#simon riley x ofc

[whiskeynwriting]

Affection

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Tattoos, brief violence (just sparring), mentions of injury, mask kink, praise kink, primal kink-ish, very dom Ghost, oral sex (m and f receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, slight cum play, and some sweet fluffies lol

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A/N: I am so obsessed and in love with this man it’s not even funny.

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“Your hair’s getting longer.” You comment, lips mumbling the words.

“Yeah,” Simon responds simply, eyes remaining shut. “Gonna have to shave it soon.”

Briefly, your fingers stop their gentle swipes. Furrowing your brows, you ask incredulously, “Shave it?”

He smiled then, something you’ll never take for granted. “Always do.” And then he’s tapping the top of your thigh. “C’mon love, gotta leave soon.”

With that, you continue, smearing the black paint over his face. The pads of your digits slide around his eyes, through the blonde hair of his brows, over his nose. 

“I never knew you shaved it.”

“Why would you?” Simon returns softly, palms running up and down the tops of your thighs. His touch is warm and kind, traits reserved only for you. “Haven’t shaved it since before the injuries. And you’d never seen me without a mask at that point.”

And you figure, he’s right. “But it’s so pretty.” All you want to do is run your hands through his sunshine-colored locks, just like you always do. But face black would probably be difficult to get out of his hair. 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, “Want me to keep it this way?”

Quietly, sweetly, you reply with, “Yes, please.” It’s not necessarily long, just longer. Whisps and strands trailing down toward his face, long enough to be brushed back beneath the hood and his sweatshirt. “Why did you ever shave it anyway?”

Ghost shrugs, remaining otherwise perfectly still for you. “Was easier to deal with, felt better beneath my mask.”

Caressing you sweetly, Simon waits patiently as you apply the dark smears to his face. He’s standing between your spread legs while you sit atop the counter, the intimate moment shared in the privacy of his bathroom. Every now and then, he hums, basking in the sensation, the delicate touch of your fingertips. Holding back his grin, he breathes steadily, contently. It’s the first time you’ve ever done this, and he’s considering letting you do it again. And now that he’s back in training, you’ll have the opportunity to do so. 

“I’ll miss you.”

Simon laughs at this. “Only be a few hours, B.”

“You know, I can’t believe you used to be bald.” Backtracking to your last topic, you just can’t seem to get it out of your head. 

“Not bald,” He almost sounds offended. “Had some hair. Like the sides of Johnny’s head.” 

“Oh,”

“You done yet?”

Snapping back playfully as his impatience, you respond with, “Why? Don’t like me touching your face?” 

At this, Simon’s eyes flutter open, hands fully wrapping around your legs as he leans in. “Love when you touch me.”

And he really does mean it. Before you, physical touch was something that alarmed him, his field had trained him for that. Physical action, by his nature, was aggressive to him. But that’s been morphed by your presence, changed into something… softer. He’s still learning, but he’s relaxed enough to lean into your touch, instead of flinching away from it. Simon knows your every advance is kind, inviting. 

Before you, life was different. So fucking different. He slept alone and he liked it that way, had no one to talk to but himself in his own head. The routines he kept were strict and helped him to excel both mentally and physically. Sleep came rare for him but he managed to get used to it, operating regularly on four to five hours of sleep. Genuinely, Simon never wished for touch, never yearned to be held or embraced. Intimacy didn’t interest him, he liked life alone. But, perplexing as it was, you seemed to disturb all of that. Simon had seen pretty women before, had experienced physical interaction in a way that was full of desire rather than aggression. But not once in his life had he yearned for another’s touch in the way he so desperately yearns for you. 

“I know.” The moment becomes quiet, but Simon’s hands continue to linger. He’s closer to your face now, eyes dipping down to your mouth, and the heavy breath he releases makes you grin.“I’m done.”

Gaze lifting, Simon looks further behind you in the mirror, giving your thigh a happy slap. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.” 

With that, he’s turning to walk back into his room. And like a lost puppy, you follow him, still struck dumb with love for Ghost. Hopping off the counter, you prance forward, watching him reach for that infamous mask. Running a hand through those longer locks, Simon then tugs on the covering. 

“Hm…”

“Giddy, are we?” He teases, listening to your excited hum from further behind.

“Haven’t seen you like this in so long…”

“Yeah…” Turning, he allows you to see him in all his glory.

It’s a hotter day, so he’s opted for a black, sleeveless tank top, one that shows off his arms way too fucking much. His balaclava fits just as well as it always has, like it’s been his missing piece. And as much as you’ve loved seeing Simon’s face, you have to admit that you’ve missed the mask. Not to say he isn’t handome as the fucking devil, it’s just that the mask is, well… it’s him. “Feels good.” 

Watching Simon heal has been a journey, but you’ve been more than patient. After all, it wasn’t just lust that fuelled your affection for him. But seeing him like this again… his black face paint, the mask, wearing his training clothes and standing tall, standing proud; it made you feel excited. 

Stepping closer to him, your smirk grows wide, eyes raking over Ghost’s towering form. Having his arms be so openly displayed is making you feel things, every muscle outlined and defined, those black and white tattoos crawling up his forearm. And in less than an hour, he’ll be putting those muscles to work, each tendon moving and flexing while he trains. It’s his first time returning to the field since his injury and to say the least, you were thrilled. But no one was happier about it than him. 

“You look so fucking good in this…” Running your fingers down his front, you keep your playful grin. But Simon isn’t having any of it, not when he has work. 

One thick finger finds its way beneath your chin, pulling your attention up to him. “Where will you be when I get back?”

At this, your brows raise. Bold of him to assume he’ll have any energy left after his first day back. Nevertheless, you’ll be here for him.

“Would you believe me if I said my room?”

A small, rumbly purr emanates from his chest before he responds with, “No.”

It’s assumed that you’ll be here, cuddled up in his bed for a good nap. It’s what you always did when he was gone, and you weren’t working. And since today’s training session fell on a Friday afternoon, you were off the clock, and allowed to do whatever you liked. Even if that meant sleeping in your ‘superior’s’ bedroom. But it’s not like you’d ever get caught sleeping in here during the week, anyway. Flipping bunks was no longer a thing when you got to Ghost’s rank. No one went through his personal area or belongings, which worked greatly to your benefit. It allowed you to, for one, nap in his space. But it also permitted you to keep your own things here, as well. A couple changes of clothes, some toiletries. His private bathroom is quite the luxury. The new space had been gifted to him once he was checked out of your infirmary, requested specifically by his captain. Price wanted to make sure he had everything he needed in order to heal, to clean any bandages left over and tend to his injuries in private. And Ghost couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Privacy might as well be Simon’s middle name. 

A quick lift of his mask and he’s kissing you goodbye, full lips pressing firmly to your own. And as soon as he’s gone, you’re tossing your clothes to the floor. Simon’s bed was your absolute favorite place to nap, and whenever you slept, you often did so in your underclothes. Even without Simon here, it still comforted you to be surrounded by his things, his scent. Snuggling into his pillow, you’re met with the aroma of him, a blend of freshness that left hints of a woodsy, citrusy base. Ghost always kept his sheets clean, smelling of only his body wash and cologne. Lately, it was rare that you didn’t sleep here. Your room was bigger and nicer, being that it was toward the medicinal side of the building. But it made things easier on Ghost in the mornings if he left from his own room, and you weren’t one to complain. 

With a sigh, you snuggle in, thoughts swirling with images of him. Jesus, he looked so good in that outfit. Back in his mask, that confident stance and stride taking over his physique. Seeing him at his full height made you feel so small, wanting for nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms. So strong and bulky, toned and veiny… maybe he should’ve gotten ready a little earlier in the day. It would’ve given you more time to admire him.

Seeing Ghost looking like Ghost again made you feel so hot and flustered. You can remember the first time you saw him like that, dressed in full gear with his hardened mask. It intimidated you, maybe even frightened you a bit. And you liked that, still do, in fact. You wanted him to make you feel tiny, almost insignificant, like he could do whatever he wanted and you’d thank him for the privilege of being on the receiving end. Which isn’t far off from the truth. 

Laying in his bed doesn’t help your growing fantasies, your body begging for some type of touch. In the darkness of his room, you give in to yourself, slipping a hand beneath the covers to feel your own skin. Each time you do this, you attempt to replicate Simon’s touch, the way he cups your chest, thick thumbs stroking across your nipples. He’ll run the back of his knuckles down your belly, fingertips gliding over your clothed cunt. If you’re sweet about it, he doesn’t tease, not usually. He’ll slip beneath the fabric or just pull it off altogether, petting at your naked lips before sinking his first digit entirely in. 

But it’s not the same. 

What you want right now, after seeing Simon’s firmly built physique, is him. His strength, his dominance. The way he used to throw you around, shove you face-first into the mattress while making you take it from behind. He hasn’t handled you like that in so long, not since before his injury. But with him back in the field… maybe he finally has the strength to do that again.

Before you’re even aware of your actions, you’re standing, pulling on one of Simon’s long-sleeve shirts and tugging some sweatpants up your legs. The shoes by his door slip easily onto your feet, quickly pattering down the hallway. The base is fairly empty; now that it’s after five, everyone that didn’t live on the grounds has gone home. That left you, 141, and a flurry of new recruits. 

Trying to be discreet, you walk into the field house as quiet as a mouse, glancing around to see who’s inside. To your dismay, the gym is empty, but your attention is quickly directed outside. 

“Back around!”

Price’s voice is booming and raspy as he conducts the newest platoon, the group visible through one of the gym’s wide windows. From where you’re at, you can only see the captain and four new men, which obviously isn’t good enough for you. Where is Simon?

Inching closer, you stay out of the direct line of sight, peering through the glass and into the yard. John is very clearly visible, standing with one hand on his hip while the other points at the group. He waves his hand slightly, directing the boys to another area for weight training. And then you see Johnny over by the shooting range, instructing his own group. Out of the corner of your eye, you can also see Gaz, getting some supplies ready for their next hike. And throughout all the movement, you finally spot him. The tallest man, sticking out like a sore thumb from not only his stature but that goddamn mask. 

“Down and out.” Price then says, turning to introduce a new group.

The platoon he just directed towards Simon salutes the Lieutenant as they approach the weighted section, the sight making your brows raise ever so slightly. Standing with both hands on his hips, Ghost nods, facing them straight-on. 

“Your second hike of the day will be after these reps, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be easy.” Ghost informs them, British accent deep and rough. 

The way these men follow his next few orders couldn’t be more impressive. They watch as Ghost demonstrates, adjusting weights to the bars as necessary. He then helps spot the first few men that volunteer, eyeing their form and correcting where necessary. When they’re well on their way with the reps he’s assigned them, Ghost steps off to the side, grabbing a bottle of water. The sun has very clearly worn a thin layer of sweat over him, his skin glistening with it. It makes you gulp, watching the way he swallows the water down, the way his chest heaves with a large and refreshing breath. 

Every time a recruit has a question or a comment, it’s directed toward their Lieutenant. Already, they look to him for guidance, relying on his experience and expertise. Fuck, all you want to do is drop to your knees for him. And you nearly do when they begin sparring. 

“You lot have done the least to impress me.” Ghost announces, very clearly aggravated. “You’ll make up the hike later this evening. For now, you’re gonna show me how you’ve earned a place here, and why you deserve to keep it.” 

“What the fuck haven’t we done?” One of the kids then says, shouting above the rest of the group.

Instantly, Ghost’s head whips around in his direction, eyes wide and already fuming. Your own eyes grow in size at the recruit’s comment, watching the Lieutenant stomp in his direction. 

“Sorry?” He says gruffly, “Did I hear some lousy fuckin’ comment?”

“We’ve done just as much as everyone else here.” He continues, voice slightly lower this time. 

“Yeah… you’re first up.” Ghost then decides, jerking his head. 

“Wh… What?”

“You’re sparring with me.” He says simply, walking over to the center mat. “Let’s go.” 

“I don’t, I didn’t…”

“Get your ass on this mat or I’ll be sending it home.” Ghost booms in front of the group, voice dangerously intense. 

The pure volume coming from the Lieutenant forces a jolt through the Private, body jumping slightly as he moves his feet toward the mat. Standing across from Ghost, he readies himself, showing a somewhat convincing fighting stance. He does have the proper training, after all. Cracking his neck, Simon then does the same, adjusting his footing before releasing a long, aggravated breath. 

“Let’s get this over with.” He goads, beckoning the Private forward with a simple wave of his hand. 

Gathering his courage, the kid takes a swing, shifting quickly once Ghost dodges it. He stays standing for a good thirty seconds, side-stepping a few of his Lieutenant's advances. Ghost doesn’t let him stand for long, though. Landing a blow to his ribs, Simon’s entire arm is shoved forward, outstretched and flexing as he does it. With his other hand, he then uppercuts the Private, landing him on his ass. 

The pure strength Simon’s body holds continues to astound you, and he’s done far more in his career than this little match. You’ve seen him kill men, maim them with both weapons and his own bare hands. The same hands he’s using now, covered in those boney gloves and Christ you just want them wrapped around your fucking neck.

“That fucking easy?” Ghost scoffs, circling him. “Pack your fucking shit.” 

“Sir, I -”

Simon didn’t like backtalk or insubordination, you knew this from… personal experience. So, you know that any further stuttering from the Private’s end will only cause more trouble. 

“Get outta my sight.” He says easily, walking off toward - oh, shit, you. 

Before you can duck away, Simon’s steely gaze is set directly onto your pretty, shocked face. His brows raise, head tilting with interest. Embarrassment floods your features, a shy smile crawling across your lips as you back away. He eyes you up and down through the window, taking note of the shirt you’re wearing - his. And when he lands back on your gaze, he gives you a sultry little wink that has you swooning. 

Bending down slightly, Simon grabs a water bottle from the cooler beside Price, who thankfully hasn’t noticed you. Briefly, they exchange pleasantries, with Simon speaking for a moment longer before nodding at you. It flashes fear across your face, immediately turning to shove your back against the wall and away from the window. And before you have a chance to look out again, the gym’s side door is opening.

“Bones.” Simon says quietly, though his voice echoes throughout the large and empty room. 

In the dark corner, you curl in on yourself, biting away your smile as he approaches. Calmly, he walks over to you, setting his water on the windowsill as he passes it. 

“Thought you were gonna be in my room?” He rumbles, staring down at you. 

“I was… but I got, I don’t know… lonely?” Yeah, that’s a good word for it.

Again, he raises a brow at you, tilting his head in a way that makes you feel warm between your legs. “You were watching me.” Ghost states rather than inquires. 

“Mhm,” Nodding, you admit it quite easily. There’s nothing to hide from him. 

Reaching out, Simon gently pinches the fabric on your shoulder. “And wearing my shirt around base.”

The silence that then ensues forces your breaths to new heights, watching as Simon intrudes into your space. He’s towering over you, features clouded slightly by the darkness in the room. His own breaths waft into the air between the two of you, that dominant hand lingering on your shoulder before sliding down your outer arm. And even though he can’t feel it through the fabric, his touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. 

“What did you see?” His voice is barely above a whisper, fingers tapping beneath your chin.

“You with the, um, the recruits.”

“That all?”

“Saw you spar with them, that one.” 

“Mm…” Nodding once, he sighs, both of those broad hands now lifting to your face. Cupping your jaw, he fully lifts your gaze, tilting your head back until you’re looking directly up at him. “You liked that.” Again, stating, not asking. 

It’s almost like you can’t even breathe, looking up at this menacing mountain of a man, so strong he could snap your neck as easily as he blinks. He’s crowding you back against the corner, the darkness encasing his every advance, his every move, allowing only you to experience it. 

“Yes.” Wafting out of your mouth as a shaky breath, Simon chuckles lowly at this. 

“Missed my mask, did you?”

“Missed everything about you.” 

And now, it’s his turn to feel breathless. Seeing you so openly vulnerable and wanting, so overtly admiring him, it falters his resolve. It makes him question things, his abilities, his restraint. You, a woman of power and authority, of physical and mental prowess, crumbling to your feet for him. For him.

“I’ve got an hour left,” Simon tells you, thumb sweeping across your cute cheeks. “Where will I find you?”

“In your room.” Your response is instant, eyes unwavering as they stare up into his. And he likes that, likes when you so eagerly hold eye contact. 

“Good.” Watching Ghost be so aggressive toward his men only to turn around and praise you has your brain short circuiting and your nerve endings burning. “Now…” Leaning in, Ghost presses his masked mouth to your cheek. “Go lay back down in my bed… with only this on.” Dropping one hand, his fingers pinch the fabric of his long sleeve again. “That’s how I wanna find you.”

And you’re in no position to disobey him. 

*

*

*

“Oh… Christ.”

Barely an hour later, you found yourself on your knees between his spread legs, swallowing his entire length. He’s sitting in the chair at his desk, the lights dim in his room while he watches you do this. Relaxing after a long day’s work, he lays back, arms on either rest with his pelvis shifted forward a bit. He ended up pulling his pants and boxers off completely when you sunk down to the floor for him, allowing him to spread his legs as wide as he liked. And he liked it wide. 

“Goddammit, love…” 

He’s raking his fingers through the hair at the top of your head, his own head tilted to the side as he watches with interest. His mask is still on, only the edge pulled up over his mouth so his heavy breaths can waft into the air. Steadily, you bob back and forth, doing all of the work yourself with your tongue sliding along the vein on the underside of his shaft. It makes your entire body shiver, your eyes closed as you enjoy him, his taste and musk. 

“You do it so well.” Gentle praise has fallen from his lips since the moment you got your mouth on him; he knew what it did to you. “Liked seeing me that way, did you?” Simon teases, a grin pulling at his lips. 

“Mhm,” There’s no point in denying it, he caught you red-handed. 

“Tell me,” He then demands, fingers curling into your hair to yank you off of him. It stings your scalp, mouth releasing him with a wet pop as you gasp before him. “Tell me again.”

“I loved it,” You’re completely submissive for him right now and you couldn’t be any happier about it. Panting, you breathe out heavily, “I love seeing you that way, so fucking strong, baby…” Your hands run down his naked thighs, feeling the built muscle beneath his skin. “Dominant.” 

“Mm…” Simon hums low, the sound guttural yet content. He stares into your eyes, witnessing your look of innocent, pure devotion. 

“I l-love it.” You continue on in the brief silence, wanting to please him. “I… I love you a-anyway, even when you’re injured, but I…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ghost almost barks out, cutting off your babbling. “I get it, you like me better like this. And that’s okay, sweetheart.”

Looking up at him, you release a little breath. He finishes with, “I like me better like this. Now get your fucking mouth back on it.”

Your eyes are trained on him, on the way his fist wraps around the girth of it. Guiding you back down, he holds his slick shaft up for you, feeding it into your mouth. He’s red, veins visibly pulsing beneath his sensitive skin. His length is hot as it enters your mouth, the bulb of his dick popping past your lips. 

“Fucking drooling all over me, love.” With both hands on your head, he lifts you up and down, guiding your actions. “Making a mess of yourself.”

He’s right, it’s dripping down his entire length, cool saliva sliding down the curve of his balls. The sound of it radiates throughout the room, your gentle gags occurring every now and then. But you don't pull back, you’re better than that. 

When Simon’s hand leaves, you lift yourself off of him, taking a breath before licking fervently at his leaking tip. Precum oozes from the slit, your tongue poking into it. Turning your head, you suck along the side of him, tongue rolling over the veins leading down to his base. 

“So eager for it…” 

Another little piece to this erotic scene was your nakedness. You’re entirely bare for him, following his order of presenting yourself in nothing but his long sleeve. And when he came back from training, he practically tore it off. After seeing him like that in the yard, you wanted nothing more than to sink down to your knees and swallow him. Suck his cock like it was your only purpose in life, like on your knees was the only place you needed to be. 

A deep chuckle then drags out of his throat, recalling the memory himself. “Can’t believe that scene made you wanna blow me. Maybe I should push the new recruits around a little more often.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, your eyes flutter shut, the pulse between your legs becoming overwhelming. Staring up at him while he rests in your mouth makes you tingle, eyeing the tattoos crawling up his glorious neck. 

“Liked it that much… huh?” Christ, you love it - that ridiculously deep and rich accent. 

“I fucking loved it.” Comes your breathy response, moving further down his pelvis. “Fucking love your body, Ghost. The way you act…”

“Oh…” He suddenly breathes out, watching you mouth at his balls while stroking him in hand. “Say it.” That gruff voice commands, dominant hand lowering to squeeze the base of his shaft. “Say it to me.”

As of late, Simon has been saying the phrase more and more often, and has been yearning to hear you say it, too. It’s opened a door inside his mind, one that prompts his realization of your utter obsession with him. To say the least, it’s gotten to his head. 

“I love you.”

Lifting your gaze to his makes him groan, the view he has is utterly impeccable. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, on her knees with her face shoved against his bare crotch. Her tiny hand stroking his cock while her smooth lips slide over his balls, sucking and licking the soft skin. 

“That’s a good girl.” Ghost immediately purrs, lips lifting into a sweet, sinister grin. This entire situation has that cocky attitude returning, the one you missed far too fucking much. 

His jaw clenches when your mouth returns to his head, sucking it in. Your heartbeat is off the rails, pounding against your ribs as you take him in. When you flick your tongue over him, you get a small taste of his precum, gently squeezing his head and watching as more flows out. When you do it again, his brows furrow, watching your tongue slide slowly over his warm flesh. 

“God dammit…” He grumbles, watching you go down on him. Before you, it’d been years since he’d last gotten a blowjob. Not only did your mouth help quench his thirst, it gave him the best highs of his entire life. 

Running the wet muscle of your tongue underneath his shaft forces a shiver to shoot through his spine. The tip of your tongue flicks over the two thick veins curling around him, along with his frenulum when you go back to his tip. And then you’re sucking on him, mouth engulfing the head and very quickly more of him. 

“Shit.” Ghost hisses, jaw dropping when you take him in all over again. “Tha - That’s it, princess. Show me how much you want me.”

Slobber drools down his length, sloppy moans slipping from your lips along with it. Taking him into your throat makes him shiver, legs shaking briefly on either side of your head. With his free hand he reaches out, cupping your jaw when you lift yourself from him. The touch has your heart leaping, gasping wetly while staring up at him. One thick thumb slides around to your lower lip, pressing on it. And he watches with amazement as you open your mouth for him, allowing his thumb to slide in. 

“You’re just what I like.” He expresses, his tone gravely and low. 

You practically vibrate with affection, closing your mouth to wrap your lips around his thumb. Sucking gently, you hold his gaze, something that drove him absolutely mad.

“Quite the fuckin’ treat.” Comes his smartass comment. Taking his thumb from your mouth and placing his hand on your head, he guides you back down. 

“I want it to be.” You coo, not agitated in the slightest. 

Going all the way down forces you to gag, your throat closing around his girth. A grunt forces its way through his chest then, feeling that river of saliva run down his crotch. 

“Fuckin’ hell.”

With the enormous amount of strength in his arms, he forces you down through your gagging fit, listening to you choke. You’re gurgling on your own spit, throat convulsing. Ghost’s biceps bulge as he uses their strength, little grunts slipping past his lips. And when he finally lets you up, you’re gasping and gulping and staring at him, now sitting up on your knees instead of leaning in.

For a moment, he stares at you, taking in your wrecked expression. Bending forward, Simon reaches for your face, his touch almost nonexistent, it’s so soft. Gently, he inquires, “Did you like that?”

Simon has never handled you so roughly before, but you can’t even begin to verbalize your pleased reaction. All you can manage is the nod of your head, and it’s enough for him to get the message. 

His expression then turns dark, his kindness fading into the night as he says, “Then come back over here so I can do it again.” 

But he’s already reaching for you, grabbing the hair at the crown of your head and forcing your mouth back onto him. You let him use you like this, use you for your mouth and throat because it’s everything you’ve ever wanted from him. He’s throbbing on your tongue from the feeling of it all, the wet heat of your mouth, the soft skin of your lips. Rolling his eyes back, he rests his head on the top of the chair, gaze quickly returning so he can stare at your pretty face while he fucks it. And this couldn’t be any more arousing for you - you can feel yourself dripping. 

“Jesus,” Gritting his teeth, he groans. “You’re gonna make me cum like this.” 

Your girlish moan vibrates through his pelvis, making his hips jump against your mouth. And when that happens, you choke again, listening to his delirious noises. Now, he’s thrusting his cock into your throat, your nose brushing against the lightly colored hair scattered around his base. 

“Stay down,” He commands, pressing down on the back of your head. “Stay just like that.” 

Pressing your hands to the tops of his thighs, you choke, trying your best to shove the reaction aside. Your fingers press into his firm flesh, nails scraping his skin. The way he holds you down makes your eyes roll back, his hips repeatedly grinding up against your face. 

“God yes,” Licking his lower lip, he stares down at you, the tendons in his forearms flexing. “Fuck me, I’m gonna cum.” Simon’s chest inhales a large breath as he then declares, “Gonna cum in your mouth, B.” 

“Mhm,” Is all you can do to respond, your mouth completely stuffed full of him.

“C-Christ, fuck.” Throwing his head back, Simon grunts, the sound shaky and loud. 

The violent throb of him in your throat is followed by the slick rush of his cum, thick and hot. It coats your mouth and tongue, leaking into the back of your throat. And he watches as you swallow it down, eagerly, chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath. 

Simon keeps you down, head lolling back as his lungs begin to relax. But while the rest of his body calms, he doesn’t. He’s still stiff in your mouth, still resting heavily on your tongue. Hand sliding down, he then cups your jaw, gently pushing you off. And even when you’re gone, he’s still hard, standing at full attention and resting on his covered, lower abdomen. The sight couldn't make you feel more excited; you were hoping he’d want more. 

“I want you.” It’s expressed through a dramatic sigh, still on your knees for him. And you’re hoping, truly praying, that he’ll take the lead this time. You’ve yet to have sex in any other position than you on top, since he’s still technically recovering. And while you love riding Simon, the dominance you saw back in the yard… you need that. 

“I know you do.” With heavy lids, he gazes down at you, nodding with a sigh. “I want you too, princess.” 

You’re precious to him, precious and pretty and dainty and his. His response prompts a quiet, needy whine from your throat, lips pouting slightly as you wait for his next move. And then, he’s lifting a lazy hand and beckoning you up to him with the curl of two fingers. Smile blooming prettily, you follow his command, leaning into his movement. Cupping your cheek, Simon brings you in for a kiss, hands dropping to your hips so he can urge you up and onto his lap. 

A low groan emanates from his chest as he leans into the sweet press of your lips, both hands falling to your ass when you climb on top of him. He palms at you, strong hands applying pressure with his fingers digging into your naked skin. More than usual, he focuses on your curves, his teeth biting at your lower lip when you wiggle back into his hands. The wetness your mouth left on his crotch smears across the space between your legs when you sit on him, grinding gently over his erection. 

“What do you think about me fucking you tonight?” He grumbles against your mouth, briefly baring his teeth at the mere thought of it. Ghost inhales a small hiss, working himself up all over again. 

“Yes,” Nodding fervently, your insides pulse with excitement. “Yes, please.” 

Wrapping your arms around the column of his neck, you bring yourself further in, mouthing sloppily at him. And Simon accepts this, entertains it, even. His tongue lays out, welcoming your own to slide across it. He can taste himself on your mouth, but he doesn’t really mind; he actually sort of likes it. 

“And what do you think about it being…” Sliding a hand down the crease between your cheeks, he uses the pad of his middle finger to rub lightly over your tightest hole, the one he’s yet to explore, to claim. “Here?”

He’s never suggested this before, and it catches you completely off guard. The two of you haven’t discussed this or alluded to it, you never even knew he liked that sort of thing. Simon can sense your brief hesitancy, and chuckles deeply.

“You ever had anyone fuck your ass before, sweetheart?” From your timid response, he assumes the answer will be no. He's hoping the answer will be no; he wants to be the first. 

And now, you grin. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He snaps back, aggravated. His hands tighten their grip on your ass, growling out the word, “Who?”

Shrugging at his suddenly possessive nature, you giggle. “Past boyfriends.”

“Get up.” Ghost suddenly grunts, shoving you off of his lap. “Get on my fucking bed.” 

Stumbling backwards, you huff, shaking your head. But Ghost just grabs your arms when he stands, turning you around and shoving you over the side of his mattress. He’s then lifting his shirt and tossing it down on the sheets. 

“I wish you wouldn’t wear these.” He grumbles, shoving aside the bralette you had laying on the covers. 

Puffing out a laugh, you ask, “You want me to walk around base without a bra?” 

He shrugs, hands palming at your ass. “I’d like it.” 

“Yeah? I bet the boys would, too.”

Simon’s head snaps up at your comment, eyes staring daggers into the back of your head. His hands don’t stop moving, though. With a harsh tug that drags you further back toward his crotch, he bends over the arch of your spine. 

“You shut your mouth.” Comes that threatening tone, his dominant arm wrapping around your front to grab at your jaw. “You’re just for me.” 

“Is that right?” You grin, the curl of your lips visible from the side. 

“That’s right.” Turning your head in his grasp, he strains your neck, reaching for your lips with sloppy veneration. And while he does that, he drops a hand between your legs.  Thick fingers slide between your thin lips, feeling your wetness. “Oh…”

But then he’s retracting them all too quickly, both hands finding purchase on your hips. Removing his mouth from yours, Simon stands upright, urging you to shift forward on his bed. Lifting one knee at a time, you do, crawling forward over his covers. Instantly, he’s up on the mattress behind you, resting on his knees, too. Pulling you upright, he hugs your back to his chest, slotting his stiffness between your cheeks while burying his face into the slope of your neck. Smaller hands reach back to find Simon’s muscular thighs, while his own broad palms cup your breasts. 

It’s too easy for you to relax into his touch, his embrace. Ghost’s body is warm and firm against your own, allowing your muscles to loosen. And just as you’re starting to rest back against him, he begins to move, gently shifting his hips. 

“Baby…” Bare fingers flick across your nipples, causing your body to jolt and your moans to heighten. 

“Keep quiet, gorgeous.” He mumbles deeply, chest vibrating against your back while he licks the curve of your neck. 

“Simon, please.” Your hips buck backward against him, feeling his length grind into you from behind. The power and pure strength his body holds is impressive, intimidating, and you want him to use it to his advantage. 

“Mm…” Moaning against your skin, he releases a rough sigh over your throat, teeth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “You want me?”

“Yes, baby.” Inhaling a tight breath, you nod, head falling back onto his shoulder. “But we, we’ll need lube.” It’s been ages since someone did this to you, and the fact that Simon so badly wants to has you reeling. 

“Who says I haven’t got it already?” 

The comment makes your forehead crease with curiosity. But before you can even question him, he’s reaching toward his nightstand. The top drawer has what he’s looking for, and as if he can sense your confusion, he says, “Had this for a while now.”

Glancing down, he pops it open, and you’re left to assume he’s covering his first finger in it. But when he drops a hand to your crease, you find that he’s wet two of them, the slippery digits now massaging your taut hole. 

“Why haven’t you…” Sucking in a tight breath of air, you feel Simon begin to slide his middle digit inside, only to the first knuckle. “Why haven’t you used it? Why haven’t you done this?” 

“Did you really think I was gonna let this happen during my recovery? Laying down on that goddamn bed?” He sounds offended, words spoken harshly against the shell of your ear. But his finger doesn’t stop moving, slowly retracting before diving deeper inside. 

“No,” Ghost shakes his head, lips brushing over your jaw. “Wasn’t gonna let it happen like that. Wanted it to be this way, just like this… your body against mine, at my mercy.” 

A sudden wince jolts its way through your body, the tiniest whimper slipping past your lips. He’s shoved his finger almost entirely inside, and you’re throbbing around the intrusion. 

“You alright, gorgeous?” He inquires after placing a sloppy kiss on your neck.

“Stings.” Comes your timid response, eyes pinching shut. 

“Yeah…” Simon starts, removing his finger before pouring more lube between your cheeks. “But you want it to hurt a little bit, don't you? Little bit of pain mixed with the pleasure…” Before the lube can drip onto his bed, he’s scooping it up with his fingers and prodding you open with both of them.

“Yes…” His words force a trail of ecstasy to bore its way through your very being, allowing you to welcome him in quite easily. “I want, want you. Want whatever the fuck you want to do.”

With your chest puffing out full breaths, Simon growls, mouthing at your shoulder before sinking his teeth in. 

“I’ll give it to you, babe. Just let me do this first.” His breaths have grown ragged and he’s not even inside you yet. “Gonna work you open, nice and proper.”

Quiet cries and shrill whines spill from your throat the more he continues, feeling your hot walls pulsing around his first digit, humming happily when you fully take it inside. And then there’s the second, stretching you wide, opening yourself for him. 

“Thought you’d done this before?” He teases, listening to your sounds. 

“It’s been a while.” You try to put as much sass as you can into your tone but it’s hard when your head is resting back against his shoulder and he’s got two fingers inside you. 

“Mm…” Quietly, he groans, eyes watching your facial expressions from the side. “Just look at you, B. Look at that face, oh, just look at that fucking face…”

It’d be difficult for him to admit, but he’s just as obsessed with you as you are him. If not more. Everything about you makes him mad in the goddamn head, twists everything he once believed in into confusing gibberish that you’ve replaced with love, love. Pure, unwavering love. 

“Walkin’ around this base with authority,” Ghost continues, feeling you swallow his digits whole. “Giving commands to everyone but only dropping to your knees for me.”

“Yes.” It’s an automatic expression because it’s true.

“You ready for me?”

“I wan-wanna try.” Sex with Simon made you feel excited and desired, but right now, you feel more vulnerable than ever. You’re relying on him to make this good for you, to treat you gently until you’re able to take it rough. And he’s happy doing that for you. 

Another pop of the cap, another wet stream of lubrication. Only, it’s for himself this time, not you. Behind your form you can hear the slick sounds of Simon pumping his shaft, squeezing it kindly while rubbing himself against you. 

“Christ… I want you.” 

Wrapping an arm around, you find the back of his head, still mostly covered by his mask. Holding him, you sigh, your head still resting back against his shoulder as you whine, “Please.”

With that simple plea, he’s positioning himself, the bulb of his dick rubbing and quickly popping past your rim. It forces the release of a muffled cry, biting the corner of your lip. But Simon doesn’t stop, just covers the entirety of your shoulder, neck, and cheek in kisses. He could be surprisingly gentle, when he wanted to be. 

“You can take it, B.” He coos into your ear, encouraging you. “Relax, babe. C’mon, relax against me. I’ve got you.” 

It couldn’t be more comforting, what he’s saying to you. Wrapping his left arm around your midsection, he places his right hand on your hip, keeping you steady against him. And when he’s halfway in, he takes a pause, feeling your breaths, the way your stomach and chest are moving beneath his arm. But then, he feels you give in, feels your muscles loosen. Your weight slowly falls back onto him, a blissful sigh releasing from your lungs. 

“There she is,” Simon praises, mouthing at your ear. “My good listener.” 

Slowly, Simon sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips back with him as he dives deeper inside. Your backslide slots perfectly into his pelvis, both of those strong arms now encircling your stomach. Helping you to relax further is the gentle sensation of his hand, sliding up your abdomen to cup your chest. Simon’s fingers play gently with your nipple, sighing out against the side of your face. 

“Oh… we’re almost there, love.”

You’re doing your best to breathe through it; this is such a different sensation than having him between your legs. And just as that thought hits you, one of those broad palms makes its way down to your most sensitive space. He’s using his left hand, completely clean and now moving to cup you. The moan the action elicits prompts him to continue, rubbing you kindly while pushing his hips forward. 

“Just like that.” When he’s finally fit himself inside, he groans, loud and guttural. Ghost’s hold on you becomes tight, hot breaths washing over your cheek. “C’mere.”

Grabbing your jaw, he turns your head, devouring your lips. “Strong girl.” 

Feeling him bottom out inside you is an entirely different level of ecstasy. And rubbing your clit only heightens the pleasure vibrating through your hips. 

“Don’t s-stop.” 

“You like that?”

“Ghost,” Groaning out, you take in a breath, rotating your hips back against him.

“Fuck me; you’re askin’ for it.”

“Yeah, I am.” 

In one smooth motion, he’s sliding a finger into your cunt, feeling the wetness dripping from it. Retracting it, he uses your slick to rub over your clit, rolling his hips and meeting your movements. 

“Like how it feels?” Simon huffs, biting down on his lip. Finally, finally, he pulls out, only about halfway before ramming back in. 

“Baby,”

“I’m not stopping now.” Ghost declares, thrusting into your tightest hole like he was made for it. “So fucking tight, B - Jesus.”

It makes you laugh, the shakiness to his voice. He’s worked himself up to this, claiming you in this way. And the quicker he moves, the better it feels, every ridge and vein rubbing against your inner walls. Using you as leverage, he wraps his arms around you once again, pulling you back to bounce on his lap. 

“Oh my fucking god,”

In a sense, he feels more vulnerable than usual, too. Shoving his face into the crook of your neck, he pants against you. The rapid movement causes the black fabric of his mask to slip up to his forehead, and with a quick shake of his head, it’s landing on the floor. Immediately, your fingers curl into his hair, slick from sweat and clinging to your digits. 

“I love you,” It’s a shaky whisper, this promise. “Love this.”

Every muscle in Simon’s chest and stomach is flexing against your back, his body’s impressive strength on full display. And he’s still rubbing you, still using his thick fingers to play with your clit.

“Yes, baby…” 

“You’re so fucking perfect, letting me do this to you…” The feeling of you squeezing him so hotly has his head spinning, your gorgeous body in his arms and all his for the taking. “And you know what? I love you, too, you fuckin’ little slag. I adore my perfect pet.”

“Simon, I n-need…”

“I know what you need,” He huffs out, bouncing his hips up against your ass and bottoming out with every thrust. 

It’s shocking to see that even his resolve is slipping, his fingers and hips stuttering in their movements already. Usually, Simon’s second round lasted longer than the first. But this? This is an entirely different situation. 

“You’re gonna cum for me?” You ask with a grin, turning your head to kiss his jaw.

“Not yet,” He insists, “Not until you finish, love.”

“It’s okay, baby. Wanna feel it…” You can tell he’s having trouble lasting, his hips shivering and his breaths wavering. “C’mon, baby. Cum for me, claim me.”

And that has him fucking spiraling. He’s not sure what to call it, a primal kink? Whatever it is, you’ve struck gold with it. 

Ghost’s spend blooms warmly inside you, hips pelvis slapping against your backside until his movements slow to gentle grinds. The weight of his body presses into you, his mouth open as he gasps. Deep, brown eyes force themselves shut, arms holding you impossibly tight as the pleasure wreaks havoc on his body. He mouths at your neck, sure to leave bruises and bitemarks by the morning. 

“Simon,” Something between a groan and a whine falls from your mouth, feeling him fill you in this way. 

“Baby,” And it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a genuine whimper from him. “You’re perfect, you’re perfect.”

“Sh…” Petting his head, you urge him to relax, to calm himself.

Something about this moment feels… fragile. He feels fragile. But in truth, everything about your relationship is forcing any and all emotion to his surface; his pale, firm, marred surface. He doesn’t deserve this, your unwavering devotion. Through his attitude, his injuries, your strange occupations, once you had a taste of him, you were hooked. You’ve never left him, never even come close to it. Thankful isn’t a good enough word for how he feels. 

“Pretty doll… you’re just what I want.”

“You have me.”

*

*

*

“You gonna take that off?” With a smile, you trace the outline of his face black, still on from when you’d applied it for him.

“Later.” Simon mumbles, eyes closed.

Heavy arms drape over your body, holding you close. There were few forces in this world that could tear him away. 

“Sleepy?” You tease kindly, cupping his face. His face; out of everyone he could pick, he chose you to see his face. 

“You’re not?”

After Simon finished, he laid you down on his bed. His mouth roamed your neck, the curves of your chest and waist, all the way down until he found himself between your legs. He watched his cum drip from between your cheeks, scooping it up to push it back inside while he licked your pretty lips. It was rare that he left you without finishing, and this time was no exception. 

“I am,” Shrugging, you snuggle into his hold. It’s grown late now, the night taking hold and consuming the room in near blackness. “Can’t stop looking at you, though.”

He grins, mumbling, “Cheeky.”

“Handsome.” You return, kissing his nose.

Tomorrow happens to be one of his days off, allowing the two of you to sleep in. That’ll be a nice change, spending the day together instead of focusing on assignments and missions. Work has kept you both rather busy these past few weeks, and you’ve been missing him dearly. Even if you slept in his bed, going on throughout the day without so much as hearing from him hurt your heart. But for now, you’re reveling in this. 

Lazily, Simon reaches around, grabbing at your ass. Giving it a small slap, he sighs, smoothing his palm over the softness of it. The action makes you giggle, shaking your head. Insatiable man.

“Let me rest.” Ghost insists, feeling you trace the tattoos on his neck and chest.

“Can’t help it.”

“C’mon, now.” He’s trying his best to act all grumpy but can’t hide the grin pulling at his lips. Yanking you even closer to his body, he chuckles. Lifting a hand to the back of your head, Simon pulls you into his chest, kissing your hair as he says, “Sleep with me, love. Just sleep with me.” 

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 7)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: cunnilingus, PIV sex (all consensual!)

word count: 2.5k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

Despite my penchant for drunken late nights, I had always been one to wake with the sun. It had been my undoing in university; never able to sleep past 6am in the summer despite all the money I’d poured into heavy-duty blackout curtains. Countless days spent nursing coffee after coffee just to clear the thick fog of exhaustion in my brain, but sleep still never coming despite hours spent curled up trying to nap in the afternoon.

So it was foreign, the sensation of utter comfort this morning, my muscles so relaxed as I curled up under the duvet and into the chest of this man. He was just barely stirring too, gaze softened without the burden of cognisance hitting him yet.

I offered him a small smile, nudging my cheek against his shoulder. It was returned, and a slow, lingering kiss pressed to my forehead through the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t until Simon pulled back that he let out a soft chuckle, my smile falling as a frown pulled at my brows.

“What?”

He dragged the pad of his thumb over the corner of my lips, and I could see the skin stained with a faded red.

“Your makeup, sweet thing. Didn’t take it off last night.”

I groaned, rolling onto my back to grab blindly at the pack of cheap makeup wipes on the bedside table. I dragged one across my cheek, stubborn particles of glitter scraping at my skin.

“Here, let me.” He murmured, taking the wipe and swiping at across my lips far more gently than I had. His expression turned serious with concentration, and I really couldn’t help but smile at his dedication to the mundane task. There was something domestic about it, something so bizarrely intimate yet it didn’t make me want to bolt out of the room away from it quite yet.

Seemingly satisfied, he let the wipe drop onto the sheets, but kept his hand brushing against my skin. His hand drifted lower, thumb dipping beneath the neckline of the soft cotton tee. His other arm shifted from underneath the pillow, squeezing lightly at my waist.

I inhaled, gaze dropping to his lips, the mask still tucked up over the bridge of his nose. He smirked, almost imperceptibly, as his hands curled tighter around my middle, pulling me in against his body.

“Now, pet…I do remember you being fucking difficult last night.” His voice was gentle, almost eerily so. “I’m almost in two minds about making you feel good right now.”

I bit the inside of my lip, my willingness to sass back at him almost zero right now.

“I was…drunk. And pissed off about being left high and dry. I’m sorry.”

That seemed to do the trick, because almost immediately he was tugging me into the centre of the mattress underneath him, knocking my legs apart with his knees.

“At least you’ve some humility.” He chuckled, leaning down to nip at the exposed skin of my stomach where the shirt had ridden up. “…God, ‘s not like I could turn you down right now anyway. Look too fucking tempting.”

I gasped, back arching up off of the mattress as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin once more.

“Mmph, don’t tease, I- I can’t-“

My weak attempt at pleading was swiftly cut off by another low chuckle.

“It’s okay, princess. Not gonna make you wait, not this time.” He murmured as his lips dipped lower, fingers abandoning my waist in favour of crushing the flesh of my thighs in his grip. He took in a long, greedy exhale of my bare core, lips slick with saliva as he pressed them against the tender skin.

“God, can’t wait to taste you again…you smell fucking divine.”

He wasted no time in diving in, lapping at the slick of my pussy like he’d gone without water for days. A strangled moan was torn from my throat, my fingers clutching tightly at the short curls on his scalp. I felt him twitch a little as my nails bit into his skin, but it seemed to only spur him on further as he pushed his tongue inside of me.

“Fuck, Simon, don’t stop, that feels good-“ I gasped, my breath starting to visibly pick up. I pressed my hips further down towards him, legs twitching and begging to clamp down over his ears. He kept me still, though, those strong hands rubbing small circles into the space behind my knees as he pushed them down into the mattress.

The vibration of his moan against my clit had me almost folding over in half, a sharp breath filling my lungs with ice as my eyes flew open. I met his gaze- his dark, starving gaze- and wanted to cum on the spot. He never let up on his ministrations as he held eye contact with me, just slipping a hand under my ass to grope at it as his tongue worked me closer and closer to oblivion.

I tried to speak, but all that escaped my lips was a pitiful whine, the shocks from my pussy down my legs forcing me to curl up my toes and scrunch my eyes shut. I tried to beg him to keep going, to not break his rhythm, but I found myself utterly unable to speak. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because he didn’t falter, just licking and sucking and drooling over my pussy like he needed it to survive.

I felt my arms moving up of their own accord, tweaking and tugging at my nipples, and I could just barely feel his lips quirk up in an approving smile as the added stimulation drove me closer to the edge.

When I came, it wasn’t with a dignified muffled moan as it often was when I worked myself alone. It was with a breathless, almost pained cry, the sharp end of my nails pressing so hard into my tits I swore the skin almost broke. Simon didn’t pull away immediately; in fact, it felt like he pushed himself closer, lapping up the wetness from between my thighs like a sinner kneeling before the communion cup.

I collapsed back down against the mattress. I couldn’t do anything except stare at the ceiling, vision hazy as I listened to both of our laboured breaths in the quiet room.

It took a few moments for him to drag himself back up over me, into my field of view. His lips held a lazy smirk as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, the flush just faintly visible over his jaw making my own cheeks warm even further.

“…Please fuck me.” I whispered.

Silence hung between us for a second, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

Hesitance? Guilt? Reluctance?

I got my answer when his smirk widened into a grin, and he crashed his lips against mine.

Ghost and I had kissed before. I’d tasted the faint residue of tobacco on his lips, the spearmint toothpaste he used, as his tongue pressed into mine with an urgency akin to an addict pushing down the first hit of their drug.

But not Simon. No, in this moment, I realised I’d never kissed Simon. His lips felt different, the way he cupped my jaw and pressed his weight into me. It felt new, and genuine, and vulnerable.

I realised at the same moment, that this was his first time kissing Lucy, too.

No more Violet. No more calculated persona, no rehearsed responses to his touch. Just a man and a woman indulging sinfully and religiously in each other.

I didn’t notice that he’d pulled his boxers off. I felt him press his cock against me, and moaned against his lips, brows creasing together in desperate anticipation.

He kissed me harder as he pushed himself into me, the sharp sting of the stretch mollified by his sweet tongue. He paused, drawing back to gaze down at me, eyes asking the silent question.

I nodded without a second of hesitation.

He groaned at his first rock into me, fisting the bedsheets beside my head.

“Shit, Luce, you feel better than fucking heroin.”

If I’d been anywhere other than my current state of bliss, I would’ve made a snarky remark about neither of us knowing what the hell heroin felt like. Hopefully.

“More.” I rasped, pulling him closer to me by the nape of his neck. “Please, Si, give me more.”

He growled in response, bullying his cock into me faster and harder. I cried out, nipples pressed into his chest and sending delicious little flutters through my core at the sensation. I pushed my hips up, trying to meet his thrusts, and his breath stuttered at the action.

“Fuck, god, need to have you on top of me. Need to see your face.”

I nodded, even though I was mostly incoherent. Not entirely aware of what I’d agreed to, I let him flip us over so that I was settled above him as he lay with his head sinking into the pillow. I steadied myself with a hand splayed on his chest, panting as I stared down at him.

I began to move with a tentative rock of my hips. The response was immediate, Simon biting his lip as his head pressed further back into the soft material behind him. I grew in confidence as I found my angle, bouncing up and down on him and letting my head loll back as the mind-numbing pleasure took over my senses once again.

He groaned, the sound deep and rough and intoxicating, his hands flying up to my hips to help support my weight as I rode him within an inch of my life.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, sweet girl. Make yourself cum. Make me cum. Ride that fucking dick.” He panted, his grip tightening as he started to manoeuvre me up and down himself, setting a pace I couldn’t quite keep up with.

I let my head fall forward, meeting his eyes with a wordless plea on my lips. He let out a moan at my expression, hips snapping upwards into mine at such a rate I could feel my diaphragm catching.

“Gonna fucking cum. Gonna fucking cum inside you, come on girl, cum around me. Need to see that face.”

I had no defences left. I broke like a dam around him, every muscle in my body contracting as I let myself climax around his cock. He groaned, the sound strained and utterly animal, and I swore my orgasm doubled the second I felt his cum spurt in fucking ropes against my insides.

Neither of us moved for a long moment, aside from his hand sliding up along my back to support me. I drew in deep, rapid breaths, just staring down at him as he lay underneath me.

He seemed to do the same. Neither of us spoke, just a silent understanding that that was different.

Not fucking. Not hooking up. Making love.

I jumped to my feet, knees buckling the second I put weight on them. His arms immediately shot out to steady me, but I brushed him away as I found balance with my hand against the wall.

“You, uh…you want some coffee?” I asked, cringing internally at how stupid it sounded.

He stared at me for a long moment.

“…You should probably shower. I can handle breakfast.”

Too cock-dumb to argue and too sleep-deprived to know better, I nodded, the thought of warm water over my already pliant muscles a prospect too tempting to resist.

I grabbed a towel and a fresh pair of pyjamas without another word, waiting until I heard the click of the bathroom door to let out a breath.

I stared at one crack in the porcelain tiles as I showered.

Don’t do this, Lucy. You’ve been here before.

…But Simon wasn’t him. Simon wasn’t basking me in adoration and gifts and dates. He was accepting of the fuck-buddy relationship, maybe pushing the boundary a smidge with the morning-after sex, but this wasn’t commitment. This was pure, primal sexual attraction, and it’s not as if he would even want a relationship given the nature of his job.

Oh, dear god, his job.

There was no way he didn’t see my reaction to the reveal last night. The thought, the thought of him absolutely decimating some band of criminals without so much as a crack in his demeanour had set every nerve inside of me ablaze.

Would he be soaked in blood? I thought. Would he come home to me, still in his dirty uniform, and take out all of that pent-up aggression on my pussy?

…Jesus, I needed to go back to therapy.

I shut off the water, towel drying my hair and tugging on a random top and pair of joggers. I padded through towards the kitchen, pausing only when I heard that familiar baritone echo through the hallway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m aware, MacTavish. No, she’s not interfering. She’s a fucking stripper, it’s not as if I’m ring shopping.”

I would’ve been lying if I’d said I hated to eavesdrop.

“…Yeah, she’s hot. She’s also not a serious thing, so back off.”

I chose that moment to step into the kitchen, tugging at the knots in my wet hair as he stood in the corner on his phone. I smirked.

“You gonna let me say hi to your friend?”

Simon’s expression dropped. I could vaguely hear a voice shouting down the other end of the phone, but he hung up the call almost immediately after seeing me appear.

“…Stupid friend. Ignore him.”

I chuckled, brushing past him to pop a pod into the coffee maker.

“Seems like he was pretty clued in about me. Feels a little unfair that I don’t get to know about him.”

Simon bristled.

“Don’t wanna share you.”

Ah. Now that piqued my interest.

“Jealous boy, hmm? Don’t want MacTavish touching what’s yours?”

In an instant, his hands were on me, caging me against the countertop.

“I know you’re a whore.” He breathed, his tone dangerous. “I can’t stop you from sleeping with every sleaze that ticks your boxes at the club. But you will not sleep with my teammates.”

I tipped my chin up, meeting his gaze defiantly. “So rude of you to call me a whore.”

He smirked, fingers trailing along my jaw. “Didn’t seem to mind it when I was making you cum.”

I held eye contact for a long moment, a mixture of amusement and annoyance swimming in my expression. “I like your cheek a whole lot less when I’m level-headed.”

He chuckles, dipping down to press a kiss to my lips. “And I like you a lot more when you’re sober.”

tag list! <3 @simpxinnie

[your-highnessmarvel]

cotton candy | s.riley

CHAPTER NINE

Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character

Warnings: THIS IS SO LONG. Mentions of Smut. Smut. Cum talk. Dirty talk.

Chapter Summary: When Laura gets back from the failed club mission, she has to consider a weird possibility; maybe it's high time she takes the load off. And maybe, just maybe, Ghost wants to do the same thing.

A/N: i'm going out of town for 4 days, so enjoy this extremely long chapter with rewarding half-smut at the end. Things get real weird for Laura as well. Lines blurred between Soap and her and Ghost?

Masterlist

Taglist: Open

Find it on AO3 HERE.

Chapter nine

Soap walked me to the evac site and all I felt was a general numbness, as if all my limbs belonged to someone else and they had the controls. I knew Soap was telling me something. I knew his words must be soothing, comforting even, but all I seemed to care about was that Ghost, Simon, and I had all but made out in front of the entire task force and no one had said a damn thing.

I reasoned with myself as Soap helped into the Jeep, touching my waist as he fastened my belt. Getting in the passenger seat. Telling Laswell to just get out of here.

I reasoned quite well with myself. I told myself I had to do it. I had to stop those guys from getting their paws on me, from finding me. We were in a room full of people making out, so the most logical thing would be to blend in. And I'd heard somewhere that shows of affection make people queasy, that it makes people want to look away.

And as the feeling gradually returned to my fingertips and lips, as I started hearing things in detail instead of a droning roar, I became aware that Laswell was asking me something.

"Laura?"

"Yes?"

She looked at me in the rearview mirror, the break lights from the car in front of us painting her skin red, her eyes black. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Lieutenant Riley?" she asked. Her brows were frowned, expression torn between professionalism and concern.

"I failed, didn't I?"

She sucked her teeth. "Yes, but we will have other opportunities," she answered, taking a left, the red tint washing from her features. She wasn't looking at me anymore. "None of our targets recognized our men. We still have a chance to go back."

"Not with me, though," I said, swallowing my pride. "Now they know I'm alive."

She shrugged. "I'm not concerned with that Laura." But the look on her face, strained brows, puckered lips, and downturned eyes, proved that wrong. "I just want to make sure you're unharmed."

I felt something on my bare knee, and when I looked down, I saw Soap's knuckles rubbing against my skin. He'd moved so silently, so smoothly, that no one knew he was comforting me. Well, Laswell hadn't noticed.

"Do you want to talk about what happened with Ghost?" Soap asked, his voice so smooth, accent like honey, that it could have been mistaken for genuine curiosity.

I gulped, clenching my teeth. "I mean... we had to do that."

Laswell shook her head. "There could've been other options," she said. "But I see why Ghost decided on that."

"Are you alright?" Soap asked, and even though I couldn't see his face, I saw the outline of his shoulders tense. He was still rubbing my knee gently.

I hummed. "Yeah." Because no, I wasn't alright. Half my brain wanted to go back in there, with danger nipping at my heels, and a ghost devouring my lips. I wanted to feel his hands on me like that again, swallow his grunts, and feel him hard and hot at my belly. I wanted to feel caged, wrapped in darkness, pressed up against the wall with nothing but his body heat as a source of pleasure. I wanted all my senses to be knocked loose by him, to be invaded by nothing but his smell and his touch.

But another part of me, some part that knew this would come to an end some day. The part that knew this was anything if not illogical, that wanted to punch Simon. That wanted to sink my teeth in his neck and rip his jugular out and make him bleed, make him in need just the way he leaves me every time.

I decided there was none of those two parts would ever come to terms.

The rest of the ride was in silence. I had no idea where the three others had went, and frankly, I didn't care. I wanted to get dressed in some long joggings and hide under a blanket in the dark for ages. But when we got to back to base, riding under the bright gate lights and the three check points, I knew there was no way in hell I would be allowed that privilege.

Laswell left me with Soap to go through the medbay. They checked my vitals and shone an annoying little light in my eyes. Soap stood there in silence, the green lights making his tan looked washed out. I could only imagine what I looked like.

When the nurse pushed my hair back and saw the fading blue black bite mark that Simon had adorned on me, she frowned. "When did this happen?" she asked.

I covered it with my hair. "I did a wrong move in training," I mumbled, feeling the embarrassment and the annoyance climb from my fingertips to my ears in a wash of liquid fire.

Soap bent down, tugging my hair away form my shoulder. His eyes narrowed on the mark and he hummed. I thought he was going to snitch, tell the doctor that his superior had bitten me in some weird lust-filled moment. But instead he replaced my hair.

"Is it infected?" he asked the doctor, who just looked at him with her mouth slightly agape.

"No," she answered. "But that looks like teeth, Sergeant."

"She went undercover last week," Soap answered.

The doctor shook her head and took a few notes into my chart, but otherwise, didn't pry. I guess things were different in the Navy.

She discharged me and Soap walked me out into the dark. I was glad no one had commented on the mini jeans skirt and the sparkling tank top.

"You're leaving a trail of glitter," Soap commented as we walked back to the RV, meandering through a maze of buildings and tents.

I looked at him, wearing a grey long sleeve and black jeans. "You look like every other guy," I replied.

He smirked, bringing a heavy arm over my shoulders and bringing me close to him. I soaked up his body heat, feeling his muscles move against my skin, placing my hand on his chest. "You good, pumpkin?" he whispered into my hair, mouth on my hairline.

"I'm cold," I said.

He squeezed my shoulders, bringing me even closer to him. He was silent until our RV came into view, dark and quiet. Maybe he felt the tension snap in my spine, climb up to my shoulders.

"I don't think he's here," he said.

"Where did he go?"

Soap sighed, and as we neared the door, he placed a very gentle, surprising kiss on my forehead.

"He was just as affected as you were," he answered, his mouth ghosting over my hair again, nose burying into my locks. "He went to blow some steam off with Gaz and Ale."

I nodded, folding my arms over my chest, another sour, jealous feeling pooling into my ribcage. "I get it."

Soap let go of me to open the door, and I swear, I felt the cold seep back through my pores.

I went inside the dark RV, snapping on the lights and moving through it quietly, feeling Soap at my back. He followed me silently, ghosting his fingers on my waist, down my spine.

"You should change," he said.

"Where did he go?" I asked, turning to face Soap. We were almost in the bedroom, where the dark called me, where my bed pulled at my senses.

Soap looked me dead in the eyes, brows pulled together. He was so close that I could see the tiny wrinkles near his eyes, the scar under the left corner of his mouth.

He took my face in his hands, large and warm. "Let's make sure you're okay, yeah?"

I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. "Lie to me?" I said.

He smiled, putting his forehead against mine and walking towards me, forcing me to walk back into the darkness of the room. "He's just at the bar," he said.

I nodded and he let me go. I pawed my bed until I found my folded joggings. It was dark and I'm sure Soap couldn't see but I didn't really care at this point. Sleep was tugging at my lids, pulling at my feet, my joints, my knees. I was so exhausted, mentally prepared to forget, that changing in the dark with Soap was the least of my worries.

"Here," he said, voice low, guttural almost. I felt soft fabric against my elbow and when I grabbed onto it, I realized it was a shirt. "You'll be comfortable in this."

I quickly switched out of my sparkly, dumb fucking cami and bra and threw those in the corner. I slipped on Soap's t-shirt. It smelled like him, like his cologne, like the gum he chewed regularly. It was soft against my arms, rubbing against my chest.

"Are you okay to sleep?" he asked.

I climbed onto my top bunk, over Ghost's bed, and signed, feet dangling over the edge into nothing. Soap's hand landed on my knee again, thumb pressing onto the inside of my thigh. "I don't want to be alone," I admitted. "At least until I fall asleep."

He grunted. "Move over," he ordered.

I couldn't see well, but I'd adjusted to the dark enough to see his outline as he changed out of his jeans and shirt and only put on his joggers.

I gulped, heart in my throat as he climbed up onto my bunk, forcing me towards the wall. He was shirtless.

"Soap." I put a hand against his chest, feeling the few coarse hairs there, when he lay on his back with a sigh.

"Just lay here with me, lassie," he said. "I swear I won't do anything."

When he saw I wasn't moving, he put a hand over mine, where it rested over his beating heart. His skin was burning.

"I understand the feeling of not wanting to be alone, Laura," he said. This time, his voice was strained, as if that was a secret he'd sworn never to reveal. "I hate seeing you scared. I hate that I can't help you feel... more at ease. But believe me when I say this, lass, that I'd never touch you." And then his hand caressed up to my elbow and he tugged slightly. "Just lay here and go to sleep."

The way he'd said that had felt so sincere, so real, that my heart thawed and the fear lacing my blood seemed to thin out like water.

I lay there beside him, head sharing a pillow, with his arms wrapped around me as if we were two sworn lovers. He turned to his side, facing me, letting me put my face in his chest and hear the rhythm of his heart. One of his hands played the guitar against my ribs, the other scratched gently at my scalp.

For the first time in a while, I took a full breath in. And sleep found me with no trouble.

***

By the time I woke up, I had forgotten that there was a full grown man with me in bed. My eyes shot open, skin behind my knees clammy, sweat on my back and forehead. No wonder I was boiling; I had a human furnace wrapped around me like a koala bear to a tree trunk.

Soap's left arm was wrapped around my waist, fingers inching into my t-shirt (his t-shirt). His other arm was under my head, supporting my neck while his hand dug at the roots of my hair.

The covers had been thrown to the end of the bunk, where I could see that our legs were tangled. Soft morning light filtered in through the horizontal curtains, painting the air a light grey. It would be cloudy today.

I wasn't sure if Ghost and Gaz had made it back to their bunks, and with my back pressed against the wall, there was no way I'd be able to take a peak. So I moved slightly, pressing myself against Soap's front, planting my hands on the mattress, and pushing myself up slightly.

Almost immediately, like an instinct had pulled him from sleep, Johnny groaned and used the hand around my waist to stop me from moving. His fingers pinched my waist, the sensitive skin there, and pinned me back against the mattress.

"Be careful how you move, pumpkin," he drawled, sleep tugging at his voice, at his accent. It was so deliciously thick, like honey dropping from an open glass pot.

I gulped. "What?"

i looked down, watching as he smirked in his semi-awake state and buried his face into the pillow. He pushed me down again, until I was face to face with him, and grabbed onto my back, scooting me flush against his body in a flash.

I could feel him hard at my belly, his chest hot, skin like flickering flames.

Immediately, I felt my cheeks burn, and I scoffed. "Oh, I'm... I'm so sorry!"

He chuckled against the pillow. "Nothin' to be sorry about, pancake," he muttered, turning away from me. He lay on his side, back to me now, and I could see the coiled, corded muscle in his back strain. He was tan from the South Asian sun, skin like golden honey.

I swung a leg over him and carefully climbed down from the bunk, noticing the empty, perfectly neat sheets in the bunk under mine. When I landed on my feet, Soap groaned, now facing me. His left hand dangled from the bed and he reached out, smoothing his thumb on my jaw.

"You know what you need, princess?" he asked, eyes glazing back to sleep. It was still so early in the day.

"What?"

He snorted. "You need to let out some tension."

I frowned. If this was going where I thought it was, I wanted none of it.

"Relax," he sighed, rolling onto his back, forearm swung over his head. "I meant something like dancing or... going to the bar." By the end of his sentence, I was sure he went back to sleep.

I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes and meandering through the RV. It was empty and dark, the early grey light seeping in from the curtains. Stuff was strewn everywhere; pants across the kitchen table, papers and pens on the counter, a few socks along the carpeted floor.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took a comb - likely Soap's - and tugged it through my hair. His words kept playing in my head. Tension. As if this was my vacation of choice; left to be bait for the US Navy Seals.

I sighed, feeling the frustration tears well up. I hadn't actually given much thought to it. To the whole idea, the situation, how fucked up my current circumstances were. A few weeks ago, I was a normal young woman, fresh out of university, with the world at her fingertips. I took that opportunity to test the waters, visit the world, break out of my shell but it seems the process I trusted wanted to test me even more.

My hands curled into fists against my eyes, as if I could physically push the tears back in. I sniffed, hiding a sob with a cough. I threw my head back, making the fuzzy blue light overhead sting my retina.

Just a few more days. They'd catch Alvarez somehow. They'd kill him or imprison him, and I'd be safe to return home.

"Alright," I sighed, almost sarcastically.

I really needed to air out the steam building between my ribs. It made me feel like a balloon full of air, pricked just hard enough to put pressure on the flesh but not hard enough to pop it.

So, I decided, I'd do what Soap suggested. I'd go dancing.

***

When Ghost woke up, he knew it was passed his alarm by the way the sun heated his face under the black fabric of his balaclava. He groaned inwardly, mentally cursing whoever's idea it was to go drinking late into the night.

Oh yeah. It was him.

Where was he?

He coughed, something like smoke curling along his tongue. Cigars. Fucking Price. Of course, he disappeared for this entire mission, but a soon as the drinking and smoking began, he dared to poke his big ass nose into their business.

"Rise n shine, lieutenant!"

Speaking of the devil.

Ghost opened his eyes, analyzing his surroundings. He was poised against the wall of someone's barracks. Probably Price. By the way the cot was made perfectly, the sheets tucked and tight against the thin mattress. The male paraphernalia strewn across the bedside table. The bottle of cologne on the desk beside the barrack's box. And a huge wooden box filled to the brim with cigars.

And the man himself stood, arms crossed over his chest, over a green hoodie, right by Ghost's booted feet.

"Get up, soldier, we got intel on your man," the captain said, voice gruff and raw, probably from the whiskey and the cigars from last night. And the girls. And the music, the laughing. The girls.

Ghost shook a feeling from his shoulders, like shedding a sheet of dust that had collected along his back.

How he'd wished those girls had been Laura.

It took a second for that thought to register before Ghost peeled it away from his brain. He got to his feet, groaning at the pain in his tailbone, the numbness in his calves, in his knees.

"A little banged up there, L.T?" Price asked.

Ghost grunted. "You've never had a rough night before, cap?"

Price huffed. "A many a nights, man." He threw his head back and laughed. "That's right. You got yourself a girl last night, eh?"

Ghost grunted. He had - technically, though, he hadn't brought her back anywhere.

Price laughed again, a deep rumble in his chest. "How was it?"

Ghost shrugged. It's not like he'd had time to prepare or enjoy. It was fast and nasty and over in ten minutes. He'd gotten his paws on the first girl with long black hair and hadn't even had to court her in any way. She'd been attracted - like most of them are - to the mystery beyond the mask, to his eyes and the way he seemed dead behind them.

It wasn't long before she was bent over the sink in the single bathroom at the back of the bar, her shirt on the damp wooden floor, her midnight locks splashed like black ink against her bare back. He'd pushed her face into the tiled counter so that he could pretend she was someone else. So that he could stare at her back, her hair, and pretend that the hip he was squeezing was someone else's, that the cunt he was rutting into belonged to her.

And once it was over, after Ghost had finished in the condom he'd insisted on wearing, it just didn't feel right. This girl with the wrong face and the hair slightly too light and the skin not the right shade. This girl that was too tall, too skinny. Ghost couldn't even stay to help her clean up after he'd ditched the condom and tucked himself back into his pants. He couldn't even bare to watch this girl stare at herself in the mirror.

He'd so badly wished that it was Laura. He'd so badly hoped that this girl would have morphed into her, into the right face, the right height, the smile and laugh and the way the corner of her bottom lip stuck under her canine sometimes.

Fuck. Ghost had it bad.

"I don't remember," Ghost lied.

Price's face lit up light a Christmas tree. "The drink got you this time!" He clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. "Ah, the loss wasn't so bad, man. It's things that happen when you put civvies in the field. We'll do a better job next time."

Ghost nodded. He needed a shower, bad.

"Alright, look," Price continued. "We got intel last night, while you were nose deep in whiskey and ball's deep in whoever. Alvarez is moving some serious cargo in a few days. Laswell said a few tons of explosives and drugs, so if we can get our hands on it, that's a win for us."

"Get ourselves some captives too," Ghost answered. "I want them alive so they can tell us exactly where Alvarez is."

Price nodded, something akin to a shadow gliding over his features. He frowned, getting a little closer to Ghost. He peered through the opening in his mask.

"That girl, Laura?" he said. "She really saw him?"

"Apparently."

"And she's still alive?"

"Affirmative."

Price shook his head slowly. "It's really uncanny how one American girl ends up knowing the face of one of South America's most wanted cartel leader."

"Laswell didn't fill you in?"

"She did," Price answered. "How is this girl anyway? Where is she?"

Ghost's shoulders tightened. "She went back to the RV with Sergeant MacTavish."

Price made a grimace. "Is that... are they a thing now?"

"I don't know." Something tugged in Ghost's belly, like a string clung to his belly button. If anyone could have her beside him, it could be Soap, and that would be the only man Ghost would allow even a few inches form her.

But he wanted her first.

"Well," Price sighed, moving to the door, grabbing his phone off the table. "Come on, Laswell is waiting."

Most of the information that Laswell had was generic. Ghost followed along, took his orders, and scrammed as fast as he could. He was still dressed in last night's shenanigans; black jeans, his trusted black hoodie, and his boxers that probably had that girl's DNA all over it.

He had nothing on his schedule for the day, so he ran to the showers and cleaned up, got back to Price's barrack's room to talk strategy, and then went right to the gym. He worked out his frustrations on the bench press and the treadmill, and tried to ignore the feeling of dread sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach. Like a rock.

Ghost had never regretted sex. Ever. There had never been any girl that he'd regretted. Even the desperate catches on faraway missions. Even that time he hadn't seen a woman in three months and put his hands on the first thing he saw. He never regretted.

But now.

Now he wished he'd listened to his brain and not his dick. He felt so filthy now, so dirty. He felt as if it was written all over his forehead - well, written on a huge poster that clung to his back. He felt as if the whole world knew that he'd fucked a random girl that kind of looked like Laura because he needed to empty his balls so bad.

Because now, he felt like if his hands touched her, he'd stain her.

The gym didn't help with his frustration. So he went to combat training and brought Gaz and Price down to the mat a few times, sweated until his brow was soaked. Even then, he could feel the tension straining in his bones.

And by the time night rolled in and he was at target practice and Soap showed up, he was still trying to breathe the tension out of his skin.

"L.T?"

Ghost turned, meeting Soap's inquiring gaze.

"Soap."

"You seen Laura?"

Ghost's insides curled in on themselves. "No." And then. "Why?"

Soap shrugged, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "I haven't seen her all day."

"You were with her last night?" he asked, but he wasn't accusing him. He was starting to get worried.

"Yeah," Soap answered, frowning. "Then she woke up, and I think I heard her crying in the bathroom, and then she was gone."

Ghost bristled, putting the rifle down on the table. "She cried?"

"Yeah, think so."

"Why didn't you follow her?" Ghost asked, voice rough, low. Worried.

Soap shrugged again. "I didn't want to bother her I mean, I felt like I was annoying her." He licked his lips. "You told me to stay with her when we came back from the club. You said to stick to her like glue. I even got in bed with her, L.T."

"And?"

"She slept."

"Good," Ghost sighed. "She didn't say anything about what happened?" Ghost was a soldier first. He needed to know if anything else had come up, memories, anything, that could help this mission.

"Nothing, sir."

"You should've followed her, Johnny," he said. "At least, asked her why she cried. Now we have to go and find her."

A door slammed shut to their left and both men turned to see Alejandro walk in, bright smile etched on his face.

"Hermanos!" he greeted, hands in the air like it'd been years they hadn't seen each other. "I come bearing some great news."

"You're going back home," Ghost groaned.

Ale's hands fell back to his thighs with a clap. "Sorry to disappoint, sir, but it's not the case," he answered gruffly. "The bar's hosting ladies night again!" He made fists with his hands and punched Soap in the shoulder twice.

"Again?" Soap asked, incredulous. "There was one yesterday and I missed it?"

"Well, chico," Ale answered in a breath. "It's your time to mke it count. Last night, Ghost had - "

"That'll do," Ghost interrupted. "Let's go then, shall we?"

It wasn't long until they'd made it through the little labyrinth that was this military base. They heard the bar's music before they even saw it, and something in Ghost's bones shifted.

"Oh, shit," Soap groaned, stopping in mid step, the gravel under his boots squelching. "I think I know where our girl is."

Our girl.

"In there, hermano?" Ale asked, pointing to the bar. The windows were tinted purple.

"I told her to let off some steam," the sergeant sighed. "I even suggested dancing."

"Well, she can use it," Ale answered, and the trio resumed their walk. "She's so..."

"Uptight?" Soap offered and the two other groaned in acquiescence.

When they walked through the wooden, creaking door, the smell of alcohol and girl hit them like a ton of bricks on a speeding train. It was intoxicating, the smell of women. Like their scent was made to do just that; turn men into mush, compliant little ants who wanted to do nothing but please them. And coincidence enough, Ghost had that same instinct climbing up his spine.

He just didn't want to see Laura in the same predicament as him last night; letting off some steam with a Ghost look-a-like.

The music was so loud that Ghost could barely hear himself think, and the screaming and singing from the pack of girls, military and... well not. It was some poppy tune that Ghost didn't really like, so he meandered to the bar and asked for a beer. He knew he should be scanning the dance floor, the dark corners, the benches, tables, and couches for her. But he needed something in his veins to numb that feeling coursing through his blood.

"Nah, brother," Soap yelled over the music, grabbing his superior by the shoulder like old chums. "Something stronger!"

The kid ordered three bourbons and a shot of clear liquid, and as Ghost downed both drinks, he knew his stomach would make him pay tomorrow morning.

"We're not here to do any damage?" Ale asked once Ghost put the drinks back down and took a hefty seat at the bar.

Soap shrugged sarcastically. "I thought this was girl's night!" he said. "Where are the gi... oh there's Laura!"

Ghost's head snapped quicker than a whip, jostling his brain against his skull violently.

He scanned the crowd, but it was dark and everyone was dressed in black but it didn't take him long to spot her. She was so vivid, laughing and smiling so wide it's like her mouth was splitting her face in half.

She was wearing black jeans, the type that clung to her hips and ass but loosened after that. So that all you could stare at were her delicious curves. And just above the waistband of her jeans was a sliver of skin because her black t-shirt wasn't long enough to cover her belly button.

And her hair. Her hair was a long mass of midnight locks, cascading down her back as she moved with girls she probably didn't even know. It was so shiny, so well done that it caught the lights off the strobe every time she threw her head back to laugh.

"Damn." That came from Soap.

Ghost swallowed the equally inappropriate thing he wanted to say because Laura made eye contact with him across the room, her face coming still as she moved through the crowd. She took small steps, interminable steps, moving through the crowd like a knife in butter.

And once she stood before the three of them, it was too late. Ghost's hands itched.

"You came!" she said over the music.

Ale bent down to whisper something in her ear and she giggled, hitting him in the chest playfully.

Soap moved to her other side, caging her in. She was theirs now. "I got scared, lass," he said. "You vanished this morning."

She grimaced. "I didn't want to wake you."

Soap shrugged then tapped her on the back, making quick eye contact with Ghost, who was still perched on his barstool silently.

"Ale!" Soap said, calling his attention. "There's a nice table of footsie sittin' over there untouched!"

"Ehhhh, perro, you're about to lose some serious dinero!"

And they left so quickly. They left nothing but Laura behind, who stared up at Ghost, black ink-drop eyes imploring.

He stood slowly, brushing his knee against her knuckles. His mouth was pasty, like he was... nervous. And he hated it.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, reaching out to brush the knuckle of his index across her belly. She was burning. Sticky. Drunk.

"Clothes," she answered sarcastically. "Why are you dressed like there's a mountain you're going to shred down in old red skis?"

Ghost felt some kind of anger brew at the bottom of his throat. "I'm always dressed like this."

She reached out and placed her thumb against the outside of his palm, her other fingers gripping his. "You can take it off," she said, reaching on her tip toes so that their faces were inches apart, where he and only he could hear her say that.

He resisted the instinct to flinch.

"What?"

"The mask," she cooed, coming back down on her heels. But she was so much closer to him. And she was still clutching his hand. "Take it off."

"Negative."

"Why?" she asked, frowning, eyes cast down. So cute. So drunk. "Are you ugly."

He wanted her to see him smile.

He bent down so they were eye-to-eye. So that she could see the slick shadow glide across his irises like black tar. "Quite the opposite, sweet thing," he answered, pressing his thumb against her chin so that her mouth opened slightly. He felt the bourbon in his head now, heating his skull like lava. "Now tell me why you're dressed like this."

She looked up from under her brows. What a pretty sight.

"It's just jeans and a t-shirt."

He groaned, glazing his eyes. "Do you know what that does to me?" he asked. "To see you like this?"

"Like what?" But this time, she was daring, pushing her limits.

"So... easy." His eyes, so heavy, so lust-filled, clipped down to her mouth and back to her eyes. The eye contact was driving her crazy. He could tell by the way she was enraptured by his stare. "You look like I could drag you back to the RV and fuck you on the table and you wouldn't say a thing."

His filthy words seemed to plug her into the wall and bring her right back to life. She stiffened, closing her mouth, pulling herself away from him completely so as not to touch him anymore.

Ghost fantasized that if he touched her cheeks, they'd be burning.

"You don't like that?" he asked.

The music changed behind them. Someone cheered but it felt so far away.

She gulped. She watched him take a step towards her, wrap his hand around her arm and tug her out the door, feet tumbling after him. She didn't say a word, like he predicted, as he dragged her around the bend of the bar, scuffing her shoulder on the corner of the outer wall. She didn't even blink when he slammed her up against the wall, the moonlight shining off her ink-drop eyes.

"You gonna say anything, my Laura," Ghost whispered, pressing his nose to the side of her face, hands on her bare arms, barely there, barely touching. Her skin buzzed. "You going to tell me to fuck off? Huh? Are you going to push at me? Come on, baby, you got more fire than that?"

Because truth is, he wanted her to push him off. He wanted her to dig her nails into his shoulders, scream at him, tell him that he was disgusting, ugly, and dirty. Tell him that she never wanted his hands on her again.

Because he felt like all those things. And he didn't want to stain her. After last night, after the girl that looked like her but wasn't her, after that dumb decision to empty his sack in some hired whore. He wanted Laura to push him off, keep that stain from her.

But he also wanted her. He also couldn't keep his hands from her.

"You're scaring me," she muttered.

"Good," he whispered in her ear. "I should scare you, baby."

She shivered and, oh, he wanted to press her against him until his heat became her source of life.

"Push me off, Laura," he drawled, dipping his nose to her shoulder. His mouth opened under the mask.

"I want to feel your hair," she asked, so sweetly, so low. Something sliced down his spine. "I won't look, Simon, I swear." His name off her lips was pure sin, and the way she grabbed at him, fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Say my name," he panted, pushing her back against the wall. Shit, he was so hard.

She pulled him closer until there was nothing but their clothes separating their skin. "Simon, please."

He shivered. He was so weak. So amped up. Even with yesterday, he felt like he was 16 again. Getting hard at the sound of her voice. His name off her lips like a prayer.

Her hands worked up his back while his slipped to her hips. She put her forehead against his shoulder, her hands climbing to his neck, into his mask. He felt it strain over his mouth, his nose, until both were uncovered.

"I'm not looking," she muttered. "But please Simon, kiss me."

He would not be told twice. This was the first time that she had asked him. That it wasn't him taking it from her.

He brought his hands to her face and kissed her. Her mouth, now familiar terrain, moulded to his like two perfect puzzle pieces. He groaned into the kiss, pulling her head back to deepen it, teasingly petting his tongue against her lower lip.

She clung to him for dear life. Nails in his shoulders, bringing him closer, ever closer, until he had to put one hand against the wall to support them or he'd squish her against it.

She tasted like beer and something sweet, like candy or gum. And he was addicted, kissing her and kissing her but he was never sated. He would never get enough of that candy taste on his tongue.

He pulled away from her lips to kiss down her jaw, her neck, unconsciously rutting his hips against hers. She grunted, groaned, moaned when his lips turned to teeth on her shoulder. He marked her again, teeth imprinted in the soft skin there, and as he worked his way back up her neck, he knew just kissing her this time wouldn't be enough.

"Simon," she panted, eyes closed, waiting for him to devour her again. But he just kissed around her mouth, her jaw, her chin.

"Laura," he whispered against her neck, hips grinding into hers. "I need to..." He put his face in her neck suddenly, forcing all his weight on her, squeezing her between his chest and the wall so hard she whimpered. And that sound, the way she grabbed onto him, made a bolt snap like lightening in his spine, pooling fire flooding his belly. "Fuck, fuck."

He felt the fire lick up his spine and in seconds, his boxers were wet.

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning against her neck, putting his entire weight on her. He could feel the flames of his pleasure soothe along his back, like a dying fire, but it felt so good that he didn't care.

He'd just cum in his pants like an over-teased tween.

He chuckled. At least he hadn't touched her. He hadn't stained her.

"I need to go..." he hesitated. She was still riled up tight like the string of a bow. He didn't want to leave her high and dry. "Laura, I can't touch you," he whispered in her neck. "Last night, I..."

"I know," she answered. "Some girls told me."

He wanted to know, deep down, how she felt about it. Jealous?

"I don't want to dirty you," he muttered.

"I get it."

He sighed. "I can go get Soap," he suggested, feeling the heavy blanket of sleep calling his name.

"What?" she asked, going tense against him.

"To finish you," Ghost said, matter-of-fact. "I know he's been dying to."

She made a weird strangled sound. "W-what, no, why would Soap - "

Ghost chuckled, interrupting her. "I want you to cum, Laura." And oh, her name on his tongue tasted as sweet as her mouth. "Soap would do a fine job, I'm sure."

He could practically hear the gears running in her head. She was wondering how Ghost could be so willing to share her with Soap. Because she'd never want the opposite. "He's the only other man I trust with you," he cooed. "I need to get that... other girl off my skin. Soap can take care of you for a while. What do you say, my little dove?"

She shivered at the pet name.

After a long pause, she said, "I'll go... I'll go back inside."

He smiled against her neck and then straightened. She meet his eyes quickly, but she was avoiding his gaze. Hers skittered across his mask and then back to her feet.

"Go," Ghost ordered, bringing his hands to her face. "Before I change my mind."

She looked up, biting the inside of her cheek. Then she nodded and pushed off the wall, her feet crunching on the gravel below as she retreated into the night, back to the bar.

Ghost sighed. Thank god he was wearing black pants.

[gazspookiebear]

Ugh I'm so sleepy. Eepy man. Enjoy this shit I cooked up in ten minutes.

You wake up, only to find yourself just as tired as you were a few hours ago. Your eyelids are heavy, and you're fighting back sleep with every blink. Exhaustion wracking your body with every movement.

You feel Simon groan and sit up next to you.

"Mmm... five more minutes?" You mumble sleepily, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth.

"'M sorry love, we've gotta get up"

"Please? I'm so tired..." You whine quietly

"Negative," he says, chuckling at your miserable pout.

"Please, Si?" You say it so sweetly. The nickname you rarely used. His weakness.

A moment passes before you finally hear a response.

"Fine."

You grin, knowing that you've won. He lays back down and wraps his arm around you, pulling your back to his chest. You close your eyes and sleep quickly overtakes you.

Of course, it was never just 'five more minutes'. Simon called your work shortly after and informed them that you wouldn't be coming in today. However that works.

[bunnyreaper]

welder!ghost au

After taking so many welding lessons from Simon and developing a crush, you decide to make him a little something to show your appreciation.

(f!reader, simon is a fucking weirdo, jealousy)

As soon as you'd set your mind to the idea, it wouldn't leave you.

Just like everything to do with Simon, it's buried its way into your brain and taken up residence there, gnawing away until you decide to do something about it.

How you're going to do it is something different, though. There's no way in hell you could get away with making something secret in Simon's workshop, right under his nose like that. That man is far too observant to let something like that slip by, and the surprise is part of the fun.

You want to show him everything you've learned from him, every moment that you've hung off of his every word and listened to everything he has to say, every time you've watched him work and absorbed his expertise.

You settle on a bracelet, braided stainless steel, each step made by your loving hands. Hopefully, he'll wear it, and hopefully, you can guess his wrist size properly--fucking massive isn't exactly a precise measurement.

It should take too long, not with everything he's taught you, and you can be back to working in his shop again instead of the one across the city with the guys he doesn't like. You wouldn't go there under any other circumstances, were the situation not desperate. And when you get there, you understand Simon's judgement completely, not that you ever doubted it to begin with. The guys are creepy, and they stare, as well as make comments that are misogynistic, flirtatious, or an outrageous mix of both.

You're on high alert almost the entire time you work, but you try to push it out of your mind in favour of making everything perfect for Simon. Each weld, each sand, each polish, has to be perfect for him because anything else would be doing his tutelage a disservice. You've seen the disappointed looks he's given some members of the classes when his mask is flipped up, but you'd never been on the receiving end--always so eager to please and impress. That won't change now. You won't allow it.

You braid the steel wire with a drill and a vice, cut the pieces you need, sand the ends and get to work on welding them together. It's delicate work, and your mind only slightly drifts to some of your lessons where Simon had lurked behind you, the heat of his body so close to yours as you worked.

You finish the edges and bend the metal to the desired shape, trying to imagine Simon's wrists as you work--which is surprisingly easy considering how much you've stared at that sleeve of his.

The second you finish, you bolt out of that horrid workshop, off in search of a nice box and some wrapping to finish off the gift. You had a session with Simon the following Monday, and it's then you'll present it to him--if you're feeling brave enough.

Monday rolls round, and the workshop is empty when you arrive, save for Simon working away in the corner. You can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he knows someone has entered, even over the noise of his work, because he's always so perceptive.

The box is in your hand, and your palms are starting to sweat as you call out to him. "Hey Si."

He finishes up what he's doing and makes his way over, setting his welding mask down and revealing his handsome features. "Just us tonight." His comment seems fairly inconsequential, but honestly, you preferred it that way, getting to be the sole focus of his attention.

You nod in response, knowing you should just get the gift giving out of the way so you can both get to work, but your stomach twists with worry. What if he hates it? What if he never wears it?

"What's that?" He asks, eyes flickering down and clocking the box and the source of your troubles immediately.

You thrust it at him, almost as if the box burns to touch. "A gift, for you, it's silly really, but I just wanted to say thank you for everything..."

For the lessons, for his attention, for never treating you as lesser.

He rips off his gloves before he gets to work on the wrapping paper, and peels open the jewellery box to see the steel band inside.

"If you hate it, it's fine. It's just a little token of my appreciation." You rush out your words--damage control.

His dark eyes flicker between you and the bracelet, his expression unreadable before he pulls it from the box and places it around his tattooed wrist. The fit is perfect, but his reaction isn't as his expression sours. "Where did you make this?"

"Huh?" You startle, as that wasn't what you expected to come from his mouth at all.

His eyes narrow, and you swear he takes a step closer. "You didn't make this in my shop. Where did you make it?"

Oh fuck, you think, realising you have to admit to stepping foot in that other shop. You avert your gaze as a sheepish expression overtakes your features. "Uh, PK's shop, I wanted to surprise you so, I went there..."

His hand grips your chin, forcing you to look him right in those stormy eyes. "You wanna make something for me? You make it in my shop, yeah? My student, my shop."

The possessive words make you shiver, make you want to fall for your knees, and beg for forgiveness for the unknowing betrayal.

"Yeah, okay, of course... I mean I hated it there, I swear, they gave me the absolute creeps." You try to laugh away the swirling guilt and discomfort you feel. "Left as soon as I was done, and even gave them a 1 star review. But, I'll never go back, I promise."

Your eyes shine up at Simon's, waiting for him to relax.

"That's my girl." Finally, his touch releases and he steps away, grabbing his gloves. "Let me finish up what I'm working on real quick, yeah?"

"Of course." You nod quietly, watching as he walks away as your stomach starts to sink. At least he didn't take it off. "Do you... like it?"

He stops still, checking out where it sits on his wrist. His expression doesn't change, but you can hear the sincerity in his words. "Love it."

And a week or two later, when Simon asks you to come by the shop one night outside of your sessions, you're not entirely sure what to expect.

He explains he's trying something new, and needs your help, and doesn't explain anything further. But it's Simon, so of course you comply, of course you trust him.

It's only when he brings out a micro welder and a small length of gold chain that you realise what's happening. The intense look in his eyes before he gets to work leaves no room for argument, and you silently accept your fate as he permanently attaches that little bracelet to your wrist--a dainty little 'S' charm hanging from the middle.

[cloudofbutterflies92]

From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one

As she stared in my eyes and smiled

For her lips were the colour of the roses

That grew down the river, all bloody and wild

Template by @jacobseed

Surprise surprise I decided to create an edit of a COD AU set in the Far West with the mythical creatures, it was hard because I'm a bit inept with Photopea but here we are 💚

Taglist: @chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @statichvm @themotherofhorses @icecutioner @priceseyes @cassietrn @socially-awkward-skeleton @thewanderer-000 @thedeadthree @sinclxirx @alicedarkmair @strangefable @captastra @aceghosts @kikiharinezumi @katsigian @dickytwister @theelderhazelnut @elderglocks @caelums-fate @chewbokachoi @yourluckyoswald @moosch @illmetbymoonlight @starcrossedspirit @la-grosse-patate @pan-anarcho @killerspinal @dani-the-goblin @g0dspeeed @ghostgirlvii @josephseedismyfather @dreamcast641 @milkywayhou @jackiesarch @esolean @voidika @scorpiosleeps @raresbaby @inafieldofdaisies @kaitaiga @kyberinfinitygems

[ghcstao3]

university/college AU where simon and tommy are actually identical twins—which they’ve used to their advantage plenty, usually for course purposes, and miraculously no one ever catches on.

so, in harbouring a huge crush for one john mactavish, but being way too shy to go up to him and ask him out, simon thinks to use his more charismatic and charming brother to help him out.

tommy is super reluctant because it means deceiving john, and surely that won’t end well, but simon manages to convince him eventually, and so tommy sets out to at least score a date with john on his brother’s behalf.

which is done quite easily, actually (thankfully). tommy tells simon the time and place, and wishes him luck—except then simon chickens out at the last second and tommy has to go in his place, because no one is just going to stand john up.

unbeknownst to tommy, john actually figures out relatively quickly into the date that it’s not actually simon that’s seated across from him. their first conversation about setting up the date had been so brief that john didn’t have the time to figure anything out—but now he plays along, just to be polite, until they reach the end of the date.

john awkwardly tells tommy that it’s been great, but he’s not actually into him, but rather simon. he thinks that this had been a ploy in order to set tommy up with john, but then tommy is exhaling the biggest sigh of relief saying, oh thank god, simon was just too nervous to ask you out himself. tommy goes on to explain the whole situation, and thankfully john is very understanding, and together they hatch a plan to actually get simon and john on a date—without the risk of simon backing out again.

it works, of course—john asking simon out is hardly something to be ignored—and they get together officially after that, a very happy relationship in spite of the slight mess of a start.

from then on, simon and tommy keep the whole trading places thing to a very bare minimum.

[ghouljams]

@maelstrom007 you're right Love getting tapped is so good, we love a little light(moderate to severe) hypnosis. Have fun, stay safe, I haven't written for these two in a while.

Simon catches you in a bar. You're late getting home. Which is pretty much exactly what you planned on being. Just on the right side of drunk and having the best time. Even better seeing his skull mask stalking towards you. All the shadows on your body buzz excitedly, Simon's mark squirms under your skin eager for what it knows is coming next. Your favorite preventative measure for a hangover, and your favorite weapon in your monster's arsenal. You hold your arms out to catch him when he reaches you, amd are scooped up nice and tight against his chest with a grumble.

"Lover," you drawl, pulling the r too long, "you always know just when to find me, I was getting so bored." Ghost blinks slow at you, like a cat.

"You're fuckin' hammered," he tells you, and you wiggle in his arms.

"Just a few bottles deep, I had to keep up with the others," you tell him, he shakes his head.

"You've flipped French love, can't understand a word," he growls. The crowd parts for him, strangers stepping out of the way as he carries you towards the door. That makes sense you suppose, you have had a lot to drink and this tends to happen. You shouldn't be expected to speak English all the time, you are full of talents and other words and you are damn well doing to say them.

You prattle to him in French as the crowd moves and flows around the two of you. You pluck at Simon's tethers, picking out the ones that give you the brightest burst of sensation and toying with them. His growling grows louder, the rumble of it starting to alert the rest of the crowd that there's a predator in their midst.

He sets you down against the bar, holding you firmly between his hands. He stares you down like he's trying to glare a new hole in you. After a moment he reaches for your face and you can't stop yourself from lighting up. He grabs your chin instead, his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"You're tryin' to get tapped," he accurately guesses. You pout, and he presses his thumb against your lips. The bass of the bar's music thumps in time with your heart, hammers in your ears. He chuckles, low and dark, it's the loudest sound in the room. "And ya didn't wanna ask for it, little brat." He pushes his thumb into your mouth, presses it down against your tongue. "Spendin' too much time with Soap."

He lets you attempt to explain yourself, holding your mouth open each time you attempt to speak. Ghost leans close, and you wonder if he might kiss you, he even pushes his mask up. The best you get is his tongue pushing in next to his finger, dipping into your mouth briefly before he spits on your tongue. You shudder. If there weren't so many people in this bar...

"Alright, let's get you home," Ghost relents pulling his thumb free and smearing your drool across your cheek. You sigh, fishing around in your purse for your phone, figuring you'll call an Uber. His fingers press against your forehead the second your guard drops.

The world pitches forward, all the colors of the room bleeding together as Ghost catches you and hauls you up over his shoulder. Your limbs feel like they're made of TV static, like every inch of you has fallen asleep at the wrong angle. Pins and needles in the most pleasant way. It's like you're floating. Your mind can't focus on anything, too busy floating with the rest of your body to notice the way Ghost stalks towards the exit, the way his shadows smoke and slither over your skin. You simply hang over his shoulder and enjoy the ride.

You think your vision might have gone black. Oh, no, no you closed your eyes. Nope it's black. Oh no, false alarm you're staring at Simon's sweatshirt. You twist your fingers into the fabric, you think you do anyway, and hold onto him. Ghost echoes in your mind, that low chuckle, the rumble of his growl, you wish he'd had time to dirty talk you more. Brat or no you got what you wanted. The best high money can't buy, all yours for the low price of your whole life.

Pretty sweet deal when Simon drops you on the bed as soon as you're home. Strips you and crawls over you, arranges you exactly how he likes, and hikes your legs up over his shoulders. All his, you think, utterly and completely his. That's why you went out tonight, because you knew he'd find you and take you home to keep you. It's a wonderful game you play, one that has a winner every time. But when Ghost pulls his cock free of his pants, already achingly hard and drooling for you, you're not sure who the winner is. Maybe both of you. It certainly feels like both of you when he pushes into your cunt, already nicely molded to his shape, and you both groan.

"Yes," you whine, trapped with sluggish limbs and a fuzzy brain as he pushes in and out of your dripping cunt. His hips snapping against yours, his teeth teasing the length of your neck when he leans over you.

"Mine," he tells you, reminds you with the points of his teeth and the drag of his thick cock against your walls. Each thrust seems to drag you further into the magic he worked on you, pulls you further under water, under his spell. He never needs to tap you more than once to have you exactly where he wants you.

"Yours," you agree, feeling his teeth press against your skin. Never enough to break skin, just enough to keep you on edge, just enough to frighten you. So what if you're both winners, winning feels fucking great.

[sant-riley]

[Black Out Days]

A mission goes wrong

Pairing: Ghost x OFC!reader (Teddy)

A/N: requested by a LOVELY anon turned friend, they really got me with this suggestion and now it's here lmfao. I hope this is okay! Kinda left my comfort zone to write this one :) comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Word count: 2.5k

TW/CW: Age gaps, Bodily harm, blood mentions, mission going wrong, angst, angst with happy ending, Ghost being conflicted and kinda an ass? (as always lmk if I miss anything!)

--

It was just a simple mission, it was just a fucking reconnaissance mission. Now she can feel her heart start to slow, her ears ringing as she weakly whimpers in pain. Her hands shakily brushing her side, fingers coming back saturated in her blood. 

Not good. Very much not good.

~

Teddy doesn't care for recons, having to sit in one place for hours on end never bid her well. She much rather be following her partners around in on the field, not high up in the middle of bum fuck nowhere with a m40 that she's not even confident she can use correctly.

 That's what Soap had been helping her in the shooting range, long range weaponry. Her mind was running, trying desperately to find something to grasp onto, anything to make the time go by faster. She has half a mind to start messing with the comms but thought better of it. She wonders what Price and Gaz are up to back at base, what dinner will be, if they'll even be home by tonight at that.

Ghost was stationed on the other side of the compound where the target was, Soap closer to the grounds than either of them. Looking down the scope, she sees Soap and his body outline, his tactical gear making him even look bulkier than normal. Shouts ensue and he's suddenly moving, running to take cover and shit he's opening fire. 

She quickly readjusts and starts to pick off any enemy she can see, sweat on her brow as she pants from the adrenaline. Bodies after bodies fall but there's still just so fucking many. She knows there's no way in hell that the three of them can possibly thin the crowd out, not when separated, not with no backup.

"Soap, How copy?" Ghost gruffly speaks into the comms, faint gunshots can be heard through his mic.

"The bloody fucking bastards spotted me! Fucking bullshit!" More Gaelic cursing as Soap moves from cover to cover, moving backwards.

Ghost curses under his breath, starting to make his way down, running towards where Johnny is to help return fire lest the scot gets overwhelmed.

"Teddy, how copy? Need you to cover us." 

 Ghost watches an armed guard run up on him, the man getting way too close for comfort. He unsheathes and flicks one of his knives out of his thigh holsters, ready to throw with full force into the bastards neck. Right when the man drops down like all gravity escaped him, a good portion of his head is laying down on the pavement. Ghost feels the blood spray but doesn't pay any mind to it.

"Already doing it L.T." She breathes, quickly moving her focus back to Soap's location after making sure Ghost was okay to proceed moving.

"Atta girl." 

She pretends the heat rushing to her face isn't due to the pet name, just her nerves. Teddy watches as the two men convene and breathes out a sigh of relief. Momentarily distracted, fumbling to reload, she doesn't hear the footsteps come up behind her. A Rookie mistake that she will indefinitely beat herself up over if she somehow survives this.

It doesn't take long for a gunshot to ring out, and she lets out a blood curdling scream. White blinds her as she squeezes her eyes tight, her body curling in on itself, trying in vain to stop the pain.

For the amount of pain she's in, she's fortunate that whoever just shot her into her side, figures that's enough and rushes down towards the compound, leaving her to bleed out. Damn, not even worth the second bullet to finish her off? Kinda funny if she says so herself. The stinging is getting worse and she feels fluid rush from her body. Okay, maybe not funny.

She forces her arms to move herself, forcing her body to flip over onto her back. With more strength than she ever thought needed to just use her fucking hand, clicking the comm to life.

"Gh..ghost-" a groan cuts her off, her body trembling as she starts to feel woozy.

"Teddy, how copy?" Ghost mutters, his nerves are shot, he hears the scream. Not alot of things can unsettle him anymore, not after what he's seen and done but her scream gets to him more than he'll ever admit.

Soap curses and whirls around, looking at the Lieutenant with a shout. His accent getting thicker and thicker.

"Oh fuck, we gotta move, now L.T."

Soap juts his chin towards your location, his breathing getting heavy. He's trying to meet Ghost's eyes.

Ghost refuses to meet them, he has to be the calm one here, no matter what his body may be telling him otherwise.

"Teddy! How copy?" The sweat coming down his face is disgusting, he can feel his heartbeat out of his damn chest.

"'m losin' alot of blood si, I don't-" She's crying, hearing the sniffling.

"I'm scared." That's what springs Ghost and Soap to start gunning it. Not even looking behind them to see if they're being followed.

Ghost shot off like a bat out of hell.

Teddy hears him curse louder than she ever has, hearing him start to pant. He must be running towards her.

"Soap, follow and cover!" It must be bad if he's not even attempting to use military talk.

"Aye." Soap quickly responds, following Ghost from a short distance. His hands tightening harshly, knuckles turning pale as he pushes himself to keep up.

A few moments passed as she tried to get the lump from her throat to go away. She's barely conscious now, her eyes keep fluttering.

"Si, Johnny, I don't think I'm gonna make it." She whimpers. It pushes Ghost to run faster, faster than he's ever run in his entire life.

"Shut the fuck up with talking like that, I'm coming." Ghost snarls, zeroing in on the area she was meant to be safe at. God fucking damnit. A fucking reconnaissance mission.

"Don't worry Lass, good ol' Johnny and Ghost are coming to save ya." Soap added, trying his best to get the mood even a fraction bit lighter, He feels his legs start to burn and ache.

Soap only gets a faint chuckle back, followed by a pain filled groan.

"Ghost, I need to tell you something." She stares up at the treeline, watching the leaves move about in the wind. There were alot of things she could tell him, how much she loves spending time with him, watching movies, teaching him about internet culture, how much she appreciated him going out his way to look out for her, to taking her in, for trusting her, for, dare she say it, loving her. She told herself it wasn't romantic at first, but it was impossible to not fall for him once he let her in. It wasn't her fault, it was as natural as breathing for her to fall in love with Simon.

Though that's too many words for too little time. So she'll have to settle for something shorter. She prays to a God she isn't quite sure she believes in that Ghost doesn't meet her one day and beat her ass for what she's about to pull.

 She had no clue if he shared her romantic feelings, she figured it didn't matter now. One hand are on side, weakly trying to put pressure and the other holding onto her necklace, running her fingers on the charm that lays there.

"Don't. Don't you fucking dare."

"I lo…" Before she can finish her sentence, she sees black, hearing thundering footsteps approach her and a shout of her real name. Funny, no one ever called her that anymore.

~

  Everyone is in a scramble when she's brought in, curled up in Ghost's arms while Soap shoves through the doors to call for medics.

The extraction came quickly after Ghost bundled her into his arms, Soap calling Price and telling him off the situation. They have never heard Price bark out orders as harshly and as fast as he did, no doubt he's the reason 141's base is a mess.

Gaz is there, yelling and shouting her name as he watches from the sidelines, asking what the the fuck happened as he frantically looks back and forth to Ghost and Soap, to Teddy who lays limply in the specters arms.

 Price is there ordering the medics to hurry the hell up, his body high strung while his eyes zoned in on Teddy, he feels bile rise in his throat. 

"Son, what the fuck happened to 'er?!"

Medics come running, arms reaching to grab Teddy and place her on a stretcher. Ghost tightens his grip for a second, looking down at how pale she's become, and hands her over, a tremble in his hands. Her blood soaks his gear, his hoodie, down to his undershirt. It makes his skin crawl as he stands there, watching her get farther and farther away from him.

He can see Soap, Price and Gaz try and get his attention but can't move, can't utter a damn word while he watches.

He stands there for God knows how long, staring down the hallway.

~

First thing she hears is beeping, every second. It's fucking annoying and she turns to roll over and turn it off until her skin pulls and she legs out a "fuck!".

She peels up each one of her eyes, squinting against the harsh lights of the room. Stark white, the nasty smell of disinfectant. Ah, so she's alive. She groans as the pain finally seeps in. The heart beat monitor beeping more as she awakes, her anxiety mounting.

There's a rush of a pair of heavy footsteps that rush towards her cot, the curtain being swung back to see Ghost, who funnily enough is pale enough to be his namesake. She tries to formulate a sentence but all she can do it let out a pathetic noise from her mouth. She wants to hug him, so bad, she just wants to feel safe again but she can't move from this fucking bed. Her legs won't cooperate with her heart that screams to get closer.

He reaches her cot in seconds, putting his hands on the side of the bed, gripping the rail with enough force to snap it if he pushed any further.

"God fucking damnit runt." He breathes out, his eyes scanning her flushed face. His thumb caresses the bandage that lays there on her cheek. 

She can't help but lean into it, basking in the contact.

She shoots him a weak smile, eyes tearing up as she sees him again, not through a lens, he's here and he's warm. She's okay, they saved her.

Ghost sucks in a ragged breath before his eyes steel and he looks down at her. He suddenly looks all too big, too intimidating.

"You have alot of fucking nerve in that head of yours, to say what you did."

The fucking audacity she has, to confess her love to a old man while she's fucking dying on the cold ground. Not a message to her family, not a message of her fighting, nothing. Just a love confession for a man who doesn't deserve it

She tries to play dumb, looking confused trying desperately not to burst into tears. The repercussions of her actions hitting her like a fucking truck all over again.

"I'm not sure what-"

"Don't play fucking dumb with me. You know damn well what you said. Say it again." Another growl, he's looking at her like he wants to shake her.

"Ghost I don't think-" She's pleading.

"Damnit Teddy! Fucking say it!"

She feels herself snap, the overload of emotions that she's felt since she joined the task force coming out.

"What do you want me to say? That I love you? Because I fucking do, I've loved you ever since I met you! Is that what you wanna hear? The Rookie has a crush on her superior? The secrets out, I know you don't see me that way, you don't have to tell me!" She feels her cheek dampen as she starts to breath heavily, her emotions overwhelming her. Ghost says nothing, his eyes widened beneath the balaclava. If she was in a clearer state of mind, she's notice he didn't have the black smudge around his eyes, or that the bags under his eyes were darker. May have noticed his red they were too.

"I didn't mean to fall in love with you! I didn't!" She hiccups, voice straining as she shoves her hands up to her face, trying to muffled herself.

She knows she should shut up already, but almost nearly dying, she can't bring herself to care all too much.

"I love you, I love you so much it hurts, you see me as some stupid little kid and it fucking hurts.

All her life, she was just a kid to people, it didn't matter what she did, how she acted, how she dressed, no one treated her as an adult. No one ever took her feelings seriously, always being told that it was just a phase. No one ever cared how she felt til she came here. Until she met the team. For the first time she felt like she mattered. And here she was ruining it.

Her hands are gently pried from her face, skeleton gloves in her eyesight as her body trembles.

"You're just confused kid, relax." A slip of his tongue, he immediately knows he's fucked up with the petname. He didn't mean to say that, he truly didn't but he was so taken aback at her confession. He wasn't thinking. 

He could feel her stare on him til she started chuckling to herself, her body getting rigid, yanking her hands away and shoving him away with what little strength she has.

"See! You think I'm a kid! Fine, you know what? Send me out already, get it over with. Discharge me-"

Her voice is rising in volume, the heart beat monitor going haywire. She's surprised there's not a nurse here yet.

"Can you shut that mouth of yours for one damn second so I can speak?" He shouts, he regrets yelling but she's spiraling and he needs to put a stop to it now.

Your mouth snaps closed, staring with glassy eyes up at him.

"I have never, never cared for someone as much as I care for you."  He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, his two hands on her shoulders as he tries to collect his thoughts. It feels like his head is fucking ringing, information overload.

He knows he should say the word love back, she deserves to know but truth be told he's fearful. If he says that one word, it all becomes too real, she becomes truly someone that he loves and cherishes and that is fucking horrifying.

He moves his hands down, gently until he reaches her hands, where he intertwines them. She stares at where they meet, her body involuntary trembling.

She's so fucking small and fragile, young and pretty, God. He knows he shouldn't, he needs to be Ghost and put his foot down but he can't. Simon is creeping in and taking control. He wants to be selfish for the first time in God knows how long.

Ghost pulls up his mask, just above his lips while she shudders at seeing the stubble and faint scars that run across his skin. Her pupils were blown out and wide, her breath catching in her throat.

Gently pulling her forward to kiss her forehead, his lips are rough and chapped. She feels a joke creep in her mind but decides against it.

He rests his forehead on hers, using one hand to tangle itself in her hair as he looks into her eyes.

"You're mine, got that? I'm yours, so stop that shit, you're not going anywhere, ever."

Taglist:

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[buttdumplin]

Thinking self-indulgent thoughts regarding the 141 boys and their little quirks with a spanish speaking reader. Some stumbling through their accents, some begging for more, some keeping their own knowledge of the language secret. I might come back to this later...

[bingoboingobongo]

omg i am in love with your writing ab ghost... would you ever do a fluff ab clingy drunk ghost where he starts off insisting that he can't get drunk and then he just escalates to being all over you ghejirb

alright so honestly i don't see ghost as being the kind of guy to drink enough to get him drunk when he's by himself, but when he's with soap? yeah, completely different story. it's not that he's more comfortable around soap or anything, it's just that he gets a rise out of beating soap in competitions.

here's how i see it. you guys have just completed a long ass mission, weeks of stress and labor are finally over so of course, you guys get drinks to celebrate. now i see soap as the kind of drunk who only wants to get more drunk, so once he's had a few drinks he starts going around trying to challenge everyone else to drinking competitions. pretty much everyone says no because the thing about soap is that he's so competitive he'll drink until he drops dead. you say no bc u don't feel like blacking out and because it's ur turn to be designated driver (lord knows that even sober ghost drives like he's drunk), so soap goes to the only person who 1. is more competitive than him and 2. has a shot at out drinking him: ghost.

now, years of working with soap have enlightened ghost to his usual idiocy, so ghost is quick to shut him down, telling him that he "would be fighting a losing battle."

but tipsy soap is persistent as hell, so he keeps bugging and bugging and bugging him. and at this point, ghost is pretty tired and is just waiting to go home, so to get soap to shut up he agrees. and of course, drinking ensues.

the first few rounds are easy, ghost doesn't even flinch as he downs the drinks like they're water. at this point, soap is starting to get intimidated, so he demands that ghost have a few extra drinks to get them on even ground, considering soap was already tipsy when they started. you and the rest of the team watch with awe (and horror) as ghost swallows down the drinks like they're nothing, and if you're being honest, you're really excited to see how this turns out. i mean, for one, when ghost drinks he flips up the bottom of his balaclava, exposing his chin and his lips. it's always exciting to watch ghost take off his mask, even if it's just part of his face, and secondly, the way he shoots you a glance as he drinks, his eyes dark and enticing, his adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, the smallest drop of lost alcohol that drips down his chin -- which he's quick to wipe away -- it sends a swarm of butterflies into your stomach. plus, you've never actually seen ghost drink this much, usually the most he'll have is a couple of beers or a few glasses of bourbon, so you're curious to see just how much of a tolerance he has.

the answer? a crazy high one. the two are at it for what feels like hours, and there's no clear effect on ghost. meanwhile, soap can barely walk straight and is on the verge of puking at any given moment. at this point everyone is trying to get soap to give up. price tried telling soap that there was no shame in tapping out, and when that failed, he tried threatening soap with extra chores. of course this does nothing, and soap only tells price to "fuck off" because he's not his dad. at one point, gaz tried physically pulling soap away, to which soap promptly tried (and failed) to hit him in the face. even you tried to get soap to stop, although you'll admit you didn't try very hard, like i said, you're very excited to see how this plays out.

after a certain point, soap's pretty much blackout drunk. he's barely hanging on but his pride won't let him let go, much to the annoyance of ghost and the others. and so, in a final finishing move, ghost asks the bartender for a bottle of whiskey, which -- to soap's despair and the rest of the team's horror -- he finishes in seconds.

for a while, everyone is silent, and then soap just busts into tears. he knows it's over, ghost knows it's over, everyone else knows it's over. i mean, you guys just watched ghost down the equivalent of sixteen shots of whiskey like it was nothing. by now, you're starting to wonder if you need to get 911 on speed dial because there's no way ghost doesn't die from alcohol poisoning.

but to your disbelief, ghost's fine. or so you thought. after his defeat of soap, ghost made his way over to your seat for a chat. not that you were complaining, you were curious to see just how incomprehensible ghost's speech would be, but to your surprise he's speaking great. his speech is clear and you suspect the alcohol's loosened him up a little, because he's talking and cracking jokes a lot more. if you're being honest, you really like this new, laid-back ghost who's not so worried about maintaining his stony exterior; this new ghost that's wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him, even though he never would have showed that kind of public affection to you in front of the team when he was sober. and it's not that he doesn't like you or he isn't proud of you, it's the complete opposite. he's absolutely bursting with pride that you decided to date him, but he's just always been wary about displaying his love for you in public. after all, you never know what kind of shady people are lurking around in bars, looking for ways to hurt him, or even worse, you.

but when his brain is muddled with alcohol, all that paranoia goes away and ghost is more than happy to be all over you. first it's just one hand around your waist, but then when you get up to order another iced water for soap he's tugging at your shirt and holding your wrists so you can't leave him, and when you tell him that you'll be back in less than a minute, he's standing up and chasing after you and wrapping his arms around you in a hug as you talk to the bartender. he's burying his face in the crook of your neck and telling you it's because all the alcohol is giving him a headache when really he just wants to smell you; he's running his hands up and down your legs when the rest of the team is looking the other direction; he's trying to mouth at your neck through his balaclava and whining when it doesn't work, causing you to grin and roll your eyes at him as you lift his mask just above his lips to help him. he's trying to whisper sweet nothings against your ear but they don't make sense because the way you smell is so intoxicating he feels like he's getting drunk all over again, but this time he's drunk on you.

and after a while, ghost finally passes out. he's essentially laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest as his back rises and falls with every breath. his arms are wrapped around you, essentially caging you into your seat and he's so heavy you need to call price over to help you pull him off so you can drive everyone home. and when you all arrive back at the base, you slowly nudge ghost awake, taking special note at the way his eyes flutter open slowly. and then he immediately closes his eyes again, digging his head into your chest because this time he actually does have a headache, and so it's up to you to bring him to his room. and the entire time he never ever lets go of his bear hug on you, leaving you to have to awkwardly waddle all the way to his room with him essentially draped over you. and then when he falls onto the bed he drags you down with him, and you try to pull away just for a second so you can change and wash your face, but ghost's got an iron grip on you and so you're stuck in his arms, not that you mind.

[rosepinksky]

masterlist

there is literally no excuse for any of this.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pay For My Time

pt. 1 🔥

pt. 2

pt. 3🔥

pt. 4🔥

pt. 5

pt. 6

pt. 7🔥

[your-highnessmarvel]

cotton candy | s.riley

CHAPTER SIX

Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character

Warnings: SMUT. DUB-CON. MATURE THEMES

Chapter Summary: Laura’s training takes a dangerous turn.

A/N: Woooza. We’re already here! I think this is what some of you have been waiting for!!!

Masterlist

Taglist: Open

Will be posting on AO3. IF ONLY I CAN FIGURE OUT HOW IT WORKS LMAO.

Chapter six

Ghost could still remember the taste of her lingering on his lips after that night. That sweet, sickly taste of candy, smudged onto the cherry red of his lips ever since. Even if it had been more than a day, a full turn of the clock, Ghost could still taste that phantom candy on his tongue.

She’d stopped even looking at him. He could tell she was furious by the muscle ticking in her jaw or her knuckles turning bone-white whenever he spoke or passed by her or entered a room. Ghost could almost feel the rage coming from her skin, but it only served as fuel for his ever growing obsession.

He’d never been obsessed in his life. For him, things were like wind, coming and going and never to be seen again. The army had taken the possibility of permanence from him a long time ago, and the soldier in him was taught never to form attachments. And so in his entire career, Ghost had served as pawn, jester, and queen, but he’d never stayed on the same board. Always moving. Always leaving something - or someone - behind and training his memory never to cling to anything.

Because the worse thing a soldier could carry was memories. 

Laura had been moved from Sergeant Combs’s training to some sort of half-assed private hour with Soap, while Gaz and Alejandro worked recon and organization for their little coup. And although it had been Ghost’s idea, he was not even on the training mat with her.

Soap was trying to teach her how to come out of a backwards hold, the one Ghost had trapped her in last night. 

Johnny, even as trained and disciplined as he was, was not immune to Laura’s tempestuous attitude. 

“If you’re holding onto me like a fucking maniac, how the hell am I supposed to even get out?” It was a shriek, basically, and her voice broke off at the end. 

She had trouble catching her breath, chest heaving against Soap’s arms, neck glistening with sweat. Flyaway hairs from her bun kept getting into her eyes, where a subtle smudge of blue bruised the underside. She had not slept well - if at all - last night.  

Ghost crossed his arms, cocked his head. “She usually doesn’t fight fair,” he offered, watching both Soap and Laura’s head twist his way. “She’ll go for your balls next.”

Soap’s face fell.

“Or bite your wrist until you’re bleeding,” Ghost continued. Laura’s eyebrows knitted together, creasing the skin in between. 

She puckered her lips and tried to swing her body forward, but Soap was strong and just pulled back. 

Ghost sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking to where the pair stood on the mat. The training gym was almost empty, and Laura’s pants and Soap’s quiet curses almost echoed through the space. 

He stood in front of her, watching her midnight eyes shift upwards and upwards, staring at him from under her brows. A quiet rage flamed behind her glare.

“Here,” he said, pointing to her hands. “You’re not using them.”

Her face pulled back, resisting the urge to either curse him or bite one of his eyes out. “He’s impossibly stronger, Ghost,” she said, gritting her teeth, the words almost hissing passed her lips. 

He shrugged. “You have more strength than you think.” Then he tapped Soap’s arms, loosening his grip, and gingerly took her wrists in his hands. “When someone’s got you in a hold like this, first thing’s first, you get into this position.” He placed her arms so they formed an X across her chest. 

“Now use your body weight,” Soap instructed, resuming his vice-like hold around her torso. The way he pressed his arms against her own made her breasts lump upwards, visible over the small cleavage of her tank top. 

Ghost swallowed and stepped back, his fingers itching. His gloves, he realized, had saved him from the intensity of skin-to-skin with her. The intoxication of feeling her flesh, warm and delicate against his, was a memory sticking to every corner of his skull. 

She tried forcing her way out, but she wasn’t trying hard enough. 

Ghost shook his head. “Get on with it,” he drawled. “Fight him!”

“Come on, pumpkin, let’s go,” Soap encouraged, voice rough, the little nickname frying every nerve in Ghost’s brain. “Pitch forward, use your body weight and your arms.”

She threw herself forward, hesitantly at first, and then again, and again, until Soap’s grip faltered, hands sliding on his forearms, and that fourth pitch made his entire frame crumble forward. The girl was released and she tumbled forward, losing balance and stumbling into Ghost.

He caught her easily, hands on her shoulders, and she peered up, cheeks hot. Her gaze immediately shifting from his, avoiding the mask, the smell clawing into her nose, the warmth of his body so close. The softness of his hoodie - and the way it clung to his wide shoulders. The way his trousers hung loose but fitted and made him look unbreakable.

She jerked from him like he was a flame. 

“Again,” she said, voice echoing. 

Soap nodded, smiling. He liked seeing her succeed. 

Although being in close quarters with Laura was like standing too close to a burning fire while the first layer of your skin roasted, Ghost liked seeing her progress. She was - sort of - positive about her mistakes, but she was a quick learner, and she was avid to learn as much as she could from “army pros”, as she called them. 

Soap was taking a break while Ghost was teaching her quick jabs for self-defence. 

At this point, the front of her tank was soaked and her hair had fallen from a tight bun to a mess at the base of her neck, but she kept going. From Ghost’s vantage point, he could see her cleavage, and his mouth watered, that phantom candy taste flooding his senses. Her shoulders, her collarbone, her throat, all on display for him. Her soft skin, glistening gently with a fine coat of sweat. The way her shorts clung to the curve of her hip, her ass, the dip at the base of her spine. 

She was a four course meal on a platter - and damn Soap for being here. 

Ghost wondered if Soap was thinking the same thing. If the Sergeant was fighting the urge to push her down onto that mat and make every nerve in her body sing for him. 

Was he thinking about tugging her shirt over her breasts, kneading them into his hands, feeling the warmth of her skin? The beat of her heart? Having her mouth on his, tongue sliding against his, moaning his name and curving her spine into his body? 

Was Soap imagining what she’d look like, flushed, horny, begging?

“What’s so fun about being in the army anyway?” she asked, throwing the blunt side of her palm up, towards Ghost’s nose. 

He dodged, caught her wrist, and nodded. “Faster.” A gulp caught in his throat and he grunted to clear it. 

She was so fucking intoxicating.

“Sometimes it’s just the awesomeness of doing highly dangerous and borderline chaotic missions,” Soap called from the sidelines, nursing a water bottle. “Sometimes it’s because I sucked at school and enrolled when my frontal lobe hadn’t fully developed yet and now I’m stuck doing it.”

Laura stopped mid swing, turning to face the Sergeant. “Soap, that’s depressing,” she said, turning back to Ghost. She tried throwing two fingers at his throat, but he slapped her hand away. “What about you?” she asked, voice tentative. 

“Long story,” he answered bluntly. 

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, taking a breather. “Well, last time I check, Mr I’m-so-mysterious,” she panted. “I’ve basically got a lot of time on my hands.”

Something dark crawled across her face and sank deep in her eyes, but Ghost chose to ignore it. 

“What do you do for a living anyway?” he asked. 

Surprise etched across her features, burning away the obscure expression that had pinned onto her face. “I just graduated from my Master’s degree in Classics,” she said. “I - well - I wanted to be either a writer or a historian.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Always thought I’d do something I liked.”

“And classics,” he answered, tasting that word differently now, “that’s your choice?”

She frowned. “You’re the one un-aliving people for a living,” she accused. “Don’t judge my career choice when you probably got into this because you don’t know what algebra means.”

“Still don’t,” he answered. 

Soap laughed. “He’s good at math, Laura,” he assured. “He just sucks at being... human.”

She smiled and tried to join in Soap’s foolishness, but Ghost could tell she took that differently. After all, she knew about Ghost’s little... obsession. 

She jerked her chin at Ghost. “Again,” she said. 

She wasn’t able to land a single punch, jab, or kick at him, but she was getting more precise in her aim though. 

***

There was something erotic about being alone with two men while they both tried to teach you self defence. There was an art to it; one of their hands on my sternum, the other one’s thumb tracing circles into my thigh. There was a certain air, like thick, thick honey, dripping between the three of us, as Soap’s fingers closed around the back of my neck, Ghost’s grip tightening on my knee.

I never knew that I was into this, never even thought that it would have ever crossed my mind to think about both of them this way. Even their breaths, deep and panting, echoing in the emptiness of the gym, their mouths so close to my ear at times... it was frightening. 

This situation could turn south very quickly. 

Thank God Soap put an end to it. 

“Alright, Laura,” he said, getting up from his position, panting, sweat dripping down the back of his tan neck. He’d been kneeling, my head on the mat between his legs. Ghost was still trying to arrange my legs around his head and shoulders, a hold he said could outright kill someone. 

“I think we’ve had enough of this,” Soap was saying, walking to where his water bottle was. “Three hours, whew!” 

I felt heat creep into my cheeks when Ghosts hands unhooked my legs from his shoulders, thumbs sliding under my knees, parting them so he could fit through. He was so large, and I was left on my back, looking at the ceiling, praying my embarrassment wasn’t written clearly on my face for the world to see. 

His thumb lingered, tracing fine circles from my knee to my thigh and back. I swallowed thickly, jerking my head to the side, wondering if Soap was watching, but he was guzzling down more water than a sponge absorbing in a bath. 

I whimpered lowly, trying to get the image of last night out of my head, of my clear rage at him, of the hurt bubbling in me and the obvious disinterest written in his eyes. Oh, how I’d wanted to see his face, but then he’d pulled up his mask and exposed such a beautiful mouth to me. With crinkles and dimples on his cheeks as he leaned in - when he hadn’t taken “no” for an answer. When he’d drawn out this feeling in me, this magnetic lust that had made me search his thigh for friction. 

Why was he doing this to me?

He got up, offering his hand and I took it, getting to my feet. I had to pretend to yawn to wash out the goosebumps on my skin, this shivering climbing up my spine. 

It was angering how easy he could pull my stitches and tear me to pieces, and then get up and walk away as if he hadn’t. It was so fucking infuriating that he could do that - look at me as if I was just a boring equation on a board, and then walk away, clap Soap on the back, and saunter out, his shoulders swinging. 

I wrinkled my nose. 

“He’s such an asshole,” I mumbled. 

“What’s that?” Soap asked, turning to me, spraying water into his mouth. 

I rolled my eyes, reaching up to tighten my bun. “Nothing.”

“Who’s an asshole?”

“I thought you didn’t hear what I said.”

“I did, I was just confirming.”

“Then say that.”

Soap sighed. “What’s up your ass, pumpkin?”

I sighed, walking off the mat with as much anger as I could. Soap watched me, big brown eyes innocent. 

“Ghost can be...” I trailed off, picking up my hand towel and wiping the back of my neck. “Ghost can be so fucking... Sometimes I just wanna...”

I threw the towel, grunting, watching it flutter to the ground with none of the rage I threw it with.

“Fuck him,” I groaned.

“You just wanna fuck him?” Soap asked, genuinely confused. 

I stopped, heat crawling up to my ears, and I whirled on Soap. “No, n-no, obviously no, that’s not what I was saying, I-”

He cut me off. “I mean, he could use it,” he said, matter-of-fact, turning to pick up his towel nonchalantly. “Could take the stick out of his ass.”

“Soap.” My voice echoed, strong and loud, across the gym. “No, I won’t do that.”

Soap shrugged. “You could use it too, you know.” He faced her, grinning. “You’ve been kind of... bitchy?”

I bundled my towel up and threw it at him. “Fuck you!”

“Please,” he said, laughing, catching my gross towel in his hand easily. “I’d love to!”

“You’re being such a pre-teen right now, Head n Shoulders.”

He groaned, following me as we made our way out into the blistering heat, the horizon shimmering from it. We made our way back to the RV, where I was fully expecting to find Ghost’s brooding self pestering me further, but when we walked into the RV, only Alejandro was there.

“Hey, princessa!” he exclaimed, looking up from what looked like a very boring game of cards. By himself?

I smiled at him, genuinely happy to see him because he was probably the only one here that I really liked. “Hey,” I said.

“How was training?” he asked. 

I nodded, swallowed, looked back as Soap climbed into the RV and closed the door, locking the heat outside. 

“It was good,” I said, making my way to the back to pick up my towel. Someone was in the bathroom taking a shower, probably Ghost, so I thought maybe I could use the communal showers at the gym.

“Where’s Ghost?” Alejandro asked and I smiled sarcastically. Nice one, trying to get me to believe he wasn’t in the shower right now. 

I blew passed Soap and Ale, who both exchanged a glance as I all but stormed out the RV. 

There was definitely something up with me. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier as I thought about last night, about today’s training. Last night, when Ghost so easily tore all my seams apart and kept digging, despite my resistance. And today, still playing his game, pretending he cared and pulling fire from my veins, and then sauntering off. 

I hated him. 

I decided that. 

I got back into the gym and made my way to the showers. I was so caught up in my own head, the rage throwing itself against every part of me, that I didn’t notice the sound of a shower already on.

And I stopped dead in my tracks.

Because right there, under a stream of hot, steaming water was him. Ghost, without his mask, his back glistening with water. And it went down, down, down his naked form, and my eyes followed, until I saw almost every inch of him.

He had blonde hair. This asshole, who wore a mask and glared at me through impossibly dark eyes and could cull my body into absolute pudding, was blonde. 

I backed up, but my shoe squeaked, and it was remarkable that he hadn’t already heard me because he’s such a professional assassin. His head cocked, and then moved slightly to the side, but his right shoulder lifted, tensed, and when he looked at me over his shoulder, I could just make out his eye.

Fuck.

I slipped trying to turn, landing knees-first into the damp tiled floor and then scrambling onto my feet. I heard water sloshing behind me, but I gripped the side of the bathroom wall and propelled myself towards the exit. 

My entire being was on fire, flames licking up my spine and crawling up my face, my vision burning the closer I got to the gym’s exit. But I was slow, my breath forcing its way passed my throat, my lips, until I was mere inches away from the door. Where I could get fresh air not clogged with the image of his back - as if cut from glass, majestic, muscular, tanned. 

But my fingers barely grazed the door’s push handle that I was swept off my feet, wetness and heat pressing at my back, a humid hand covering my scream.

There was a strong arm around my waist, pulling me up and off my feet, carrying me away from the door.

I screamed against the hand on my mouth, but the hot chest at my back, wetting through my tank top, just chuckled.

“Easy there, dove,” Ghost mumbled, backing us up into the bathroom. “Just want some privacy.”

I groaned against his hand, nails biting half moons into his forearm. Miraculously, I still had my towel. 

He put me down against the same damp floor of the bathroom, and I pushed away from him, hand against the wall before me. His shower was still on. 

“Oh, my... are you...?” I refused to look back and have him fully naked. 

“So glad to know you care so much about my privacy,” he shot back. “Especially since you walked in on me naked.”

“I didn’t know you were in here!” I exclaimed, still not turning. I could feel him inches away from me, from where I was hiding my flaming face against the wall. 

“I’ll pretend to believe that,” he answered, and this time, his mouth was at my ear and I could feel the damp material of his mask. I looked at him from my peripheral, and saw the mask and lower, the boxer briefs. I snapped my eyes back to the wall, not lingering on the water drops clinging to his chest, dipping into the few scars darkening the skin around his abdomen. “Like what you see?” he asked, voice lowering. 

I gulped. “I’d rather not see,” I snapped back. 

“I can arrange that,” he said. 

Quickly, almost like magic, he all but ripped my tank top from me, my arms flopping back down against my sides. “Hey!”

But he ignored me and even when I whipped around and tried to snap the shirt from him, he just backed away and folded it neatly. 

He was... he was something to look at. All sharp angles and round, large shoulders and rippling muscles that shone with the water still clinging to his skin.

He held the fabric of my shirt, staring at me, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious, covering my bra with my hands.  

He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “None of that,” he drawled, stepping closer, until he could grab my wrists and pry them apart. He put a hand under my chin, dragging my gaze to his. 

The dark chaol that usually spread across his eyes had been washed away, clearing his gaze and illuminating his eyes. They were blue. He bent down at eye level with me, the difference between our sizes now oh so evident. 

“Now,” he said lowly, voice rough, “you prefer to be blinded, yes?”

I frowned. 

He slowly reached up and lay the fabric of my tank top over my eyes, tying it behind my head. 

I grasped onto his forearms as they came back down, my skin bubbling with goosebumps, shivers racing down my spine. He chuckled, and I heard the rustling of fabric and realized very quickly that he’d taken off his mask because his lips were grazing mine and my entire body went from damp cold to raging fire in an instant. 

Shit.

His hands, now warm and damp and on fire slid around my naked waist, lighting me from the inside out. My own found their way onto his shoulders for support and he lifted me, one hand directing my thighs around his waist. 

“Ghost, I - “

He turned, silencing me in, walking us closer to the sound of water rushing out. I tensed in his arms, thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he said, lips at my collar bone, and when he set me on my feet, I felt him get to his knees. He took my shoes off, my socks, and when his fingers inched into the band of my shorts, I pushed at his shoulders. 

“Ghost, no.”

There was a pause and I wished I could see him, but my own shoulders were tense, afraid of what this man could make do because fuck, just the graze of his thumb down my thigh, towards my knee was making me shake. 

He left my shorts alone. I stood there, breathing, a hot spray of water massaging my back until his hands cupped my face and he brought his mouth down on mine. 

I’d been kissed before. A few times, but not a lot, ultimately. But this... this was like being eaten alive, having his tongue graze my lower lip, his mouth never letting mine catch a breath. He was angling my head as he wanted, taking my mouth how he wanted, and the guttural noise that came from his throat set my entire being on edge. 

I couldn’t stop this. I wouldn’t come back from this. 

Abruptly, I was turned, and I wanted to rip my blindfold off but his hand rested on my tummy, right above the waistband of my shorts, while the other arm snaked across my torso. I was beginning to think my nails would break from how hard I was digging them into his forearms. 

Water was dripping down my front, watering my shorts, and I squeezed my thighs together as his entire form was pressed flush against my back. I could feel him, hard, at the base of my spine. 

Oh.

His mouth pressed against my shoulder, kissing and nipping up to my neck, and I swear it was to distract me because when had his hand traveled so much lower, his middle finger inching into my shorts?

He bit down, hard, on my shoulder, and pain spread wildly up my neck, down my arm. I gasped, pushing away from him, but he groaned, the hand on my belly pulling me right back against him. 

He pulled his teeth from my skin, lips grazing up to my ear. “Stay,” he ordered, and I could feel the command deep in my bones. 

“Ghost, I’ve ne-”

“Simon.”

I was trembling. 

“What?”

“My name is Simon,” he groaned, his hips bucking into me gently. “Say it.”

He nuzzled against my neck, his right hand inching higher to grasp firmly against my breast, his left hand lowering completely into my undies. He squeezed my breast painfully, kissing into my neck, rutting into me from behind, and when his left hand finally breached and found what it was looking for, I arched into him and his name just tumbled from my lips like a prayer. 

“That’s it,” he drawled, middle finger rubbing slow, tantalizing circles on my clit. “Much better.”

My knees buckled but he held me, slowly circling my clit, my head lolling back onto his chest. I could feel every nerve buzzing with pleasure, from the heat of his fingers on me, from the hand playing lazily with my nipple, to the warm hardness at my back. It was slowly driving me insane. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered into my ear, adding his forefinger to the mix, circling just a little harder, just a little faster. I ground my hips against his hand, searching, demanding more friction. God, this was insane. “Is this what you wanted, little dove?” he repeated. 

I gasped, holding back a moan when he pressed harder, targeting just the right spot. I was blindfolded, but my vision was still blurring and when his middle finger ventured down to test my hole, the whimper that left me was all but wretched. 

“All this for me, my love?” he groaned against my ear. “So wet, just for me?” His voice was such a dirty whisper, teasing my ear, while his middle finger collected my juices and came back up to rub deep, rough circles on my neglected clit. I bucked up, biting my lip to hold a moan. 

“S-simon,” I whined, gripping both hands on his forearm. The hand holding my breast mitigated upwards until all his digits wrapped carefully around my throat and he pulled me flush, arched against him, barely standing on my toes, his fingers working deep, quick circles on my clit, and my entire body shuddered. 

“You like that, huh?” he whispered, biting the shell of my ear, but at this point I didn’t care. “You want me to make you cum, huh, Laura?” My name dripping from his lips was like honey, and the way he moved his fingers, palm still adding pressure to my clit as he slipped his middle finger inside me was like magic. 

He slipped in so easily, almost embarrassingly so, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Fuck, so eager,” he groaned. 

“Simon, I’m - I’m...” 

He was rubbing a spot inside me that made my fingers numb against his arm, my mouth fall open, and a mixture between a whimper and a moan came from deep within me. He’d obviously done this before.

“You want to let the entire base know who’s making you feel this way?” he asked, his palm rubbing on my clit, his middle finger deep inside me, stretching, pumping against every right nerve. “Huh, Laura, come on.”

His voice was rough, and by the way he was rutting against my ass from behind was a tell tale sign that he was getting something out of this too. 

And the more he rubbed inside me, against my clit, tightening his fingers against my throat, the closer I was to an edge I’d rarely seen. And I was petrified of flinging myself over it, of giving this man the satisfaction of calling an orgasm out of me that he didn’t deserve. 

“Laura,” he taunted. “Cum for me, my dove,” he cooed. His fingers sped up, pressure against my clit increasing and I groaned against my teeth, arching against his erection, giving him every inch of me. “Come on, beauty, cum for me.”

I whimpered and something inside me snapped, his finger hitting that spot, rubbing it, culling my precipice until I was voluntarily throwing myself over it.

Every part of me tightened, my head falling forward under the hot spray of water, my thighs tightening, squeezing his hand, but he kept pumping his finger so roughly in and out of me, making a moan drawl deep from within my chest. 

“That’s it, little dove,” he cooed, easily holding me up. “Just like that.”

Every inch of me buzzed, rolled over with pleasure, and I clenched around his finger, feeling a gush leak onto the inside of my thighs. 

When I was but a panting mess, limp against him, he pulled his hand from my shorts, rubbing both palms across my belly, up until he was cradling both breasts. 

And then he lifted the hem of my bra until my sore, limp arms lifted and he was undressing me. Slowly. Gently. He took my shorts and panties off and rubbed what I imagine was soap across me. 

And he was silent. I couldn’t see him, but I felt every time his hand passed across my body, soaping me up. And then he added shampoo to my hair and massaged my scalp and helped me rinse. I was putty in his hands, completely to his mercy, and I was beginning to hate this. 

“Ghost.” My voice was roach, wretched. 

He hummed.

“I... I...” How could I tell him something like that? To a man who’s only known violence and command and territory his entire life. And clearly, he didn’t know how to refrain from getting what he wanted. “Simon, I hate you.”

He laughed through his nose and cradled his face into the crook of my shoulder, cupping my ass, squeezing painfully. “I love my name from your lips, little dove,” he cooed, the sound reverberating off his chest, echoing between my ribs. “Consider this a favor. I’ll see you for more.” He said that like a promise, whispered against my ear, his delicate, soft mouth grazing my lips as he pulled back. 

I felt his absence after a second, but by the time I ripped my blindfold off, I was completely alone. 

[thebutterflyofthemojave]

Diana and her Big Dada HC

(moodboard made by me)

Ghost in the Fallout AU with baby Diana. The stress about to stay away for weeks, the return at home where Laswell and her wife takes care of her after the death of his wife after the birth(its the wasteland unfortunately).

She is the only thing good in that world of death and pain, I imagine her first word “Dada”. Because she loves her big Dada so much.

When she says the first word he was returned after a request to assassinate some Gunners in a nearby factory, all covered in blood and sand, him tired, and sees his daughter of one year who tries to walk helped by Kate's wife and who keeps saying "Dada”

His eyes full of tears, the constant feeling of guilt in having to raise his little tangerine in such a world that are dissipated in that sweet "Dada" while he promised himself "to protect you little tangerine from this disgusting world”

[wispscribbles]

the buried

[themotherofhorses]

paloma

— simon “ghost” riley x fem!oc!silentdove reyes

synopsis:

"You said it again, L.T." “Said what?” “That word — Turtle Island. What does it mean?” Ghost chuckles, low and raspy and entirely himself. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Or the 141 is curious as all hell as to why their lieutenant refers to the United States as “Turtle Island.” 

"Turtle Island — " Gaz slowly reads aloud, dark eyebrows furrowing together. " — Indigenous North American folklore." "Now why the everloving fuck would a Brit like Simon Riley use a Native American term?"

CONTENT:

playlists (via spotify)

— Simon Riley

— SilentDove Reyes

oc info

— click here to meet SilentDove

— silentdove r. tag

— silentdove & simon moodboard, gifted by the wonderful @cloudofbutterflies92

MAIN SERIES:

— first meeting

HCS:

— hat and boot

— simon riley LOVES cats