip that he really should have kept in his head. It could happen in a flash, with Soap not knowing he’d said something stupid until he’d see heads turn and brows furrow. 

“So, how long are you crashing with us, then?” He asked, picking up into a light jog to catch up with you. 

“Uh… I’m not sure. Pretty much however long it takes for Laswell to kick me out?”

You both rounded a corner and entered a long hall lined with beds on either side.

Ah… yeah. This wasn’t ideal. Sure, you had expected to be sharing the sleeping area with one or two other folks, but this looked like the entire base was here. You pull your lips into a thin line. Everyone was here! Everyone. The sounds of idle chatter filled your head as you tried to find an empty bed to claim. You hoped you wouldn’t have to fend anyone off to keep it, not like back in your old living quarters. You think it was when you were about seven when you first realised the laws of that place. Some girl had taken your bed and slept in it and when you tried to nudge her off, she ended up attacking you. Once the fight had ended, she had gifted you with two new scars. In return, you had blessed her with a black eye and no bed for her to sleep in. Luckily, she had found another. However, since then, you had become vigilant about where you slept and what you slept on. 

Which was why it surprised you when you saw Laswell raising her arm and waving at you, before pointing to the bed across from the one she was sitting on. 

You walk down the aisle, occasionally looking at her for reassurance that you were headed in the right direction. Soon enough, you had plonked yourself on a slightly hard mattress with a creaky metal frame. Swivelling round to face Laswell and her companions across from you, you inch a little closer to the edge, hoping the background noise wouldn’t take away from the conversation you sensed was coming. 

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” She asked, taking a sip from her thermos.

“Fine.” 

Kate Laswell accepted the answer, and your little circle went quiet for a moment. 

“So…”  a man with mutton chops spoke up suddenly, only to then fade into silence. 

Laswell elbowed him lightly. 

“Just because they can’t tell you much about their background, doesn’t mean you can’t introduce yourself!” She shook her head, “Go on! Be polite!”

He shot her a dirty look before holding out his hand. 

“Captain John Price.”

“Y/N.”

You took it. 

“Just Y/N? No rank? Not even a surname?”

You shook your head. 

“Proper mystery you are, eh?” Price chuckled.

A younger man, sitting next to him, peered round to get a better look at you. His eyes wandered about for a bit before he honed in on something which made his eyebrows raise. 

“I like your tattoos.” He pointed to what he could see from your rolled up sleeve. 

You looked down, almost as if you were reminding yourself that they were still there. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. 

He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at them, only for Price to place a hand on his chest. 

“Don’t be getting in their space, Gaz. Let ‘em breathe.”

“Sorry,” Gaz gave an apologetic smile, “I was just wondering where you got ‘em done. They look really cool.”

“I can’t tell you where I had them inked, I’m afraid.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

“I will.” You grinned, letting out a small laugh. 

You could see Kate was beginning to relax a little as you and Gaz exchanged smiles. Sure, you weren’t going to be here for long, but it would make a heck of a lot easier if you got along well with your short-term roommates. 

Soap came and sat himself down on his rucksack in the small, askew circle you had found yourselves in. 

“So,” he began, scooting himself a little closer in, “you guys managed to get any intel on Y/N here?”

“Tough nut to crack.” Price remarked, feigning a solemn headshake, “Won’t even give their rank.”

Soap sighed, “Damn. Don’t even know where you sit in the pecking order… that’s gonna make allocating food tough.”

Your eyes widened. 

“Allocating what now?” 

“They’re just messing with you.” Laswell rolled her eyes as the men let out hearty laughs, “You’ll get an equal ration don’t worry.”

She patted your back as you laughed nervously with them, feeling a bit foolish.

“Can you not scare them off please?” Kate barked at Soap as he wiped his eye, “The last thing I want is them running off and disappearing off the face of the Earth.”

“Sorry, Laswell! Couldn’t help masel!” 

“Of course.”

The laughter soon quietened down and people started looking up. A shadow had fallen over you, darkening your field of view. 

You looked up to see what was eclipsing the lights. 

A tall, masked man was looking down at you… and you kept looking back up at him. 

The both of you narrowed your eyes. For a brief moment, you thought a staring contest was going to begin, time slowing down for a fleeting second. And then, suddenly, the world sped up back to its usual pace as he turned to the rest of the group and asked:

“Who’s this?”

“That’s Y/N. The runaway Laswell told us about yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Oh? You tilted your head to one side. Was that all he had to say? “Oh?” 

Fine. Just ‘oh’ me, I guess. You shrugged to yourself as he walked past you to take a seat by Soap. 

“This one’s a proper mystery. Some shadowy government agent from Laswell’s lot.” Price whispered, loudly. 

“Yeah, you can take your tin foil hat off, Captain.” Laswell groaned, “Y/N’s information is just classified to you.”

“What about you, Kate?”

“Oh, I know almost everything about them.” She leaned back a little, smug. 

“They got as much classified information as Ghost?” Soap looked between you and the masked man. 

“Probably not. Since, you know, we have the privilege of seeing Y/N’s face all the time, unlike someone.”

Gaz let out a snort as Ghost rolled his eyes. 

Ultimately, it was true though. If it were down between you and Ghost on who looked more trustworthy, it would be you by a mile. You didn’t have a mask on for a start and he did. Not to mention, the man’s stare was unnerving. Intense. You were almost certain that if he tried, the sheer power of his glare would turn you into stone. The man would have made a fine Gorgon, all staring eyeballs and no friendly smile, or at least no visible friendly smile. 

“Y/N,” Gaz paused to let out the last of his giggles, “I got a very important question. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Uh…” You just pick one off the top of your head, “red?”

“Great! Now we know more about Y/N than our old pal Ghost! They officially have less classified info than him!”

Soap went to put an arm around his shoulders, only for Ghost to shrug him off. 

“Very funny.” 

“Oh, lighten up, Riley! You’re the one who refused to give a straight answer, unlike Y/N here.”

“Maybe because I have better things to do than pick a favourite colour?”

“Hey!” You light-heartedly snapped back, pointing an accusing finger at him, “There’s nothing wrong with having a favourite colour.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with not having a favourite colour.” He retorted. 

“Yeah!” You folded your arms, “Perhaps if you’re not interesting or fun enough to have one.”

Soap let out an ‘ooohh’, awaiting Ghost’s reply. 

Only for the man to just huff and get up. 

“Pass me your canteen, Johnny. That’s what I was here for anyways.”

“Could you fill up mine too?” Gaz asked, raising his water bottle up to Ghost. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Rude.” 

“Now, now, lieutenant, that’s no way to be talking to your sergeant.” Price snickered. 

“My apologies, Garrick.” Ghost said, exaggeratingly. 

“Apology accepted.” Gaz smiled, getting ready to hand him his bottle. 

“But I still ain’t filling it up.”

With that, Ghost left the barracks and left Gaz hanging. 

The men erupted into laughter once more as Gaz wibbled his lower lip, acting as if he was on the verge of tears. 

“Welcome to 141.” Kate smiled, “They’re idiots when they’re not on the job.”

You found yourself genuinely smiling, something which you hadn’t done in a while. 

“Well, Laswell. I’d rather have these idiots than a bunch of arseholes.”

Kate placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“You’ll do just fine around here, Y/N. Just fine.”

You hoped so. Even if this was a pitstop, this was your first taste of freedom. This was the first time you were going it alone, meeting people who you were choosing to meet and talk to. This was not a matter you took lightly. Every moment you had with these guys; you would be savouring it. Perhaps this was also the time to start learning about how to make friends as well. 

The laughter you were currently bathing in set alight a gentle warmth which you had seldom felt back when you were at the Red Room. 

There’d be no harm in saying that this bode well. 

***

He was still getting used to the sights and sounds. This world he had been reborn into was… overwhelming. It hadn’t changed though; it was he who had been augmented. 

Graves sat perfectly still as he watched the whitecoats around him do their thing. He had regretted having not chosen to sit in a more comfortable, slouched posture for this, but it was too late to change his position now. Any sudden move made would result in a swift sedation or a prompt branding with whatever silver cruelty they had on them. 

He let out a resigned sigh as one of the doctors made her way round him and placed a lead onto his temple, pressing down to make sure the adhesive would stick. 

“Arcadian 3’s vitals are up now.”

The team dropped whatever they were doing and huddled around the small monitor next him, where the various wires that were attached from his head to his arms, hands and his chest all led to. 

“Look at that!” One of them gasped, pointing at something on screen that seemed to have the vague shape of numbers as well as a wiggly line that Graves usually attributed to hospital equipment, “No sign of deterioration at all! Heart rate of 60 beats per minute, average for a living K9.”

“Blood oxygen level is 97.5%. That’s pretty good.”

“Okay, great. I’d say… I’d say we can send him over to the Red Room’s guys.”

There seemed to be a unanimous hum of agreement as heads nodded and people patted each other on the back. 

The doors to the lift parted and Phillip Graves was greeted with a compartment full of other men, looking about as drained as he did. Some were already wearing their armour, whilst others were in their base layers like him. All eyes moved to meet him, and Graves felt himself recoil inside. 

“Get in, soldier.” A woman called from behind and he felt the dull end of her weapon gently nudge his lower back. 

Reluctantly, the man stepped over the threshold and into the lift, sandwiching himself between two other brutes. 

“Once you reach the Academy, you are to turn right and follow the lamias waiting for you to go get your masks fitted. Under no circumstances are you to enter the Academy without one of those things on. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” They all said. 

The doors creaked shut. 

The air was heavy here, the humidity only rising with each breath let out. The sighs released from those slightly frowned lips of the soldiers in this cramped space came out in the form of steam: a small, fleeting moment of white which dissipated, leaving only the mere sensation of its presence. Not wishing to make eye contact with any of his companions, Graves elected to keep his eyes on the small screen above, which indicated the floor number they were on. 

Slowly, the value on the screen decreased. The lift would jerk a little and its lights flickered in response. Only the distant echoes of metal scraping against metal and clanking machinery filled the silence. There were no voices. Graves had tuned into the soft whirs of the lift, which were more audible when the damn thing wasn’t acting like it was as old as time itself. He found it bizarre that something which looked so well-maintained would sound as broken as it did. This lift was inarguably spotless, the metal for the buttons polished and shining, the floor looking glossy, and the walls were this pristine blue grey colour. Maybe his ears had gotten sensitive too? 

Graves had noticed his sight and sense of smell most certainly had; what would be the subtle scent of men’s perfumes, deodorants and aftershave mixed with dull metal was an almost overbearing concoction for his nose. Phillip was doing all he could to not just clutch his face and splutter. It was like the smell was slowly filling up the inner volume of his skull, desperately vying for all his mind’s attention. As for his eyesight, well, he gathered that this lift’s lights had been especially lowered for him and the men around him because he could actually see clearly. Graves didn’t have to squint for once. 

Someone yawned and another scratched behind their ear. 

There was this shared sense of discomfort. No one wanted to be here, and they could sense that desire in each other. 

Graves found himself being compelled to yawn. As he did so, he realised he had to give himself a moment to realign his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t sit uncomfortably on one another. Oh, the joy of having lengthened canines! He truly, truly hated what they had done to his body. 

Finally, the lift creaked, groaned and then grinded to a halt. Doors parted and the men stepped out. They were greeted with a set of armoured women, who kindly guided them down the corridor, herding them into a room just off the side. 

There were worktables lined with masks and various articles of armour. 

“Find your mask. See if it fits and put it on. If you don’t have armour, the bits on the tables are yours. Your pieces will be identified by your number. It’s your full number, not the last digit.”

They obeyed, not uttering a word, and dispersed, splitting into smaller groups and huddling round the tables. Graves wandered about, looking at each and every piece, hoping to find one with his serial number. 

7223. 

7223. 

Come on! He gritted his teeth. Where’s 7223?

Eventually, he found his stuff, sitting on the table at the far end of the room, near a guard who was posted at the corner, watching them like a hawk. First thing the man did was put on the gloves. Then, he picked up a pair of braces, branded with his number on the inside, and strapped them to his arms. Kneepads went on next and finally; it was the chest plate. It was familiar but strange at the same time. 

The woman at the front who had been instructing them spoke up again. 

“Remember when you put these masks on, you need to bite down gently on the mouthpiece inside. Once you all have your masks on, we’ll show you how to insert your blood canisters.”

Graves stared at the helmet in his hands. The reflections of the ceiling lights rolled off its featureless, glass face. He knew the stuff it was made of was most certainly not glass, nay, it was most likely something much stronger than whatever materials the standard army possessed for their protective gear. However, it looked fragile. Strange. Alien. The smooth glaze of this visage was coloured black with this undertone of crimson which revealed itself when occasionally catching the light. With a resigned exhale through his nose, Phillip turned it around to find the button to crack it open. Feeling around his finger, he eventually came across a change in texture and took the plunge. It hissed and soon the segments were levering themselves either upwards or out to the sides. 

He put it on and found the mouthpiece. A hunk of what felt like plastic, again, he knew it most likely wasn’t, hit him square on the nose. As he lowered the mask onto his face, he managed to move it over so that it was hovering over his lips. He took a deep breath. Then, he opened his mouth. It was horrible. 

Remember that feeling when the dentist shoves that chunk of plastic and terrible, mint-flavoured stuff into your mouth to take a mould? Everything was clearly too big for you, the bits of plastic cutting at the insides of your cheeks, the urge to gag rising but nothing really coming of it? 

It was that. He was not having a good time. 

He bit down on the piece, desperate to try and find a way to make this tolerable. 

“Looks like everyone’s got their masks on. Great. We’re handing out the blood canisters now. Nobody try slotting them in until all of y’all have your canisters.”

One of the lamias came round with an unzipped duffel bag, which jangled as she walked. On each table she set out a pair of canisters per person. Eventually, she made her way to Graves’ table and placed before him and his company, six transparent, sealed tubes. Each one housed a red liquid, which gushed about against its glass walls, causing pink froth. It looked like blood, but it clearly wasn’t. The liquid was too thin, too artificial. 

“Raise your hand if you do not have a pair of these.” The head lamia raised an example in her hand to show to the group. 

The lack of response suggested they were all set. 

“Okay,” she began, “Feel the lower half of your helmet for a slot on either side. Once you have located your slots, take the canister- there should be one labelled with ‘R’ for right and ‘L’ for left- and put them on the correct side.” 

The room was once more filled with the quiet rustles of people doing as they were told. 

Graves looked down to see the new pieces of equipment which had been placed before him. He picked one up, bringing it close to his concealed face. Examining it, Phillip’s eyes narrowed. 

In accidental union, each soldier there took their canisters and plugged them into their masks. The sound of unanimous, mechanical hissing replacing the ambient quiet like the rising pre-chorus of some holy choir. 

As soon as the parts clicked in place, a smell began to fill the air in Phillip’s mask. At first it was faint, but soon it gained strength. More and more and more, it began to overtake him. 

This was blood. This was some form of blood. And yet, it was sweet. Delectable. He could almost taste it. Every time he inhaled, Graves was met with this wave of satisfaction, like he had just eaten the best meal he’d had in ages. It almost made him feel faint, his head starting to feel light and his eyes heavy with each blink. Graves leant forward, resting his hands against the worktable, trying to steady his breaths. 

Opposite to him, a guy was clutching his helmeted head, groaning. He looked almost drunk, his feet threatening to give way as he swayed side to side, like the thin stem of a plant caught in the wind. Another man, in between Graves and the wobbler, standing along the shorter side of the table, was giggling a little, unsteady on his feet too and resting some of his weight on the table like Graves. 

THUMP!

Those who weren’t completely inebriated whipped their heads round to the source of the sound. Someone, at the table near the door, had just collapsed, body giving way completely. A couple of lamias grabbed hold of him and promptly dragged him away like this was nothing. 

Graves furrowed his brows. 

Was losing consciousness a common occurrence here? 

“Do not remove your masks whilst in the Academy! These pieces of equipment are to stop you from attacking our lamias-in-training and your teammates when you’re working. You’ll be given further instruction on these when you are sent out on your first missions!” The main woman instructed, “You are now ready to enter the Academy. The gorgons at the front will direct you to your assigned lamias-in-training.”

She gestured for them to start heading out the door. As he had been doing for the entirety of the time he had spent here, Graves followed the crowd and left the room with the group. 

They trekked down the hall in silence, almost like zombies, the fumes these canisters were filling their lungs made them feel drowsy. Sluggishly, Graves walked with the others in time, doing his best not to be blinded by the ceiling lights overhead. 

The vague shape of two figures came into view at the end of the hallway, holding guns close to their chests. Once they saw the men approach, one turned and scanned her palm. The three segments making up the blast door parted and they were ushered inside. 

Now, Graves found himself in a queue. 

From an arms room to what looked like to be a line for the bank, Phillip just accepted the circumstances he was in. That’s what he had been doing this entire time, ever since he had found himself in this place… he had just accepted. It was what he had to do. After all, they could very well just kill him if they thought he wasn’t going to be of much use and then his second chance at life would be taken away. All it took was for him to look the wrong way at someone and bam! Silver bullet through the brain and no more. He may have not liked this, being poked at by whitecoats, having to watch poorly made instructional videos and being herded like cattle, but he was alive. Right now, that was all he could think about. 

He was alive. 

Three weeks ago he had been dead. Three weeks ago he was a corpse, still as a lake, empty. Phillip Graves three weeks ago didn’t exist. 

And yet, he had been willed back to walk this Earth once more. 

He knew he’d eventually find himself feeling disillusioned, being forced to become a soldier once more, unable to pick his battles but right now, Phillip knew that this organisation had his loyalty for a while. Much longer than the US could hold it for. 

“8540. 8540. Come to the front. Your lamias are ready.” An automated voice announced over the intercom. 

A man, a few heads in front of Graves, watched his number appear on the screen. Then, he left the queue and was led past the set of doors to whatever lay beyond them. 

More numbers were called and more men were led away. 

“7629.”

“8913.”

“7152.”

And then, finally:

“7223.”

He did as he had watched and removed himself from the queue and walked towards the set of doors. The pair of guards on either side gestured for him to follow. 

To Graves’ surprise, the man found himself in a canteen. It was a large mess hall. Tables were dotted around, some long, reaching almost the length of the hall, whilst others were smaller islands, with personnel huddled around them. 

He was led down the aisle between a pair of long tables, coming to a stop about two thirds of the way. 

“Sit.”

The guards pushed Phillip onto a chair roughly. Then, one left and one remained, taking a seat next to him. Across from the man sat two girls who were in base layers similar to what he was wearing under his armour.

One of the girls leaned back, looking him up and down. As she did so, Phillip realised the strange markings both had lining their forearms, seemingly coming up to their necks, the patterns peeking through from under the edge of their base layers. 

“This is 7223.” The guard said, gesturing to him, “He will be overseeing you from now on. So, I suggest you three get acquainted. They’ll be deploying your party within the next twenty-four hours.”

***

You couldn’t sleep that night. The warmth had worn off and you were back to being worried. They were coming for you, you knew it. They probably already were making moves to your location. Yes, you had removed the trackers which had been either grafted into your armour or implanted under your skin but really, you had to admit, it was more as a means to self soothe than actually something practical. You could tell Laswell knew that too. 

The both of you had smashed them into smithereens or chucked them into boiling water (much to Price’s dismay, having had to retrieve a new pan to cook his dinner in) but, again, it served no real purpose other than getting you one step closer to… well, closure. 

This was a game of cat and mouse, call and response. You knew you weren’t going to make the first move- now that’d be foolish! However, you also knew you couldn’t say huddled in the little burrow you had made for yourself here at the base. They’d sniff you out eventually. The Foundation had some fine K9s which the Red Room would employ and those K9s were only getting better. Once you got even the slightest hint that they were nearby, you’d be gone in a flash. No need to keep the lion waiting in the tall grass. At least then, you wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of giving chase. 

Dirty fucking dogs. 

Rain pattered softly against the windows as you navigated your way through a darkened corridor. Those who weren’t on night watch had been advised to confine their activity to the barracks, for the sake of keeping track of who was where and when, but… you couldn’t help yourself. You needed to wander and quietly pacing back and forth, hoping not to wake your sleeping roommates, simply would not suffice. It was not like those on night watch would catch you, you were one sneaky little sonuvabitch. At least, you hoped they wouldn’t find you. Even if they did, what was the worst that could happen? A mild bollocking? Pfft! You could handle that. And what of potential threats?

The answer was your gun. You had your trusty assault rifle with you, one which you had stolen when you made your escape. Luckily, you had yet to use it and you preferred to keep it that way. Your motto right now was to injure and run. You wouldn't aim to kill; you couldn’t risk lingering to see if the job was done. Besides, the kind of folks you usually tangled with typically got back up after a bullet to the brain, if you gave them a few minutes. 

The sounds from outside began to dampen. 

Soon, you found yourself in a patch of quiet. 

Right now, it was like you were walking in a big black void, only the vague shapes of what lay ahead along the path could be made out and even then, there was no certainty as to whether it was something tangible, or a mere shadow. 

Isolated, once more, with your thoughts. 

You wondered if sunrise would come soon, though, you soon thought that was a stupid question to ponder on seeing as it was so dark. This was the dead of night. 

And it was so, so quiet. 

Thunder gently rumbled overhead, but it sounded distant, almost muffled. 

You swallowed hard, drawing your gun closer to your chest. 

Maybe you would have been alright with pacing back and forth in the barracks, afterall. At least, back in the barracks, you’d have the sounds of snoring to ground you in reality. You knew your imagination would start to run wild, soon. 

WHOOSH!

You felt a chill wind sweep through your body. Something was here. 

A rustle!

Movement. 

Your breaths grew a little shaky as your finger moved to hover over the trigger. 

Was it them?

Oh God! Did they find you already?! How?! So soon?! 

You can feel your blood rushing through your veins, your pulse pounding in your ears. 

Your hairs stand on end, and you feel something bristle against your back. 

Dirty fucking dogs. 

Like a crescendo, awaiting the climax, you feel fear rush through you, propelling you as you spin around, gun pointing at whoever wanted to get a piece of you.

You flicked on your torch as you did so, and the face of your hunter was revealed. 

Two piercing eyes, reflecting the light of your flashlight back at you.

You let out a scream. 

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

It grabbed the muzzle of your gun. You fought against it, squirming against it as the thing tried to take control of the weapon. 

That’s when you noticed the hand wrapped around the end of your gun was gloved, with five very human looking fingers gripping the weapon. Your eyes trailed back up to meet the figure, only to see he was wearing a balaclava… and those ‘two piercing eyes’ which you had initially thought belonged to some animal… were plainly human. 

His brows furrowed as you stopped, and he let go. 

It was… Oh what was his name? 

Phantom? No… it was something short… Ghost? Yeah! That’s it!

“Oh my God!” You covered your mouth with your hand, only to then let go of your gun, leaving it to hang by its strap around you, as you placed your hands on your knees. 

You turned back to him. 

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Ghost seemed indifferent, staring at you. 

“What?” 

“Your safety’s on.” 

You looked down, sighing, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Go back to the barracks.” He said, almost sounding inconvenienced. 

You watched him walk past you, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact that he had just given you a heart attack. Taking in the last of your shaking breaths, you turn, hands still resting on your knees, to see his figure slowly vanish into the dark. 

You’ve got to be quick if you want to say your piece, or he’ll disappear out of earshot. 

[your-highnessmarvel]

cotton candy | s.riley - masterlist

Summary: On a mission to locate and capture the elusive South American mafia drug lord, Alvarez, Ghost stumbles upon the only person whose ever seen the mafia leader’s face, and who can properly identify him. Keeping her close - and safe - are imperative for this mission’s success. But having the need the sink his teeth in the soft flesh of her neck - oh no, that’s not a part of the mission. 

WARNINGS: DUB-CON themes, topics, and scenes. I REPEAT, DUB-CON. DNI if that’s not your thing. Eventual smut. Language, violence, gore, and mentions and scenes of weapons - knives, guns, weapons of mass destruction, etc. This is COD, BUT WILL NOT FOLLOW THE EVENTS OF THE CAMPAIGN, so before the cod boys come for my wig, no, this won’t follow anything. 

Character pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Original female character

Appearing characters: Laswell, Price, Soap, Alejandro, and Gaz. 

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

[ghostlychief]

Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by code name ‘Swan’)

Summary: More often than not, you find yourself in the presence of Simon Riley, aka “Ghost.” You find that your blooming friendship with the aloof Lieutenant provides you with a blanket of comfort, offering you a place of solace within his company. It’s no different when you’re injured during your next mission.

Warnings: mentions of bullet wound, blood, nothing too graphic; fluff; hurt/comfort

Wc: 3.3k+

A/n: This is purely an indulgent fic, as I’ve become obsessed with the mw2 character ghost lmao. If you stumble across it, i hope you enjoy!! I really had a fun time writing this, so i hope you have as much enjoyment while reading. <3 (sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, i’ve read this over and over and bound to miss a few)

ALSO: I’ve deemed Peace by Taylor swift this couples’ song so have a listen when you’re reading 🫶🏻

Part 2 found here: Weighted Blanket

--

When you first joined task force 141, it took you some time to feel fully a part of the team and comfortable. You were more on the quiet side, and chose your friends carefully; comes with the line of work, you figure. What you didn’t expect was to become closest to the man that goes by the name of “Ghost.” He was tall, quiet, and the only thing you could see of his face were his eyes, but for some odd reason, you two clicked. You frequently got paired up during missions, working well along side one another. You guys got the job done swiftly and with little difficulty and your skill sets complimented each other as well. While Ghost used brute force and took the enemy straight on, you used your size to hide and take down the enemy by surprise, from a far distance. You were the best sniper on the team.

You and Ghost completed mission after mission with flying colors, only the occasional scratch or two indicated you were ever in combat. Did he still intimidate the hell out of you? Well, of course. His intimidation and brooding atmosphere only made you want to be friends with him more.

Your acquaintanceship with Ghost started to bloom 6 months after you joined the team. After one particularly long and exhausting mission, you and Ghost ended up drinking a 12 pack in his room. It became a regular occurrence after that, with you quickly realizing that winding down with Ghost was the best way to recover from a mission. The conversation always started off with work talk but after a couple of beers, the conversation would steer towards other topics. During these nights, Ghost became more talkative, slowly opening up to you, and you the same. One evening, after Ghost had a couple beers in him, he gave you a nickname, “Little Swan.” That was the first time he ever made your heart race.

During these late-night chats, you learned that he likes his coffee sweet with flavored creamer, but he likes his tea black. You also learned that he only wears black socks and has a whole drawer filled with skull balaclavas. One night, you may or may not have stolen one after he passed out. It was all worth it though when you showed up to the team meeting the next morning sporting it.

As you entered the meeting room the next morning for the debrief, you came up to stand beside Ghost, who had his back turned toward you. The other members in the room raised their eyebrows but tried to hide their shock, as to not to give away Ghost’s surprise.

Smiling, you bumped shoulders with Ghost and said, “Damn, I really pull off your look, huh?” You grinned up at him, eyes bright, then turned back to the table to see all the other team members with their mouths slightly agape. Ghost glanced over at you, and his eyes widened slightly before going back to normal. He shook his head, “Fucking hell,” but not without you noticing the amusing glint in his eyes.

One morning you were eating breakfast in the dining hall, looking down at your book, when someone sat across from you. Usually, you ate alone, so it was a surprise to see Ghost sitting opposite of you with a steaming mug of coffee and a banana. You just smiled at him and went back to reading, and he ate his breakfast. No words were said, but every morning after that, you and the Lieutenant ate breakfast together. There was the occasional banter, but most times, you both enjoyed the quiet morning in each other’s company.

When you weren’t on a mission, you spent your time training and hanging out with the other team members on the base.

You typically trained with Soap, whether it be shooting or hand-to-hand combat. One day while you were on the mats sparing with Soap, he suddenly stopped, smirked at you and said, “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer, Swan.” With your brows furrowed, you looked up to see none other than Ghost leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you and Soap train.

You grinned and waved at him, and much to Soap’s surprise, Ghost waved back. Turning back to Soap, you shrugged and said, “He’s been helping me with my form.” Needless to say, you won the next round, and you didn’t need Ghost to remove his balaclava to know that he was smiling.

--

You and Ghost were experts at your jobs, that’s how you’re on task force 141 in the first place. That doesn’t mean every mission goes smoothly- as you soon found out on your next one.

You and Ghost finally reached the safe house. The only downside was that it was in the middle of nowhere and at the base of a snowy mountain, which did not help your worrying thoughts of making it through the night. Ghost unlocked the door and you both did a quick scan of the place to make sure it was all clear. Once you guys cleared the space, you groaned and plopped down onto the couch, finally finding respite for your injured leg. Although the mission was a success, you guys got banged up pretty bad, nothing fatal, but just worse enough for you to immediately collapse on the couch. Ghost seemed to be faring much better than you, he didn’t get shot after all.

You don’t want to glance down at your thigh, because you know you will be met with a mess of a wound and blood. So much blood. It’s a wonder how you managed to escape and make the trek to the safe house.

You have Ghost to thank for that; he covered your ass and helped you along the way. You guys had spent the last few hours switching between a walk and jog to get to the safe house, and away from enemy lines.

The first time you guys slowed to a walk, Ghost wrapped your arm around his neck to support most of your weight. However, this turned out to make it harder to walk because of the height difference between the two of you. He was a mountain of a man, and as much as you appreciated his attempt to help, it would have been quicker if you just limped along. “I’m going to need you to make it to the safe house, Swan. I can’t have you dying on my watch.”

“Copy that, Lt.” You grimaced, now feeling the full effects of being shot in the thigh. Just your fucking luck, you think.

“Riley, call me Riley.”

That was new. You never referred to him as anything other than Ghost or Lieutenant. Despite the immense amount of pain you’re in, you can’t miss the feeling of small sparks igniting in your tummy.    

Now seated on the couch and breathing heavily, you watch as Ghost removes most of his tactical gear, the skull mask included. Although, you conclude that he probably has at least two concealed weapons somewhere on his body. You try not to think to much about where they could be placed.

You finally bite the bullet and look down at your leg. “Fuck me.”

“How’s it looking?” You glance up to see Ghost towering over you. His hands are on his hips as he assesses your leg, but the fabric of your pants is making it hard to properly see the damage, even though your cargo pants are torn and bloodied where the bullet made contact with your body.

“Well, seeing that a bullet teared through the side of my thigh, my leg has seen better days.”

Ghost lets out a low chuckle, which you think you must have imagined. You must have lost too much blood; did he just laugh? That was also new. You’ve been on this task force for a little over two years, and despite what everyone would call you and Ghost’s acquaintanceship, borderline friendship, you’ve never heard the man chuckle, at least not at something you said. This mission is breaching all new kinds of territories for you both.

“Right. We need to get it cleaned, stitched and bandaged before it gets infected.” Ghost had already set down his pack by the fire place, so he goes back over there to retrieve the first aid kit.

“You’re not expecting me to take my pants off, are you?” Your question comes out breathy, the pain in your leg getting worse and you let out a low groan when you shift.

You think you hear a scoff fall from Ghost’s lips. “I can either cut your pants, so you’re left with only one pant leg, or, you can remove them and salvage what’s left.” When you hesitate to answer, he adds, “Don’t worry Swan, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff. Typical man answer.

You cross your arms and think about your choices, well, lack of choices. Ghost is still turned from you, which allows the warmness that bloomed on your cheeks to reside. Now all that’s left is a scowl on your pretty face. Whether you’re scowling because of the effect Ghost’s words had on you, or the sucky situation you’re in, you don’t know.

Quite frankly, you don’t want to know. You can’t let yourself spiral into the abyss that harbors feelings for a certain 6’4 man; feelings that live at the bottom, just waiting to be unleashed. What you have going between the two of you is good, fine. Your quiet routine is the perfect balance between colleagues and friends, you can’t fuck it up now.

He turns around and makes his way over to you, his heavy boots rattle the floor and his tall stature intimidates you. You find that the small sparks start to ignite again and you hate yourself for it.

Damn you, Riley.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He’s back to looming over you, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not. His hands are back on his hips, as he awaits your answer.

Arms still crossed over your chest, you huff out, “Looks like I’m taking my pants off, Riley. Don’t enjoy it too much.”

He slightly shakes his head, but you can’t tell if he’s smiling or not because of the skull balaclava covering half his face. A part of you, buried deep down in that abyss, hopes that he is. But you’re only privy to his eyes. Which you’ve come to find hold all the weight of his emotions. You sometimes can’t help but get lost in them, trying to figure out all of the mysteries Ghost holds within him.

He turns around to give you some privacy, and takes off his jacket. You’re quick to remove your pants, wincing when the fabric brushes over your wound.

“You can turn around now.” Your quiet voice fills the room, and Ghost turns around slowly, and his jacket is clasped in his left hand. His eyes roam from your feet to your face, and you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s probably just assessing you to figure out how badly you’re actually hurt, but your heart can’t tell the difference, and it beats erratically in your chest.

You’ve haphazardly put your pants over your lower half, trying to cover yourself up, but it barely covers you. Ghost can still make out the top of your legs and the beginning of your underwear.

How embarrassing. The first time he see’s me in my underwear is in a grungy safehouse and I’m covered in dirt and blood.

He doesn’t say anything, and stretches his left hand out, his jacket swings towards you. You look up at him, brows furrowed and your mouth forms a slight pout. You don’t even have to ask before he’s muttering, “To cover up, your pants aren’t doing a great job and I’m sure you’re already cold.”

He locks eyes with you and you take the jacket from him, and your fingers briefly graze his, sparks getting brighter and brighter.

“Thank you, Riley.” He’s crouched down in front of you now, and you smile at him. You situate the jacket so it’s covering you up more, but leave the bullet wound uncovered so he can take care of it.

He looks massive even though he’s crouched on the floor in front of you. You’re still not taller than him even though you’re perched up on the couch. Your hands slightly twitch as you fight the urge to run them along his massive shoulders that are at the perfect height and distance for you to do so.

He takes his gloves off, and gets to work. When his hands first make contact with your skin, you slightly flinch. He glances up at you, and you smile sheepishly at him. “Cold hands.”

He lets out a grunt of understanding and gets back to cleaning the wound. Luckily the bullet wasn’t lodged in your skin so he didn’t have to go fishing for it, which would have hurt like a bitch.

You let out a hiss when the antiseptic touches your flesh, it stings so fucking bad and you’re trying not to cry. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him, with no pants on.

Even though your leg is sizzling from the antiseptic, Ghost’s hands are gentle. One is holding your thigh, lightly grasping the inner part, as the other softly wipes the wound and blood surrounding it. You watch him as he continues and in no time, the wound is clean.

“You’re doing great little Swan, but here comes the hard part.”

You sigh and brace yourself for the stitching. You find yourself not caring if you cry anymore, you just want this to be over with. You’re cold, hungry and in pain and figure, there are worse things than to cry in front of him.

You don’t understand how someone with such big hands is so nimble and gentle, but Ghost sews you up quickly. There are tears in your waterline, on the precipice of trailing down your cheeks. One or two tears may have fallen, but you can’t recall because of the searing pain that courses through your outer thigh. The only evidence is the wetness that now coats your cheeks. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for.

He gives your leg a small pat, signaling that he’s done, then grabs the bandage. He wraps you up, and voices that you’re all set.

“Fuck, that was painful.” You sigh and rest your head back against the couch, forgetting that you’re pant-less, Ghost’s jacket doing wonders to keep your legs warm and cover your lower region.

Ghost stands, but before he walks away, you reach out a hand and lightly touch is wrist. Your small voice fills the room again, “Thank you, Riley.” The sincerity from you evident in your tired eyes.

Once again, his eyes lock on yours and he gives you a small nod, before heading to the bathroom to wash up. You take this as his way of giving you privacy to put your pants back on, which you do carefully, trying not to upset your wound.

Once you’re dressed you lay back on the couch. You close your eyes, his jacket draped over you. You remind yourself to return it to him, he must feel cold in his short sleeve shirt. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.

*~*~*~*

The next thing you feel are your shoulders shaking. Then screaming. Who’s screaming? The shaking and screaming don’t stop and you feel yourself start to cry, worried about what’s going on.

“Y/n? Y/n, wake up!”

Huh?

You jolt awake, and only then do you realize it was you screaming bloody murder, and Ghost was shaking your shoulders to wake you from your night terror.

When you sat up, the blanket that was on top of you fell halfway off the couch. Wait, blanket? Since when did I have a blanket over me?

You’re breathing heavy and place your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face. Ghost is beside you, crouched on the floor and his hand rubs your back. Up down, up down. The feeling relaxes you momentarily, but you still feel on edge, your nightmare still prevalent in your mind.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Your voice croaks, and you wearily glance at Ghost, who’s eyes are already on you. One might say they hold concern in them.

“You did, but don’t worry about it, seriously. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” His hand continues to stroke your back, and he reaches his other to softly push back the hairs that cover your face, tucking the strands behind your ear.

You groan, and wipe your eyes, feeling embarrassed yet again. You’re still trembling from your dream, not able to shake the feeling. The nightmares only started a few months ago but they don’t come every night. They’re sporadic, which makes them feel scarier because you never know when you’re going to be hit with one.

Ghost lets you calm down, your breathing is back to normal now, but you’re still sniffling and avoiding his eye.

He stands up, and before you can voice out another apology, he softly says, “Come here.” And before you can fully process what he said, you feel his warm hands grasp you under your armpits and he lifts you up, pulling you against him. He shifts his hand so its resting under your thigh and signals with his other to wrap your legs around his waist. You lay your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder. Much to your chagrin, you’re still sniffling like a fool, and you let out a sigh. His embrace pulls you down like an anchor and you no longer feel like you’re treading through a flood of murky water. It calms and clears, and feels alleviating.

“You’re breaking my heart, little Swan.” Your only reply is tightening your arms around his neck.

He carries you to the bedroom, where he must have been before you woke him and lays you down in the spot where he was previously. You only know because it’s still warm and smells like him.

He climbs in after you and lays on his side to face you. You still look distressed, but much better than before.

It’s only when you drift your eyes up to his that you notice his mask is off. You notice a small cut near his eye. Reaching your hand out, you cup his face and your thumb glides back and forth over the cut. “You should have told me you got this.”

You feel the bed shift when he shrugs, “Didn’t want you to worry.” His deep voice pierces through you, poking the embers that rest at the bottom of your stomach.

Typical. “I always worry about you.” Your eyes flit to his as you confess this.

“Not as much as I worry about you.”

You bring your hand down to glide over his shoulder, then his down his bicep, then forearm. When you reach his hand, he intertwines your hand with his. His large hand almost completely swallows yours.

He pulls you closer to him, now there’s little to no space between you.

“It’s not a competition, Riley.”

“Simon, call me Simon.” He cups your face, then closes the distance between you and captures your lips with his.

--

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI Simon fucking you in a headlock

You've been obsessed with his arms since day one.

And you finally asked him to do what you wanted for a while.

He made sure that you were comfortable, asking multiple times if you were ok.

And you breathed out 'yes' eagerly each time.

And now here you are as he fucks into your sopping pussy while having you in a headlock, thick veiny arm wrapped around your neck.

The burly mass of muscles puts enough pressure to make you dizzy, increasing the already intense pleasure of his fat cock splitting your weeping cunt open.

His other hand reaches around your body and lands on your sensitive puffy clit, rough fingers circling and pinching it while his wide hips slap against your rear with each ferocious plunge into you.

"You gonna be a good girl and cum f'me?" he grunts into your ear as he feels the ever increasing pressure of your pulsating pussy on his cock.

And you can only hum in response, the razing pleasure too much to bear, too much to let you form any coherent words.

You hold on to his strong arm wrapped around you, nails digging into his bicep and forearm, surely leaving crescent marks on his skin.

The delightful mix of sweet sensations, the aching drag of his thick cock along your sensitive walls repeatedly with the dizzying pleasure of his arm around your neck,

while his swollen red tip viciously attacks your gummy cervix and his calloused fingertips rub against your puffy clit send you to a state of pure engulfing euphoria.

And streams of your juices and cream gush out of you as you let out hiccupped moans, blended with his low growl of sheer pleasure as he fills up your welcoming womb with his seed.

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 12: The Nest (Epilogue)

Ch. 11 > Series Masterlist

Warnings: uuuuh none, I think?

Summary: Two weeks later.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1700~

December

Johnny watched his breath condense on the cold glass, blurring his sight of the snowfall. Better that way, he thought, it won’t let me see my own mug. He looked over his shoulder to watch Simon’s back. That strong, muscular back he always looked at in admiration and hope, sat now hunched on a too-small chair, utterly exhausted. Neither of them had gotten any more than a couple hours of sleep in the past two weeks, and it was showing. They were both physically and mentally drained, just getting through every day, one by one. 

He let out a sigh and stepped closer to Simon, carefully resting his hands on his weary shoulders and felt a slight jolt - he had been dozing off. “Try to get some sleep, Simon,” he prodded, knowing it would be a lost cause. 

“...What will I see when I close my eyes, Johnny?” Simon grunted tiredly, barely raising his head to see him in his periphery. Johnny bit his lip and leaned down, pressing his cheek against Simon’s.

“...I don’t know, love.” 

At least, they were together in this. 

~~~~~~

The low chime of the bells accompanied the funeral procession as the casket was carried out of the church. The skies were cloudy, mockingly fitting for such gloomy scenery. Price looked at the crowd of people gathered around the casket and trickling out of the building. It was like looking at a field of black flowers - most of them saluting at the mortal remains of Officer Melanie Kirk as she was carried to the hearse that would drive her to her final resting place. 

Detective Timothy Hartford was standing close to the family, not as her superior, but as her father’s old colleague. He had asked to be put on leave for personal issues, and Price wondered if that was the prelude to his retirement from the police force as well. After all, Timothy had always felt his losses way too close. Another change in careers could be beneficial for him. 

As the funeral procession went on and the crowd dispersed, Hartford found himself looking for his old military friend. As soon as he stepped up to Price, he felt a couple of pats on his shoulder. 

“Already said it before, but you have my condolences,” John hummed, lighting his cigar and handing Hartford the lighter. 

“Appreciated, and thanks for coming,” the detective took a long drag of his cigarette, “how’s your girl doing?”

Price let out a long sigh and shook his head, and his eyes seemed to lose themselves in the horizon. “Still sleeping, I’m afraid.”

“...It’s been a couple of weeks already, no?” the detective questions, arching one of his eyebrows, “how are your boys holding up?”

“Yeah, well,” Price groaned, a sad smile tugging at his lips, “both Ghost and Soap refuse to leave her room. They keep massaging her hands and legs, hoping for her to react to anything.” 

Hartford replicated his friend’s expression, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You must be happy your kids are so tight,” he hummed, before stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground. Price couldn’t find any reason to deny it, and a pleased smile found its home in his face. 

“I am,” he sighed, before bidding his friend goodbye and walking back to his car, “let’s have a drink sometime this week, alright?”

Hartford waved him goodbye, and walked towards his own car to follow the funeral procession to the cemetery. 

~~~~~~

…It was warm. 

It was warm and dry, and smelled of antiseptic. Definitely not like the forest. 

The beeping was getting annoying. 

She tried to take a deep breath, but her sides hurt. Her lungs felt like two empty balloons. The hand on top of hers was strong, slightly calloused, and very, very warm. It was tenderly kneading her knuckles and fingers. She wanted to hold it. Just a squeeze. 

The hand retreated and she nearly let out a whine, but she only managed to exhale through her nose. She missed the warmth. She wanted to find it again. 

Her eyelids cracked open, the blurry colors slowly settling in. The first thing she recognized was a ceiling - she was at the hospital, again. But the room was darker than usual. The fluorescent lights were off, and the only light seemed to come from a window.

She slowly turned her head to look at the source of light, and her breath briefly paused at the view. Simon and Johnny were looking out of the window, supporting themselves on the other. Johnny’s arm was wrapped around Simon’s middle, and Simon’s was keeping Johnny close by his shoulders. 

[Name] thought they looked absolutely adorable, but short flashbacks began appearing in her mind. She remembered their worried eyes, their urgent voices. A pang of guilt weighed heavy in her chest - it was all her fault. Well, technically it was her captors’, but she had been careless enough to let it turn that bad. 

She missed them dearly, though. How long had it been since she fainted? She couldn’t wait in silence any longer. She wanted to see their faces again. 

She wet her lips, and took a deep, shuddery breath.

A slow, gentle whistle startled both men, and they turned around to meet [Name] looking at them with a drowsy smile and half-lidded eyes. 

“How’s the view?” her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence of the room. 

In a fraction of a second, they cleared the distance from the window to the bed, barely able to contain their enthusiasm as their hands got hold of whatever was closer to them. Johnny’s hands cupped her face, while Simon took her hand and pressed it against his cheek, pressing his lips against the skin. 

Johnny looked deep into her eyes with a watery smile, his tears colliding with her rosy apples. “The view is beautiful, breathtaking actually,” he kissed her cheeks, earning a breathy giggle from her before she coughed, her throat still too dry. 

Simon handed her a glass of water and helped her take tiny sips, while Johnny pressed the button to call the nurse in. Once she’d drunk enough, Simon leaned in, claiming her lips in a slow, needy kiss. [Name] let out a small moan into his mouth, feeling content and fuzzy for the first time in a long while. 

~~~~~~

“...and only after you’ve completed the physical therapy, you can get back to training,” the doctor instructed [Name], and she couldn’t help but compare it to the little speech he had given her only a little over two months prior. “And then you have the psychological evaluation to determine if you’re suitable to get back on the field, but that’s out of my scope, really,” he shrugged and offered her a little smile, “I hope you don’t get back too soon this time, though.” 

[Name] pouted and let out a short snort at him, “Likewise, Doc,” she grumbled, but then she continued with a little grin of her own, “thanks for everything.” 

The doctor nodded and gave her a gentle pat on the leg, before taking his leave. All this time, while she was prodded and poked all over, Simon and Johnny had remained aside and out of the way, staring into the back of the heads of whoever got closer to her. 

But now they were alone in the room once again, and both men took one of her sides, unable to keep their hands off her now that she was awake. She hummed into their touches, raising her own hand to stroke Johnny’s cheek.

“I was half-expecting to see you turned into a lobster when you came back,” she teased him, and he only nuzzled into her hand.

“I did take the sunscreen,” he smiled, carefully stroking her bruised wrist with his thumb, “I always listen to you, y’know?” The question looked much heavier in his eyes than how it sounded, and [Name] didn’t fail to notice it.

“I know, you just like the banter, hm?” she smiled at him, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. She watched the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile, and wiped out a stray tear with her thumb. He leaned in closer, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her scent deeply. 

She enjoyed his weight on her and relaxed into Simon’s touch as he held her hand in his own. A few more moments passed in silence, before she let out a little whine.

“I can’t believe I’ll be on medical leave, again,” she sighed, and Simon let out a chuckle, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“We managed to get Price to let us stay with you this time,” he hummed, and she noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes. That piqued her interest, and curiosity got the best of her.

“...How?” 

“We told him that if he even talked about sending us off on a mission, we’d break our own legs and force him to put us on medical leave, too,” Johnny smirked, barely pulling away from her neck to speak. Her mouth fell open in shock.

“You did not-”

“Nothing will keep us away from you this time, Tweetie-bird,” Johnny pressed a soft kiss on her cheek, “we’re all going home together.”

[Name]’s smile only widened, and she knew that if both men paid attention, they would hear her speeding heartbeat. “Home?”

“My place,” Simon clarified, his thumb tenderly stroking her darkened cheek, “it’s big enough for the three of us.”

She considered the thought, falling asleep lulled by Johnny’s reading, and waking up to their sleepy faces and Simon’s awful bed hair. Lazy morning breakfasts, and quiet talks over hot drinks while snuggled up in Simon’s enormous sofa. 

“Sounds nice,” she hummed softly, before quickly piping up, “I call dibs in the middle!”

Johnny barked a laugh, before squishing her cheeks and making her lips pucker out, “as if I’d let you sleep anywhere else!” He pressed a sloppy kiss on her pouty lips, swallowing her giggles. 

Simon watched them - the two people that poured all their love into him without a second thought - with a content smile on his face. 

There was no empty space between him and Johnny any longer.

His heart was complete once again. 

The end.

A/N: Don't you guys love a happy ending? I personally love them :) Thank you all who stuck to the end, despite all the pain I made you go through, you truly mean a lot to me!! You read all of this idea of mine, that started like a little thought and snowballed into a 12-part series lol. Thank you again for all your support!!!

Taglist: @died-in-a-field-of-flowers @rafaelacallinybbay @namenotimportant1373 @ragingbookdragon @zinfairy @scrumplump @omgitstatertot @fullmoon-94 @kalamataolivesssss @embers-of-alluring @warenai @frazie99 @kee-0-kee @littlezarp @scaredknight @tapioca-marzipan @kendahl757 @sweetybuzz25 @cumbersome-robes @carlyi @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @scarletbandit @twistytimesandthoughts @angelsquidd @ilovemoneyandcheese @sail-boat21 @vvoidspaceeee @httpsarii1 @delreyaddict @madelyn324566 @badame0224 @httpsobi @joanne-uwu

[chaosandmarigolds]

Simon Riley! who isn't traditional in the gross way but in the he wants to protect you and make sure you don't feel like you have to provide for yourself, he wants to be a safety net, something to rely on

Simon Riley! Who made it a point to buy your dream house as soon as you were married,

Simon Riley! Who didn't expect houses to require so...much...work

"Baby! The water won't turn off?"

"The fuck you mean it won't turn off just-" Simon grumbled as he dropped the moving box and walked into the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the faucet and trying to pull it, only for it to come flying off. Leaving him dumbfounded and you a giggling disaster.

Simon Riley! Who likes handy man tasks as much as the next guy but the people at the store are beginning to know his name

Simon Riley! Who didn't have a dad to teach him some stuff like plumbing and whatnot so he calls Price

"Oi, Cap-"

"She came to her senses and ran away, yeah?"

"No...I need you to tell me ho' to turn off th' water."

Simon Riley! Who does know how much you love watching him do yard work but doesn't dwell because these godddamn weeds-

Simon Riley! Who loves nothing more than watching you paint the walls of the house, finds it like to be a scene of a movie and it would be a lie if the reality was much better than the cinema

Simon Riley! Who hates facebook because you would randomly send him across the city because you found an old China cabinet you thought would be perfect

Simon Riley! Who doesn't care how his buddies tease him about becoming a domestic civilian so soon, because he would happily fix a thousand houses if it meant a thousand more years with you

(Comments and feedback make my day! annnd yeah that's it <3 )

[neoarchipelago]

The idea of Simon Riley fucking you passionately, between hard and soft, deep and languid. While repeating again and again "I'm not good for you... Not good, you need better..."

Fucking you to make you addicted because he still wants you to stay and love him no matter how fucked up he is.

Fucking you like he loves you. A full contradiction of his words...

[empresskylo]

simon ‘ghost’ riley is a light sleeper. he’s so well trained to be on high alert that even when he’s not on duty he wakes at the smallest sound.

sometimes you’ll get up in the middle of the night and he immediately sits up. “you alright?” he slurs.

you make a small sound of discomfort or wiggle a little too much and his head is turning on the pillow, his eyes on you. and he always asks if you’re okay. you’ve told him he’s being silly and sometimes you just have to get up to go to the bathroom, but you gave up on telling him that—he’s adamant on checking on you.

and anytime he wakes up, no matter where the disturbance comes from, he’s looking over to your side of the bed to make sure you’re okay first.

and if you ever do need him in the middle of the night, all you have to do is whisper his name. he opens his eyes almost immediately and instinctively tightens his arm around you. “everythin’ alright?”

and one time you couldn’t sleep. your face was buried in his chest as he clung to you, the soft rumble of his snores letting you know he was knocked out. you didn’t want to wake him, but you were crying. you barely even moved as you teared up into his chest. suddenly, his hands squeezed you tighter. “whats’a matter?” he coos softly.

you tilt your head up to him teary eyed. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”

he clicks his tongue. “tell me what’s wrong, baby.” his hand gently caressing your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.

and he’s so protective. if you roll over and out of his hands he’s quick to pull you back into his grip. he likes having his hands on you while he’s sleeping. it makes him feel more secure knowing you’re okay.

when you fall asleep together on the sofa, your body pressed to his, his arms are wrapped around your waist, clutching you closely against him. it doesn’t even matter if he’s too warm, he wants you touching him at all times whenever he’s asleep.

it’s gotten to the point where he can barely sleep when he’s not with you. without you safely in his arms, without being able to physically feel you under his fingertips, it continuously wakes him up. he’s lucky to get two hours in a row without waking.

post that inspired this | my cod masterlist