#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.

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. “You are so rude to me.”

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.

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[shotmrmiller]

getting cornered by ghost and you're on full alert because he's never spoken to you unless absolutely necessary and he just says that he didn't know it was your birthday so he requires two things: take your pants off and sit on the table.

it's a little too late to tell him that it's in fact not your birthday when you're straddling the sides of his face, his fingers dimpling your arse as he pulls you down onto him.

give 'im as many as you can, birdie.

(price digging the heel of his palm into his eyes because of course when he radios simon it's you who answers, your voice an incoherent warble.)

[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.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Wearing your brother’s dog tags brings a lot of questions, which meant problems. Especially from men, especially at a bar where said men try to pick you up. Or strike a conversation about the mysterious dog tags. Lucky for you a certain Scot lovingly doesn’t think to ask too many questions. Not until Johnny “Soap” Mactavish’s tongue is down your throat in the back of his car on holiday do the gears begin to turn. But only, yes only after, a few odd weekends of small dates and letters when he can write, he finally decides to ask who your tags belong to between deep kisses and pants. You frown as you pull away to respond, the mood dampened.

“Oh I really shouldn’t say..” you sigh not wanting to explain the long story typically because it ruins the mood “my brother gave me these so I wouldn’t worry about him when he leaves on missions. His call sign is Ghost and…” Shit. Johnny’s whole body seizes up as his heart makes a pitfall down his body. His hearing stops as his brain repeats your joined last name over and over and over; Riley, Riley Riley Riley. Fuck why didn’t he connect the dots. Ghost always was secretive and protective about his younger sister, everyone knew he always declined to bring you as his plus one or even show photos to the rest of the 141. Damnit he knows somewhere down the line if Gaz or even worse Price hears about this that he’ll never live it down. If Ghost hears about this - shit he’ll never live. He finally zones back in to hear you say

“…but that doesn’t matter because you guys don’t run in the same circles, right?” Soap’s nervous smile gives you all the time for your heart to join his in dropping down below. But as your phone rings both of you are sure your hearts have dropped down to hell as the caller id reads: Simon Riley.

Drabble Drabble, I’m tired and I wanted to put this on paper before it slipped my mind. I’ll expand upon this later but this is mostly an idea for @glossysoap to enjoy because Glossy loves Soap as much as I do. So I hope you enjoy btw not proofread so toodles xoxo - Moon

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Reposts are 100000% appreciated. Also my inbox is open for requests!

[powerfultenderness]

You're not as sneaky with your "secret relationship" as you thought. Gaz caught you and Soap kissing a few times, saw Soap's hand "discreetly" roam your backside, saw the way you looked at each other. It was kind of cute how terrible you two were at keeping the relationship private, so Gaz didn't say anything beyond rolling his eyes at your antics.

You're not as sneaky with your "secret relationship" as you thought. Price noticed the way Ghost softened up around you, saw the way your hands lingered on him whenever you passed by him and the way he leaned into your touch. It had to be love, there was no other explanation for why you laughed so much as Ghost's stupid little jokes.

- (Soap x (f)Reader x Ghost, but Gaz and Price think you're cheating on them)

When Soap excused himself, leaving the break room a little too quickly, Gaz scoffed and muttered about how he was probably going to go find you.

"Why's that?" Price asked, just as he brought his tea up for a sip.

"You're kidding, right? Her and Soap haven't exactly been discreet."

Price coughed, narrowly avoiding choking on his tea and whipped his head towards Gaz. "You saying she's with Soap?"

"Yea? Thought it was obvious..."

"No," Price shook his head. "It's obvious her and Ghost have something going on."

No, couldn't be. It was Gaz turn to shake his head. "Nah, I caught her and Soap snogging on more than one occasion."

Price crossed his arms, fingers tapping, as he looked at the younger man. "I've caught her and Ghost..."

And suddenly, angry protective instincts flare up in the both men.

They resolve to confront you, to demand that you tell Soap and Ghost what you're doing.

-

"One of the private's just said she was headed to the armory."

"Good." A private, quiet, place to bring up something so sensitive. Even if you didn't deserve that kind of consideration, Soap's and Ghost's names would be dragged up, and they did.

The hinges were well oiled, and out of habit, Price and Gaz try to keep their footsteps light. So when they walked in, when they hear a breathy "Johnny!", their sudden appearance spooked you and Soap...and Ghost?

You and Soap had scrambled to make yourselves decent, but...they saw. Not even bleach could wipe away the image of you pressed between both men, one leg hitched over Soap's waist while he lapped at your neck. Meanwhile Ghost kept you stable, one hand rucked up your shirt, as the other held your chin, pulling your head back so he could kiss you.

"..The fuck?!"

"C-captain!" You and Soap coughed and tried to pretend you weren't just caught about to fuck in the armory.

Ghost hadn't moved, even as he nodded at Price and Gaz. Though his obvious hard on tenting his pants gave lie to his nonchalance. "Cap'n. Sergeant."

Price, finally over the shock of stumbling onto a threesome, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "All three of you, my office, first thing tomorrow."

A round of "yes sir"s followed before Gaz and Price left, muttering non to nice things under their breaths.

"Shit." You groaned and leaned against Ghost again, "I think we're in trouble."

He looked down at you with a cocky smirk, one mirrored by Soap. "We're no' in trouble till tomorrow. You're about to be in trouble now."

[forsworned]

Ghost: you’re a bug.

Y/n: how???

Ghost: small. crawls around. Y/n: ????

[tojisun]

. . .

“but i can imagine no other peace—” (excerpt from correspondance between albert camus and maria casarés, 17 july 1949)

(images)

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 3)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!stripper!reader

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

Warnings: big one, girls. rough sex (PIV), explicit consent checks, overstimulation, soft dom!Ghost, degrading name-calling, semi-exhibitionism, mild alcohol use, brief aftercare

word count 4.2k

part 1 (smutty!)

part 2

--------------------------------------------

You’d been toying with the idea of texting him for days. Nothing ever seemed right; the texts too desperate, too familiar, too needy. But you’d been indulging in early afternoon cocktails with your vibrator between your legs for an hour and the only vision your mind could conjure up was the sound Ghost made when you had swallowed his load greedily down. You hadn’t seen him in just over a week, only a couple of single line texts exchanged since he had come to visit you at the club. You sighed heavily, grabbing your phone and bringing up his contact page.

No harm in a little neighbourly friendship, right?

Do you have any sugar?

No. Why?

: ( trying to make a daquiri.

It’s 2 in the afternoon.

It’s a Sunday!

There was no reply for a few minutes, and you went back to scrolling mindlessly through your phone, dangling your feet over the end of the couch.

I’ll go to the shop for you.

You sat straight up, beaming down at the message. You giggled to myself as you typed out a reply.

That’s very sweet of you.

You made me dinner.

I’ll make you a cocktail too, now. Door’s open when you get here

He didn’t respond, and you fixed your hair in the black reflection of the TV. You shoved the vibrator under the cushion, and pulled another cocktail glass from the cupboard, busying yourself as you waited for him by washing the strawberries.

A firm knock at the door. “I told you it’s open!” You called, not turning around from your work.

You heard the door click open first, and then quiet as he paused in the kitchen doorway.

“You really shouldn’t leave it open.”

You glanced over at him, smirking at his grumpy expression. “Why would I need to be scared when I know you’re right upstairs to protect me?” You teased, popping a strawberry into your mouth as you grabbed the bag of sugar from his hands.

He bristled, crossing his deliciously huge arms over his chest. “What if I’m away for work?” He challenged flatly.

You rolled my eyes, moving to stand in front of him with a strawberry grasped between your fingers. You held it up to where you guessed his lips were. “Relax,” you whispered, eyes glittering with mischief. “I can look after myself, Ghost.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, ignoring your silent offer of the fruit. “You’re a tiny woman. You couldn’t defend yourself against a fly.”

You scoffed playfully, moving back to the counter as you poured generous amounts of liquor into the shaker. “You’re just massive. And…I’ll get a gun.” You shrugged, back towards him.

He let out a low chuckle and leaned against the doorframe. “That would be illegal.” He retorted.

You grinned, eyes flickering over to him in the corner of your vision. “Never stopped me before. Anway, I bet you’ve got a million weapons upstairs.”

He shifted his weight and let out a small huff. “I’m trained to use them. I’m not some reckless girl with a penchant for leaving her door unlocked.”

You glared at him lightly, shaking the cocktail as you turned back around to face him. “You could train me.” You suggested off-handedly.

He let out a genuine laugh at this, reaching over to pluck the shaker from your hands and taking over.

“Maybe just some basic self-defence first.” He smirked down at you, his eyes filling with amusement. You rolled my eyes at him; you found you’d been doing that an awful lot.

“Fine.” You grumbled, grabbing the shaker back once you were satisfied with his effort and pouring the contents into the two glasses, garnishing the sugary drink with the fruit you’d sliced. You held one out to him, offering your own up to clink against his.

He obliged begrudgingly, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. “I really should teach you.” He glanced up to scan the rest of the flat. “Should secure this place better, too.”

You beamed as you kept your eyes on his. “Aw, Ghosty. You want to keep me safe?” You took a sip as you watched his reaction.

He frowned down at you. “Don’t mock me. You’re a young woman living on her own in a bad part of the city. You should have locks on your windows as a bare minimum.”

You refused to back down from your teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be so protective. I like it.”

He turned away from you with a sigh, making himself comfortable on the armchair. “Don’t call me Ghosty. It’s not cute.” He warned, but lifted his mask to taste the cocktail anyway.

You plopped yourself back down on the sofa, resting the glass against your chest. You let the room sit in silence for a moment, humming happily to yourself as you enjoyed my drink.

“How’d you learn to cook?”

Every time Ghost broke the silence it surprised you, and this question surprised you even more.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

You could see him raise his brow beneath the mask as he leaned forward curiously. “Thought you didn’t do relationships.”

You sighed, tilting your head towards him as you took another long drink. “I don’t.” You replied finally.

He hummed thoughtfully. “He must have been special, then.” A hint of envy seeped through his casual tone.

You groaned, looking back at the wall, suddenly very interested in the art you’d haphazardly hung there months ago. “Just insistent.”

Ghost leaned further forward, his elbows on his knees as he spoke lowly. “I can be insistent.”

You smiled at the change in his tone. “You don’t need to be.” You told him softly. “I like you anyway.”

He scoffed and sat back again. “As a friend?” He asked, slightly bitterly.

You rolled your weight so that your body was facing him as you stretched your legs out. “Yes. You don’t want to be my friend, sir?” You pouted.

His jaw clenched and his grip around the delicate glass tightened. “I told you not to call me that.”

You snickered, your gaze unwavering as you enjoyed the way you could see him getting nervous around you again. Familiar territory. “Why? You like it too much? You want me to call you sir and follow your orders, soldier?”

He adjusted his trousers slightly, and your eyes snapped down towards the motion. Excitement started to grow in your stomach, the orgasm you’d been unable to reach earlier still in the back of your head.

“Oh.” You breathed, standing to walk over to him and perching yourself delicately on his lap. “I hit the bullseye, didn’t I?”

His pupils dilated as he glanced down at where your thighs spread as they rested on his, his free hand reaching up to curl around your waist.

He cleared his throat, taking another sip as his gaze stayed glued to your legs. “Would…would you want that, too?” He asked, tearing his eyes away as they bore into yours.

Your cheeks heated just a smidge, and you nodded keenly. “Yes please.” You whispered, a coy smile spreading across your lips.

He set his drink on the coffee table, drawing his hand back slowly as he ran it up your thighs. When his fingers brushed against your hips he dug them in hard, yanking you over his thighs to straddle him. You let out a surprised yelp, but ground against his lap as you fisted his shirt in your hands for balance.

He let out a throaty groan, one of his hands coming up to grab your chin. “Do you want this, Y/N? Do you want to be my good girl?”

You nodded desperately, feeling that delicious hot lick of tempting submission flare under his intense stare. He smirked, the mask still tucked above his nose and exposing his sharp jaw and plump lips to you. You stared at them needily, your pussy growing wetter, hotter as you felt his heart beating hard against his ribcage beneath your hands.

He squeezed at the flesh of your hips again, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not giving you anything until you use your words, pretty girl.” He taunted.

You whined petulantly, eyebrows knitting together. “Please, sir. Wanna be your good girl. Want you to fuck me.” You wriggled on his lap, seeking friction against the rough fabric of his trousers.

He chuckled, stroking over your jaw with one of the fingers gripping your chin. “Such a good girl. So pretty.” He praised, a hand stroking from your hip, up your waist, to gently massage at your shoulder. “You put such a little show for me last week. Had to go home and fuck my fist to feel better.”

You gasped softly, cunt clenching at his confession. “What did you think about?” You mewled, your fingers unfurling from his shirt to trace his bottom lip.

He smiled, pressing a delicate kiss to one of your fingertips. “Though about snatching you off that stage and fucking you backstage. Make you watch yourself make those desperate faces in the mirror when I bent you over and made you scream my name loud enough all those dirty men could hear you.”

You let out a pathetic whimper, the sound genuine. He soothed you with a gentle caress to the column of your throat, before grabbing the back of your neck and standing to his full height, the other hand going under your ass to support your weight. You wrapped your legs around his waist, leaning your forehead against his as you panted softly.

“I wish you would. I’d let you fuck me so hard on the vanity we broke it.” You moaned, nails raking across the top of his chest. He moaned into your neck at the thought before throwing you back onto the couch, your head hitting the cushion with a soft thump.

You froze, wide-eyed, as you felt your skull connect with a button and a faint buzz filled the silence.

His jaw dropped, leaning over you as he brought his head closer to the sound.

“Lucy…what the fuck is that?” His shocked expression slowly morphed into a wolfish grin, hand slowly sliding towards the cushion.

You scrambled upright, rushing to try and turn the vibrator off with trembling hands. He grabbed your wrist and snatched the toy away from you, a low chuckle reverberating in his chest as he held it up, inspecting it with something between awe and disbelief.

“You dirty…fucking…whore.” He laughed gleefully, pinning the wrist he still held above your head. “Did you text me just so I would come over and make you cum, huh?” He taunted, head dipping down so that you could feel his breath against your lips.

You squirmed, the humiliation and arousal setting your cheeks alight. He tightened his grip, pressing your wrists further into the solid arm of the couch.

“Answer me, Lucy.” He demanded, a dangerously excited look in his eyes.

You let out a faint wheeze of an exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. “I did, sir.” You gasped out.

He released your wrist, sitting back on his heels to watch you underneath him. He tutted mockingly, “Well…who am I to deny a pretty girl what she wants?”

He took your cheek into his hand softly. “Safe word is strawberry, okay?” He patted your cheek when you didn’t respond. “Open your eyes. Repeat it back to me.”

You pried your eyes slowly, nodding in recognition. “Strawberry.” You whispered, feeling utterly tiny as he loomed over you.

He smiled again. “Good girl.” He threw his weight onto his elbow, grabbing your hair in a tight fistful as he smashed his lips against yours. You let out a loud moan at the sensation, stifled underneath him until it became more of a yelp. He took the opportunity to trap your lower lip between his teeth, nipping hard enough to draw tiny specks of blood. He groaned, low and guttural, as the taste flooded his mouth.

He ripped your pyjama shorts down to your knees, breaking the kiss to let out an appreciative growl at the lack of underwear. “Fuck, pretty girl, were you so sure you’d get me between these thighs?” He squeezed at the soft flesh of your inner thighs. “Couldn’t stop thinking about marking these up.” He laughed breathlessly.

He spread your lips with two of his fingers, dipping a third in to coat in the wetness that was now soaking the top of your legs. He dipped it into his mouth, moaning appreciatively as he tasted you on him. “Fucking perfect.” You shuddered under him, trying your hardest to keep your thighs spread for him. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; he had his other hand clamping down on your hip to keep you spread wide.

“Please…” You rasped out, eyes silently pleading with him.

“Patience, baby.” He whispered up to you, shuffling down to press open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, nipping lightly at the skin there. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

He licked a thick stripe up your centre, deliberately neglecting your clit as you whined pathetically and tried to grind down on his face. He shoved you back with his hand on your thighs, flashing a warning glance. You sighed frustratedly, but stilled your hips.

He hummed contentedly at your obedience, tongue returning to your pussy as he lapped at it languidly, relishing in your dripping slick and trembling thighs. He raised his lips to your clit, licking tiny circles as he brought a finger to push into you slowly.

A deep, desperate wail escaped your lips as your back arched at the sensation, electricity coursing through every limb as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He chuckled from between your legs, and his eyes were pitch black as he glanced up. He didn’t stop, only increasing his pace as you fought to keep from screaming so loud that the other neighbours would call the police.

He mumbled something into your core, but you were too caught up in the intense waves of pleasure to hear it. You only snapped your head up when he moved away, throat instantly going dry when you saw him retrieve the vibrator from behind him. He chuckled as he saw your expression, plunging his thick middle finger back inside of you all the way to the last knuckle, eliciting a sharp gasp.

He turned the toy to its softest setting, and placed it against your clit. The stimulation drove you crazy, buzzing through every nerve ending, and you could feel your climax building up almost immediately as he kept it lightly buzzing on the sensitive bundle of nerves. He pumped his finger in and out of you slowly, sitting back slightly to admire his handiwork as you almost thrashed beneath him, chest flushed and heaving.

“You want to cum, princess? On you go.” He encouraged, hungry eyes drinking in the way your thighs tightened and quivered around his arm, head thrown back in sheer bliss as he drove you closer to the edge.

You came with a strangled scream, practically convulsing on the couch as your breath caught in your throat. He growled, yanking your top up to your neck to expose your tits and shoving it into your mouth, muffling the whines you made as your eyes screwed tightly shut. He grabbed a handful of your right breast and kneaded it roughly, short nails digging into the sensitive area.

He let out a shaky breath, palming himself through his trousers as he withdrew the vibrator for just a second. You panted around the makeshift gag, drool coating the fabric as you came down from your high.

Just as soon as your breathing started to even out, he turned up the vibrator to the higher setting, curling two fingers in as he replaced it on your clit. Your eyes shot wide open as you shook my head, body still wracking with pleasure from the last. A couple of tears spilled down your cheeks past your lashes at the sudden resurgence in sensation, and you could feel the next orgasm approaching rapidly. You cried out, earning a small but stinging slap across your chest from Ghost.

“That’s it. Just take it.” He didn’t look you in the eyes, too captivated by your swollen, gushing pussy. “You can give me more than that.”

You nodded weakly, a sheen of sweat forming on your forehead and along your collarbone as your muscles tightened once more. He curled his two fingers inside of your cunt, the girth of even them bigger than any toy you had in your collection. You babbled out desperate pleas to him, your body begging to release the coil rapidly tightening in your stomach.

You came with a sob, hands fisting desperately at the cushion above your head. Your back was so arched that you could feel your shoulder blades almost touching, but you couldn’t control the way your body reacted to his touch.

He didn’t give you any reprieve this time, pressing the vibrator harder onto your clit and easing a third finger in, laughing as your body stretched achingly to accommodate him.

“Shit, you’re so tight, I’m going to split you in fucking half…” He whispered in amazement, his fingers ruthlessly fucking you at dizzying speed. You sobbed underneath him, shaking your head as you pled with him with only your eyes.

Your third orgasm washed over you like ice water as your eyes rolled back in your skull, every part of you trembling from overstimulation. He ripped his fingers out and you whined as he tore the tshirt out of your mouth, slapping your face lightly to get you to open up your eyes.

“Safeword?” He glared down at you sternly, lifting the vibrator off slightly, just enough to let you form a vaguely coherent thought. You furrowed your brow and shook your head insistently, using all of your mental and physical strength to keep your legs spread for him.

He grinned and brought his fingers back to your soaking cunt, easing all three back in with a soft grunt in your ear. “Such a perfect girl, letting me wreck her. I need you broken before I fuck you, Y/N.” He whispered; his breath hot on your ear. You shivered, nodding weakly even as you felt another shock from your poor, abused clit.

He tossed the vibrator to the side, fingers still pumping into you harshly as he leaned down to nip and lick at your neck. “Just one more, baby. Give me one more and I’ll fuck that pretty pussy, I promise.”

You cried at the ceiling, his body almost completely covering yours as his thick forearms kept working on pushing you over that edge. You felt the band in your abdomen grow tighter and tighter, hot, fat tears now pouring down your cheeks as you fought the urge to wriggle away from him- not that you could if you tried, trapped under his weight.

You sobbed out with a choked gasp as relief flooded your senses, the band snapping as white overcame your entire vision. Ghost growled, biting down on your neck as your body jolted forward one last time, his hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

He pressed soothing kisses to your throat as I came down, whispering praises in your ear as your body melted into the couch. “You did so good, Y/N. You deserve this, you deserve my cock.” He murmured in your ear as he grabbed your arms and lifted you to stand.

Your knees buckled for a second as you gained your balance, but his grip was steadfast as he held you upright. Once you found your footing, nodding up at him cautiously, he whirled you around to press your back against his chest, holding you there securely by the hips.

He leaned down to press his mouth to the side of your head. “I’m going to fuck you against that window, princess. I’m going to make you fold and then split you in half.” He whispered harshly, lifting you almost off the ground to shove you against the full-length window. “Is that okay, baby?”

You could just barely squeak out an affirmative, head floating on too high a cloud.

He chuckled as you caught myself with your hands against the glass, head lolling against the soothing coolness. “You better keep quiet or someone’ll look up.” He teased as he traced his fingers over the curve of your waist. “Or maybe you’d like that. Little exhibitionist.”

You sighed blissfully as you heard the sound of his belt coming undone behind you, the soft thud of his trousers falling to the floor after. He stroked your hair away from your sweaty face, hushing the whimpers lovingly.

“Just – shh – that’s it, just relax.” He groaned as he pushed his cock inside of you, gasping as the tight walls clenched around the first few inches. “So fucking tight.” He hissed, his hands digging tight into your flesh as he stilled.

“Safeword?” He asked softly before he went any further.

“Uh-uh.” You moaned out, too preoccupied with the feeling of absolute fullness with not even half of his cock inside of you yet. He chuckled and wrapped a hand around your hair, using it to drag you back towards his chest.

He thrusted up once more, and you nearly squealed as his thick tip brushed against your cervix. He groaned deeply as he bottomed out, cursing under his breath as the hand in your hair tightened even further.

When he shoved you forward you stumbled, but as both of his hands grabbed you by the hips you had no choice but to catch yourself against the window. He slammed into you, setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. God, you had to bite the flesh of your forearm to stop yourself from screaming out at the overwhelming fullness; up in your guts, pushing on your bloody trachea.

He growled behind you, almost lifting you off of the ground by your hips as he bullied his cock into your sweet cunt, his pent-up frustration releasing as his grip threatened to bruise the skin around your ass.

“Say thank you, sir.” He demanded roughly, bringing a hand down to slap your ass hard.

You let out a choked gasp. “T-thank you, sir!” You cried, toes curling as he hit that sweet spot inside of you repeatedly. You felt like a ragdoll, his balls slapping at your clit as he plunged into you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use and dump his fucking cum in.

A strangled laugh escaped him as he kept the pace up, bringing one hand forward to wrap around your throat, pulling you back harshly to rest your head against his shoulder. He forced your chin upwards so that you were staring up at him, hooking his thumb in your mouth to pry it open.

You did as his body commanded, presenting your tongue to him as your brows knitted in sheer desperation. He spat into your mouth, brows furrowing together, and you felt another gush of slick from your pussy as it clenched around him.

“Fucking swallow, Y/N.” He growled lowly. You did, moaning louder as the hand around your throat squeezed a little. He sighed, burying his masked face into your shoulder. “Good girl.” He groaned breathily, the hand on your hips shifting to rub at your aching clit.

You shrieked, thrashing in his arms, the sensation overwhelming. He shushed you quickly, the hand around your neck rubbing small circles over your pulse point.

“Almost there, baby. Just come around my cock and we’re all done.”

You whimpered, but nodded, relaxing in his arms as he fucked up into you, letting yourself go limp as your orgasm built up. Your fingers grasped at the air, stomach so tense that you thought, just maybe, that the muscles might snap.

He moaned loudly into your shoulder, biting at it as he reached his peak. “F-Fuck Y/N, I’m gonna cum. Come on my fucking cock, please, let me cum inside of you.”

You wailed as he sped up his motions on your clit, your vision almost completely cutting out as his words shoved you over the cliff edge and you came.

He let out a strained groan as you felt him almost crush you in his grip, his hot seed pumping up into you. He panted heavily into your hair, relaxing the hold on your scalp just slightly but still holding you carefully upright as he let the waves of his orgasm crash over him.

You could barely breath, just collapsing limply against his chest. He chuckled breathily, pulling you into him as he fell back onto the sofa, holding your trembling body securely in his lap, his cock softening inside of you as his cum leaked out around the base of his cock.

“Fuck.” He sighed, his breath still heavy as he lazily stroked at the tops of your thighs.

“Uh-huh.” You laughed weakly, not yet trusting your voice to form words. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, breathless and sloppy, using his mask to mop up some of the sweat that had formed on his upper lip.

“Are you okay?” He whispered against your cheek, eyelashes tickling your skin. You nodded again, nuzzling your face against his as you relaxed into his chest. He smiled softly. “You did so good for me.”

You sighed happily, heart still hammering, letting him lift you off of him and place you on your side on the soft cushions. He leaned down and kissed you softly, tenderly, and your eyes fluttered shut.

“There’s still a little daquiri in the shaker, if you want it?” He offered, his cheeks still flushed. You giggled brightly.

“You know me so well already, Ghosty.”

 He grinned as he shook his head, pulling his trousers back up before making his way into the kitchen. He reappeared with a freshly refilled glass for you, strawberry and all, and held up his own to clink against your own.

[your-highnessmarvel]

cotton candy | s.riley

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character

Warnings: KISSING. SMOOCHING. TONGUE KISSING.

Chapter Summary: Operation Starlight is on. But Laura doesn't know if she has what it takes to even do this thing.

A/N: OIIII I love this!!!!

Masterlist

Taglist: Open

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

Chapter eight

It was so god damn cold!

My skin would peel from the frigid wind if it wasn't fastened to my bones like glue. Who would have thought that the South Asian weather could drop to sub zero temperatures and mimic the worst of Antarctic weather?

But here I was, hands under my pits to warm my fingers, standing in line behind two young girls with hair as dark as mine. They looked buzzed, blazed and confused, and the looks they kept shooting me over their slender shoulders gave my goosebumps goosebumps.

"Fucking hell," I muttered.

I heard the telltale crackle of the comms device in my ear. And then, Soap's drawl in my ear, "Don't start yapping those ugly words, lassie."

I smiled, the sound of his voice and the lilt of his accent making the ice in my bones thaw a little.

"I'm cold, Soap," I answered under my breath, pressing my chin to my chest to brace against the harsh wind.

"You'll be inside in a few minutes, mami," came Ale's honey voice. He sounded like a stripper through comms.

But who I really wanted to hear was Ghost. I wanted him to tell me he was alright, that he'd made it inside. Because that meant that I would cross someone in there that would potentially be him. I had to look for a blonde man with blonder lashes and a heart-shaped mouth.

No. I had to look for Alvarez and walk to the extraction point. I had two jobs and that's it.

"How did you guys make it in before me?" I asked. "In America, that's the other way around. Women don't wait in the cold."

Someone cleared their throat over comms. "That's because you're in the wrong line, sweetheart." It was Gaz, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing beside our Plan B car, smoking a cigar.

He motioned to my left with his chin and winked. Bless this man.

I looked over the shoulder of the girls in front of me and saw a lady walk to the bouncer and offer him a few bucks. Well, that's why Ghost had handed me Baht bills before we got out the car. It wasn't just to pretend to buy a drink.

When I made it inside the club, my skin felt soft, as if I had been a hard slab of chocolate placed near a raging fire.

I gave a few more bucks for the entrance fee, made my way clumsily through a dark hallway, and made my way towards the music. The closer I got, the more it echoed and throbbed in my chest, beating with my heart like two drums in sync.

I pulled the red velvet cliché curtain and stepped onto the mezzanine, where a sea of roiling bodies danced under me. Glaring, jetting blue and green lights washed over the dancers, and I gripped the railing, looking over to get a better glimpse at their faces.

The music was good and they moved to it perfectly. I caught the flash of a silver bracelet, a glimpse of someone's bright red hair, skin on skin, hands and nails digging into any exposed flesh.

It was the dream of any raver, any dancer who wanted to get lost into the notes. It was intoxicating to look at.

Someone bumped into me, spilling their drink across my top, ice tumbling into my bra. The drunk dancer excused himself in Thai and tried to clean it up, but I was too flustered, too raw to let him. Instead, I walked right passed him and followed the glowing yellow sign for the bathrooms.

It was another world in there. Behind the hardwood door, the music was muffled and replaced by the sounds of a flushing toilet and a sink that was accidentally left open. I grabbed onto the paper towels and dried my chest and dove into my bra to retrieve the melting ice.

Two girls burst in, laughing, and the fright it gave me sent me hollering. They stopped cackling and looked at me, watching as I tried to calm my racing heart.

One of them, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, with cherry blonde hair and a pink, round mouth, cocked her head. "You're American?" she asked, holding onto the other girl's shoulders. She was American too. One of the former girl's blocky bracelets got stuck in the other girl's brown locks.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Who's that?" came Soap in my ear.

"Wow, I thought we'd never see any Americans here tonight!" the girl said, thunking against the wall, blonde locks falling into her eye. She smirked and laughed. "Your outfit is so nice."

I threw the paper towels into the bin. "Have a nice night ladies," I said.

"Wait," the blonde said, slurred mostly. She put a finger up, curled it, smirking like she had the nastiest secret about your beloved coworker. "I bet you want some meat tonight, eh?"

My cheeks heated like a match, instantly burning to my ears.

Someone laughed on comms.

"I - well, no."

She scoffed. The other girl yelped when the blonde slid to the floor, bruised bare knees bending up to the sky.

She laughed. "There's these guys upstairs," she slurred, gulped, and I could see the vomit clawing up her throat.

"Get closer," it was Ghost, and the command sung in my bones, struck me like a slap in the face, and my feet slid closer to the girls.

"Guys where?" I asked, scratching the inside of my wrist.

She scoffed again. "They're like, Thailand's fake mafia or whatever," she continued, chewing on her lip. Please God let her finish that sentence before she yacks.

"Fake mafia?" I questioned. "Like the Godfather?"

Her blue eyes light up, mouth opening. "Yes!" she answered. "And they paid me drink after drink like... and they told me to get more girls up there because they're bored, I think."

I nodded, nails clawing at the soft skin of my palms.

"Ask her what they look like," it was Ghost again and his order burned into my ear, lighting in my throat. As if he had tied strings to my limbs and puppeteered me.

"Are they handsome?" I asked. "I have a specific type."

"Good girl, Laura," came Soap through comms. Something brewed in my belly, like hot embers.

The blonde raised her brows, as if recognizing a fellow wild card girl.

"They have these dark, slick back hair, you know?" she said, trying to get to her feet. The other girl winced, pulling at the strands stuck in the blonde's bracelet. "They're tall and all full of muscle. And they're wearing these like black suits, like... John Wick, yeah?"

"Hmmm," I said. "Tattoos?"

"Atta girl."

She frowned, turning to peer at her friend. The brunette looked up at me, clearly less intoxicated than her friend. "They have these hand tats, like tigers or something stupid like that."

Never liked big cat tattoos either.

"That might be them," Soap mumbled. I fidgeted in my place, waiting for their orders. "Ask them how to get up there." Bingo.

"That makes me want to go so much," I giggled, trying to fake some kind of girlish, bathroom pact.

"That's so fake, mami."

"Where do I go?" I asked the girls.

The brunette carried her friend over into the open stall. "Just find the stairs that go up, not down. Give your name at the door. They let about any girl up there."

And just before I was bursting out the bathroom door, the blonde finally yacked.

"Guys," I whispered through comms. "I go up there alone?"

There was a long silence while I meandered through the mezzanine, looking for the stairs. But I didn't need to hear any answer because the problem found me first.

The man standing guard at the bottom of the stairs turned. When he faced me, his features felt like a puzzle I'd solved before and I could easily put back. He was familiar, down to the fucking busted front tooth when he sneered at me.

This was one of the men that were there when Ben talked with Alvarez.

And by the looks of it, he recognized me too.

"Shit," I breathed. I took a step back, and if this guy wasn't suspecting me already, that sure as hell made it clear now. He knew exactly who I was and that I wasn't, clearly, dead. I'd seen Alvarez's face. And I was here.

"Laura, what is it?" It was Ghost.

"He recognizes me," I answered. The guy brought a walkie talkie up to his mouth, keeping his eyes on me.

He took one step forward. Feet appeared at the top of the stairs. Three pairs. I looked up, saw three men descending, dressed up like they're the toughest assassin in the Continental.

Then Dude 1 pointed at me. And all four looked up to meet my gaze.

My heart beat against my rib cage, my breath coming in short spasms.

"Run," Ghost said.

I felt his command in my bones.

I turned, my feet, squished in the shoes that were a size too small, screamed in agony as I mulled against the wave of clubbers.

It felt like running in a dream, fighting against an invisible force holding me back, feeling the fire nipping at my heels. I made it to a hallway, bouncing off the wall like a clumsy idiot, and raced through. People knocked into me, bruising my shoulders, scraping against my elbow. But I felt along the wall, running until my knees ached.

I flew passed another hallway, gripping the wall to push my momentum. I'd always been fast. Ghost could tell you that.

"I'm taking the East side!" I heard Soap in my ear.

"I'm taking North!" that was Ale.

"I think I saw her on the mezzanine floor!"

But I didn't care. I ran and ran, passing partygoers and lovers and drunks.

Until, "Laura." His voice culled me out of my panic, slamming me back down into my body, into the fear beating against my chest, the terror running through my veins.

My ears were drumming with the echo of my breath.

"What do you see?" he asked.

I turned. "It's a room. It's so dark in here Ghost."

"What color are the walls?"

"Green, I think," I said, bracing my shoulder on the wall and walking backwards, away from the entrance, watching for any moving bodies. There was another entrance to another hallway to my right. This place was a maze.

"What are people doing? Is the music loud?"

I looked around. "People are..." The irony of it made my mouth shut. "They're making out?" Five couples were strewn about in various stages of making out or... oh, that was third base.

"Music?"

My ears were ringing but not loud, thrumming bass. "No, it's muffled though. I can hear it." I turned away from the lovers, focusing on the hallway I just came through. Waiting.

I heard shouting. Men. Fear gripped me like a cold hand, like fingers digging into my throat, clawing between my ribs.

"I see you."

His chest came resting, hot and firm, at my back. I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling his breath along the top of my head.

"Turn around, close your eyes," he ordered, his fingers gripping on the exposed skin just under the hem of my camisole, where my belly was exposed.

"Ghost, what do we do?" I asked, panted, hearing the men closer, louder. I almost fantasized that I could hear their feet slamming on the ground.

"Close your eyes, Laura, and turn." He was so firm, twisting me around, hair flying across my eyes and I closed them instinctively.

I felt warm, rough hands caressing my face gently, holding onto my cheeks like I was made of glass and he was made of stone.

"Don't open your eyes," he whispered, and this time, his mouth was at my ear and I could feel the warmth of his skin, his stubble, his lips against my jaw. He really wasn't wearing a mask.

And then he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. I heard, behind me, the rustle of feet, shouting, and I tensed, like someone had poured cement down my spine and left me out to dry.

Ghost sprung us into action, one arm snaking around my waist, effortlessly lifting my feet off the floor and flinging us to the side. My back collided with the wall, and his entire frame pressed against me, covering me, hiding me. I could feel his thighs pressed against mine, his hands skimming along my waist, his face in the crook of my neck.

His face.

But I kept my eyes closed. I shut them tight, wincing when I felt him move, hovering his lips over mine.

The shouting was there, right in the hall, coming in the room.

"Ghost," I whispered. Lips trembling, hands clutching the front of his shirt.

I was on fucking fire.

He pressed one hand into my hair, combing his fingers through the strands and he pulled, tugging my face back. And then he kissed me.

He kissed me like he was a man starved, molding his mouth to mine, prying my lips apart so he could pet his wet tongue against mine. He groaned into my mouth, fingers tugging painfully at the roots of my hair.

This wasn't just a distraction.

His hips pressed flush against mine, his free hand roaming over my stomach, inching upwards until he held my breast in his grip. I squeaked, bracing my hands across his back, and I felt the fire lick up my spine at the thought that I could finally touch him. Finally feel the hardness of his muscles, the heat of his skin under his t-shirt, the ridges of scars, the valley between his shoulder blades.

And my hands went up until I could plunge them in his hair.

My world pinpointed to the breath he was breathing into my lungs, the feel of soft, blonde strands between my fingers. The scruff of his stubble burning my chin. The feel of his thumb and forefinger pulling at my nipple through my camisole. The grunt that broke through my teeth and echoed off his mouth as he kissed, devoured me.

And when my hips, my waist, pushed against him, I knew I was in big fucking trouble.

But he pulled away, panting, hiding his face in my shoulder, in my hair. He breathed against me and I opened my eyes, noticing his blue tee, the rise and fall of his wide shoulders.

And no one else in the room except us and a few lovers making out.

"Close your eyes," he panted, hands resting against my waist, fingers clawing at my frame. But his tone was sweeter and his accent so sluggish it was like he was drunk. One hand came up, fingers digging into my breast, tugging me closer. He was tearing at the fucking seams.

I could feel him, hard in his jeans, pressing against my belly. His thumb smoothed across my nipple, his teeth grazed my shoulder, tongue tasting the skin there.

His hips twitched, grinding into me, pushing me back harshly against the wall. I winced, hissed, but his hands caressed the side of my neck.

I closed my eyes. I felt the heat, slipping like tar down my belly. I bit my lip, feeling the heat, the pressure build between my legs.

Bravely, I pressed my face into the soft spot where his shoulder meets his neck and I bit him, marked him like he'd marked me in the shower. He groaned, pressing into me until the breath left my lungs. Until I squealed into his skin, feeling hot and cold, insects scuttling along my skin, my core aching. I felt his hand press my hip into the wall.

"I'm not looking," I whispered and God, my voice was wretched.

I felt him move, but his hands moved away from my breast, my neck, toyed with the hem of my camisole, index inching under it.

He breathed a shattered, shaken breath into my neck. I felt him grind into me, breathing close to my ear. He was so hard, so warm in his jeans. I wanted to touch him.

I wanted to say his name, to breathe the syllables through my lips, but the crackle of someone clearing their throat through comms made me slam right back to reality.

We'd just made out in front of the entire task force. Laswell included.

"Get Laura to the extraction point, right now." It was Soap.

"But Alvarez," I said. Ghost pushed back from me. I kept my eyes tightly shut.

"We need to get you out. They know you're here, mami."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, but no one answered.

I waited, perched between the wall and Ghost, until he moved away. I was so scared, so defeated, that I stayed there, eyes closed. The heat on my skin died, the buzzing of a million bees under my skin quieted. The ache, that throbbing, wet need between my legs, though, that didn't ebb.

Someone's warm hand tapped my elbow. "Open your eyes, lassie."

Soap smiled down at me, eyes so kind. He was dressed so normally too. It made him look so... brotherly. He gave me a look, raking his eyes from feet to toe, assessing. He could definitely see the red of my cheeks, my swollen lips, my hair in a mess.

"Time to go."

I let him put an arm over my shoulder, pretending we were friends, lovers even. He put his head down close to mine, mouth at my ear as we walked out onto the mezzanine, towards the exit.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he muttered into my ear. I grabbed onto his wrist, where it lay on my shoulder. He was so warm.

A shiver sliced down my throat because... I hadn't hated kissing Ghost. Having to kiss him was the best part of this evening.

"It's fine."

Soap brushed his nose across my temple. His breath fanned the side of my face. "You'd tell me if it wasn't?" he asked, and his voice, so low, so comforting, made my insides roil.

What was wrong with this task force? What was wrong with me?

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent who slowly withdraws from poly!tf141 after the first episode of bloodied flowers (realising they’re in love), from declining offers to relax in the rec room, accompany them to the local pub, or even working out in the gym to sparring.

agent knows that they’re not being subtle, see’s the guys try and figure what is going on with them. but agent refuses to let them find out—never.

agent who finally manages (after ensuring they wouldn’t hack up another flower) to file a notice, a formality really, to john— captain price, for their absence in the oncoming month or two. as there are no current operations needing agents’ immediate attention, its an opportunity for agent to get their other affairs in order after months being on base with the taskforce. 

john— captain price, briefly glancing at the document before focusing his ocean blue eyes to search agents (tired) face, a frown creasing between his full brows.

pleasedontlookatme—

whatdoyousee—?

the captain getting up from his seat to circle around his desk to stand before agent, his scrutinising gaze trying to catch agents downcast eyes.

pleasejohndont—

“this wouldn’t be about you pulling away from us recently hm?”

bullseye— 

agent could feel a thorn piercing the walls of her throat, their jaw tightening in response. a reaction john notices, his face softening as he reaches out to tip agents chin back to finally see his now gentle imploring eyes.

soblue—

“just don’t forget to come back to us, okay little love?”

little love. a pet name that simon (proudly) started to refer to agent amongst the taskforce (and no one else, lest they meet ghost in the middle of the night) while the others also followed suit—

“or would you rather shorty? or tiny even?” simon had smugly responded after seeing agents offended (blushing) face.

ugh that big oaf of a man, not everyone needs to be the size of an industrial fridge—!!

johnny and kyle chortling in the background, seemingly forgetting they’re suppose to be supervising the recruits’ training.

the pinch of another thorn dragging up their throat throwing agent back into the present.

“of course, captain.”

lies.lies.lies.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent whose kept a mental list of contacts who owe them favours, a debt that is finally being repaid: to find a cure for hanahaki disease. from the highest level of power and prestige in society, to the lowest trenches of the underworld. over the course of a few weeks, one by one, each contact falls short of delivering. but agent keeps digging. keeps searching.

there is never nothing. there has to be something somewhere. someone must have at least thought— until finally a contact (old friend) provides them with a lead. 

a doctor whose dedicated their life in medical research of hanahaki disease, searching for a cure— whispers that there is a cure. they’re located halfway across the world. but that doesn’t matter to agent, they’re leaving within an hour; flight booked and travel bag already packed.

washing the remnants of blood down the sink drain, tears wet on their cheeks. the episodes were happening more frequently.

agent is running out of time.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“… it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear…”

agent feels drained as the doctors words echo in their mind even hours after agents abrupt appearance in the doctors office. one look into agents (desperate) eyes and the doctor already knew why they had come, offered tea to soothe their throat (wash the metallic taste away, even if temporarily).

agent immediately coughing out both the tea, then one bloodied rose— then two— three— and finally four, as agent reaches to rip the tangled thorns from the back of their throat, ignoring the screaming pain of thorns dragging out of their mouth and past their stinging pale lips. 

the doctors face stricken with worry and sadness, trying to wipe the blood from agents face and hands; disposing of the thorny flowers in a sterile bin. the doctor concluding that agent does not have much time to deliberate if they wish to proceed with the experimental procedure. an incredibly invasive surgery that may not completely cure the victim; follow up surgery’s may be required. 

being split open from larynx to diaphragm, sown back together, only to be split open again if a single flower is coughed back up.

agent acknowledges this. pain is pain after all—

whats more to add to the pile?

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

added some dialogue in this part compared to the first part. unedited, also like the first part. i know nothing about the complexities of surgery (google images my saviour) so don’t try to make sense of it haha.

thanks for reading!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[msilwrites]

How I met your mother (Simon Ghost Fic)

A/N: This is the same You (Y/N) as "Midnight Snack Mystery". And this is the story of how You and Simon first met ;) Parks and Rec! Reader (LOL, Cause you're a gamekeeper) Gamekeeper! Reader Groundskeeper! Reader Ex-MI5! Reader Shy! Reader Possessive! Simon 'Ghost’ Riley  Fluff! Simon Riley

This idea was also inspired by this work of art from @p1nkmic;

Coz well.... do you see that? Yeah, that’s Simon’s torso. Keep that image in mind . Go ahead, use it as your mental image while you read. Trust me, it makes everything more...better!! Warning: A little charged. Please dehydrate a bit, and have a glass of water. A bit of Simon's Dirty Mind, and his innuendos.

----------

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to keep most people indoors. The steady drizzle pattered against the leaves, mixing with the rhythmic sound of Simon’s feet pounding the muddy trail. He jogged with the same methodical pace he always kept, the familiarity of the nature reserve surrounding him, the calm he found in the solitude of these early mornings. His running shoes, worn but reliable, gripped the muddy path beneath him as he pushed forward, each step sure despite the wet ground. He ran with the steady pace of someone accustomed to the solitude of early mornings—time to think, time to sweat, time to forget. He always jogged here, not far from his new house, which was still very much a project.

The house had been cheap—too good to pass up, even with the renovations it required. And the area? Quiet. Peaceful. Safe. Just what he needed after weeks, or even months, away on short deployments. A place to come back to, to recharge, and perhaps… put down roots, if only a little. And it was just a less-than-half-an-hour drive to the base, which made it even more ideal.

He passed the familiar bend in the trail where he’d seen her countless times—the gamekeeper. She was crouched on the ground, her petite frame hidden beneath a dark green raincoat, hood pulled up to shield her from the drizzle. Gloves on, boots heavy with mud, and a cart full of foraging supplies beside her. She was always here, quietly gathering mushrooms or tending to the wildlife, and plants, focused, purposeful. Simon would catch glimpses of her when he passed by, but they exchanged little more than a brief nod. She wore a mask, and although he’d caught the hint of her features beneath it, he’d never pressed for more. It was the same for him; he kept to himself, respecting the unspoken distance they had.

Today, though, something was different. As Simon neared the bend, he felt the rain pick up, droplets falling harder against his skin. He slowed his pace, glancing up at the grey sky before wiping his face with the back of his hand. The moisture clung to his forehead, sliding down his chiseled jaw. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled off his mask and yanked up the bottom of his compression shirt to wipe his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be around, no one had been in days. He figured it was safe, so he revealed his face, wiping the sweat and rain away, exposing his muscular torso as he tugged the fabric up.

He was just about to lower his shirt when he saw her. She was standing a few feet away, wide-eyed, frozen in place. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the rain falling softly around them. Her gaze moved from his chest to his jaw, lingering for just a beat longer than Simon expected. When her eyes met his, there was a flicker of surprise—and something else. The way her cheeks flushed beneath her hood made something stir inside him. She didn’t look away, her eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, they both felt the charged tension in the air.

Simon cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think anyone would be out here in this weather,” he said, his voice gruff, yet not unkind. He put his mask back on, trying to hide the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Y/N stood still, staring at him for a long moment, her gaze lingering on his exposed torso and the way the rain traced down his chiseled body. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. The tension between them was palpable, thick with something neither of them had expected. She remained silent, the tiny shovel in her hand still as she seemed lost in the moment.

Simon noticed the lingering silence and waved a hand in front of her face, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oi, you alright there, love?” Simon called, a teasing edge to his voice as he waved a hand in front of her face. “Bit of a daydream, are we?”

Y/N blinked, shaking herself out of her daze. Simon’s faint smile lingered, not just playful but knowing—he was well aware of the effect his presence had. He wasn’t just the tall, imposing figure who commanded attention; he was also Ghost, and he knew how easy it was to come off as a monster. But right now, that smile held an unspoken challenge, a quiet confidence that didn’t need to be loud to be felt.

Y/N quickly cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Right. Well… good luck with the run,” she said, her voice a little quieter than usual.

He took a step closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her, but there was still that unspoken space between them, a distance that he respected. His voice was low, with that quiet curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know. "What’s your name then?" It wasn’t the usual question, not for him. There was something different about her, something that had him asking more than just the basics.

Y/N paused for a beat, still a little flustered, her cheeks betraying her as she glanced up at him. She was used to being invisible, to hiding behind her mask and keeping to herself. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to drop the act. "Y/N," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "And you are…?"

"Simon," he answered simply, his lips curling up in a small, quiet smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. His eyes, though, were a different story—sharp, taking in everything as if he was reading her. "Nice to finally meet you properly."

She gave a small nod, trying to ignore the way her pulse was racing. "Likewise." She held his gaze, trying not to feel too out of place under the intensity of it.

Just as the words hung in the air, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and then, as if the weather had been waiting for the right moment, a beam of sunlight broke through the trees. It lit up the clearing, casting a warm glow over them, as if nature itself was nodding along with the newfound connection between them.

Simon had been in countless situations, under countless masks—literally and figuratively. As Ghost, he was an enigma, a terrifying shadow that no one dared to truly look at, let alone scrutinize with anything resembling genuine interest. People were afraid of what he represented, of what he could do. He was the monster lurking in the dark, the face hidden behind a mask, eyes cold, emotionless, distant. It was how he kept things, how he stayed safe.

But with her, it was different.

Y/N had looked at him in a way no one ever had. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t caution. It was something else—something, softer, hungry even, deeper, like she was trying to dig past the layers, beyond the mask, to understand him. Her gaze wasn’t just focused on the man in front of her; it was like she was trying to reach into him, pull something out from the depths he kept hidden. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.

It unsettled him in the best way. No one had ever looked at him like that. Most people kept their distance from Simon Riley, the ghost, the monster, the soldier. But not her. She looked at him as though she was trying to figure him out, to understand what lay beneath all that.

He didn’t know if he could trust it, but the curiosity she’d sparked in him was undeniable.

"See you around, Y/N," Simon’s deep, raspy voice broke through the air, and he turned, his muscular frame disappearing into the mist as he walked off to cool down.

"Sure…" Y/N managed, though the word barely escaped her lips. She stood there frozen, heart pounding like a drumbeat that echoed in her chest. Her mind was on fire, replaying that moment over and over. The tall, imposing figure she’d seen on her runs for months—that man—had now been standing right in front of her, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that was almost too much to handle.

She’d never felt that hot under the collar just from a simple conversation. It was like her brain short-circuited, and all she could think was, I would very much like to climb that mountain of a man. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that were running a marathon in her head, but damn, his body was like a walking, breathing fantasy.

“Focus, Y/N,” she muttered to herself, still standing there as if glued to the spot, watching his broad back disappear into the mist.

----------

The sun filtered through the dense canopy of the nature reserve, casting dappled light across the forest floor. The air was crisp, and the morning held a serene quietness, save for the occasional bird call or rustle of leaves. Simon had just finished his usual jog, his body slick with a faint sheen of sweat. He slowed to a stop, his breathing steadying, and tugged off his shirt, wiping his face and neck with the damp fabric.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N was nearby. She was crouched on a patch of grass just off the trail, wearing her usual dark green jacket, mask, and gloves. A sturdy net was slung over her shoulder, her boots caked with mud from trekking across the reserve. She had been searching for a fox cub that had somehow gotten out of its enclosure. But her focus shifted the moment she caught sight of Simon, his shirt now slung over his shoulder, muscles defined and rippling under the sunlight.

Her reaction was instant. Her eyes widened, betraying her surprise and—despite herself—a hint of intrigue. She froze, one hand clutching the handle of the net, as though caught in a moment she wasn’t supposed to witness. Her face might have been partially hidden beneath her mask, but her eyes said everything.

Simon’s gaze flicked toward her. He noticed the widening of her eyes, the way she stood so still, like a deer caught in headlights. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he took in her figure—small and focused, even when startled.

“See something you like, luv?” His voice was deep, tinged with a playful lilt that betrayed his usual stoic demeanor.

Y/N blinked, pulled out of her reverie, heat rising to her face beneath the mask. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her net as she cleared her throat, utterly flustered and completely at a loss for words. She glanced down, trying to look anywhere but at him, but the image of him standing there, shirtless and confident, was already burned into her mind.

Y/N blinked, feeling the heat rise to her face beneath the mask. Her hands scrambled at the net strap on her shoulder, as if it might anchor her in the moment. “Uh... I—I’m here for the... wild—you’re loose!” she blurted, immediately cringing at her own words. “I mean—the wildlife! Loose wildlife!”

Simon arched a brow, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk. “Am I now?”

“No!” she squeaked, the pitch of her voice betraying her panic. “Not you—you’re not wild! I mean, not that kind of wild! Just the—the other wild!” She gestured vaguely, her brain clearly abandoning her as she clutched the net tighter.

Simon chuckled then, low and warm, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement only made him look even more effortlessly put together, and Y/N realized she’d just dug herself into a verbal hole she had no hope of escaping.

“You sure about that, luv?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement. “Sounds like you’ve got me pegged as the wildlife.”

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Mortified, she turned abruptly, muttering something incoherent about “nets” and “loose things,” before practically speed-walking away, her boots crunching against the dirt trail.

Simon stood there, grinning as he watched her retreat. “Wildlife, huh?” he murmured to himself, the chuckle still rumbling in his chest.

For Y/N, her only saving grace was the mask hiding her face, though her mortification was probably written all over her posture. If only the ground could have swallowed her whole.

----------

It had been weeks since Y/N last saw Simon, and honestly, she had mostly gotten used to the quiet of the park. The wildlife was her focus, not the joggers who happened to come and go. As usual, she was out early in the morning, rifle in hand, ready to deal with the wild boar that had strayed too close to the public.

The tranquilizer rifle was a heavy piece of equipment, but it wasn’t the weight of it that made her nervous—it was the idea of taking down a wild boar with a dart, a calculated decision, one she couldn’t afford to mess up. The last thing she needed was an animal running loose with a bunch of park-goers nearby.

She was adjusting the strap on the rifle when the sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Y/N’s heart gave an involuntary skip. Her gaze shot up—and there, as if he were summoned by the thought of her, was Simon. Out of nowhere. Just jogging along the path. His grey t-shirt clung to his chest, each muscle highlighted as if the universe was conspiring to remind her of exactly why her pulse was already racing.

Great. Just great. Focus, Y/N. Focus.

Y/N didn’t flinch, her grip steady on the rifle in her hands. She was used to this—she’d handled firearms enough times to know exactly what she was doing. But her heart? That was racing, and not because of the job at hand. It had been weeks since she’d seen Simon, and here he was, jogging along the path, looking sweaty, fit, and entirely too distracting.

Simon slowed as he spotted her, his easy stride coming to a stop. “Well, well. If it isn’t the wildlife wrangler,” he teased, his voice laced with that familiar mischief.

Y/N didn’t flinch, but her grip on the rifle tightened, fingers adjusting instinctively to keep it steady. She gave him a quick nod, trying to remain focused on the task.

Then, she fumbled—just a tiny twitch in her finger, and the rifle made a loud click as she set the bolt for the tranquilizer dart. It was a small sound, but it felt too loud in the quiet morning. Her heart skipped a beat, and she shot Simon a quick glance.

Simon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You alright there, love? Don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous?”

“No! I mean—no, it’s not you,” she stammered, shaking her head quickly. “I—uh, I was just… making sure the rifle was… you know... cocked,” she finished, cringing the moment the words left her mouth.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a casual step closer, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Cocked, huh?” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Now, that’s an interesting choice of words.”

Y/N’s face went bright red under her mask, and she couldn’t help but shift her weight awkwardly. “I didn’t mean—I mean, cocked the dart, not… not anything else!” She fumbled again, trying to fix the mess she’d made. “The dart’s loaded, not—I’m not talking about…” She trailed off, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

Simon chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly. “You sure you’re not just cocking something else, love?” he teased, his voice thick with playful innuendo. “You’re looking a little flustered there.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to get a hold of herself. “I—I need to take care of the wildlife. A wild boar,” she said quickly, hoping to change the subject. “It’s loose, I need to get it back under control.”

Simon’s grin turned even more playful. “A wild boar, huh? Thought you’d be handling that with a little more finesse.” He motioned toward the rifle. “You sure you know how to handle that thing?”

Y/N’s mind was racing. She was so not prepared for this. “I know what I’m doing!” she blurted out, though she couldn’t help the nervous energy buzzing in her voice. “I’m just trying to keep the park safe. It’s not that big of a deal,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Simon chuckled again, clearly relishing the moment. “Well, if you’re planning on pulling the trigger, love,” he said with a sly grin, “you should at least buy me dinner first.”

Y/N’s brain froze for a second. She blinked at him, unsure of how to respond, her face flushed a deep shade of red. “I—I don’t... I mean, it’s not payday yet,” she stammered her excuse, desperately grasping at straws. “I don’t even know what you like to eat. Or, you know, where you go for dinner... Not that I’d know.” She quickly added, “I don’t really like crowded places. But, uh, I can cook for you? I can definitely cook... If you’re into, like, home-cooked meals and—"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his grin turning smug as he took a step closer. “Home-cooked, huh? You gonna cook me something wild? Because I’m partial to game. Or maybe you’ve got something else in mind that’s more... well, you know, meaty?”

Y/N blinked, flustered beyond belief. “I—I can hunt for you! What kind of meat do you like?” she asked, her voice trailing off as she realized just how badly she was digging herself into the hole. “Like, if you want wild boar, or duck or pheasant, I can definitely get you some... or something else—uh, more wild?”

Simon’s smirk deepened, leaning in just enough to make her heartbeat quicken. “Oh, you’re offering to hunt for me, love? Now that’s a real treat. I think I could get used to that.”

Her eyes widened as she realized exactly what she was saying. “No! Wait, no! I mean, not like that,” she stammered, backing up a little, trying to save herself. “I’m just... I gotta take care of the wild boar... I’ll just... focus on that.” She pointed at the rifle like it was her only escape.

She could feel the ground shift under her feet as the words tumbled out of her mouth, each one worse than the last. She wanted to dig a hole and crawl right into it. Or at least disappear into the ground. Hell, at this point, she’d settle for vanishing completely.

Simon was clearly enjoying every moment of her discomfort, his grin turning into something downright devilish. “Well, well, love, looks like I’ve got you all worked up,” he teased, his voice low and thick with innuendo. “You sure you’re ready to handle that wild boar? Because it’s not the only thing that needs taming around here.”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Her grip tightened on the rifle as she exhaled a deep sigh. “Yeah, I’ll just—” She waved the rifle in a half circle, “—deal with the wild boar, alright? You stay here, keep being your handsome self.”

She immediately wanted to smack herself for saying it, but it was too late now. Without waiting for his reply, she turned sharply and began to walk away, desperate to escape. She could feel Simon’s stare burning into her back, the weight of it lingering long after she was out of earshot

A/N: And we end for this part here. You can consider this finished, until—or unless—I get another idea again. LOL!

[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.

[codenamereaper]

The Ghost & The Reaper

Summary: She’s the blade in the dark. He’s the shadow that never misses. Working side by side, they move like one—but keeping their distance is harder than staying alive.

Warnings & tags: Ghost x OFC, slow burn, friends (colleagues?) to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, childhood trauma (& trauma bonding), multiple POV

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

Chapter Two

Reaper

The flight back was quiet—debriefing handled mid-air, the weight of the mission already settling behind us. 

At some point, Price radioed ahead and I caught one line:

"Have Soap on standby."

That made me glance between him and Ghost. Not because I cared much, but because I’ve learned to pay attention when men in charge start moving pieces around.

Ghost didn’t react. Just adjusted the strap on his gear absently and kept staring out the window like the clouds held secrets. But there was something under the surface that I couldn’t quite place.

There was a lot about him I couldn’t place, if we’re being honest. He sat still for most of the flight, arms crossed over his chest, eyes behind the mask completely impassive. If he had thoughts about me or the mission, he kept them to himself. 

I wasn’t about to break the silence to ask.

When the transport finally touches down, the sky is already that slate-grey kind of miserable, typical for the Scottish Highlands. It’s just past 7am but it might as well be midnight for how exhausted I feel.

The second the doors open, the chill bites through my tac gear when a sharp, damp wind cuts across the landing pad. It’s the kind of cold that slips under your collar like it’s got a grudge.

I swing my rucksack over one shoulder as we descend the ramp of the helo. Price walks beside me. “Welcome to RAF Scáthach*. Looks can be deceiving.”

When my boots hit the ground, I take a look around. It appears to be an abandoned facility at first glance, but I see a watchtower on the other side that could be a perfect nest for a sniper. I bet if I looked harder I'd spot some cameras around the perimeter fencing and other security measures.

“Above ground, it's just crumbling hangars and old watchtowers. Officially, this place doesn’t exist,” Price explains. “The good stuff's buried underground, where no one can see.”

We make our way across the cracked tarmac and I clock a guy watching us in silence. Tall, mohawk, smaller than Ghost but still looks like he can rip someone’s head off with a well-placed roundhouse.

He stands off to the side, leaning against the outer wall of an old building, arms crossed, clearly waiting for us. He looks well-rested, casual, like he hasn’t just been pulled into something unexpected. Soap, then, I assume.

He straightens when Ghost and Price approach. Then, the moment his gaze lands on me, I see it—a flicker of surprise. His brows lift just slightly, then he blinks, masking it almost as fast. But not fast enough. I can practically hear whatever assumption he had about me shattering in real-time.

His eyes dart between Ghost and Price, questioning, like this is some kind of prank they’re trying to pull on him. I resist the urge to smirk.

He probably expected someone twice my size. A guy, maybe, built like a brick wall. Probably someone like Ghost. Anything but a girl barely brushing five-foot-four, blood under her fingernails and half a tired smile.

Price stops in front of him, and they clasp hands. “You’ll be sharing quarters with MacTavish,” he tells me over the shoulder. “Only spare bunk we’ve got at the moment. That okay?”

I don’t particularly care who I’m bunking with as long as they keep to themselves. So I shrug. “Fine by me, Captain.”

The last few days have been a series of missions, movements, and barely-there downtime, and the thought of finally having a place to drop my gear—even if just temporarily—is more appealing than it should be.

Soap coughs once, then turns to me properly. “Right then. You must be Reaper.”

“Last I checked,” I reply, adjusting my pack over my shoulder.

“Johnny MacTavish,” Soap says, offering a hand. “Everyone calls me Soap. You don’t have to, but you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t.”

“Reaper,” I say, gripping his hand briefly. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

That earns me a grin. “Oh, I like you already.”

Then his gaze flicks to Ghost and lingers, likely a silent check-in, an unspoken question. 

Ghost tilts his head ever so slightly, voice low and dry. “She’ll do.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “High praise, really. I’ll put that on my résumé.”

Soap blinks like he’s just been slapped and his brows twitch up. That pause says everything—it’s clearly not the answer he expected. Then he gives me a silent once-over, less judgment and more genuine curiosity this time.

“Soap will show you around.” Price claps a hand on my shoulder, effectively pulling my attention. “Get some rest, kid.”

I nod before he peels away without another word. Ghost follows, grunting low as he walks past us.

“Charming fella,” I mutter, as soon as he’s out of ear shot.

“Absolutely,” Soap chuckles, and gives me a quick head nod. “Didn’t picture you like this,” he admits. “Figured you’d be… scarier.”

“Most people do,” I say. “That’s usually their first mistake.”

He grins wider. Then jerks his thumb toward the underground entrance where the others disappeared into. “C’mon. I’ll show you where we’re holed up. Try not to judge our little underground bunker too hard. We’re very sensitive.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

I follow him inside, boots echoing off the concrete. He talks a mile a minute, tossing out nicknames, half-finished stories, and warnings about the quirks of the base as if he’s afraid silence might swallow us whole.

“Mind the third step down this hall—creaks loud enough to wake Price from a coma,” he says, pointing as we descend. “Training area’s on this floor, armory’s just past that. Medical bay’s next to it—don’t ask why, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

He takes a sharp left and slaps a big red button on the wall. A door groans open, revealing another underground stretch of the base—concrete walls, dim lights, and a chill that seeps into your bones. The air smells like metal, coffee and faint gun oil.

“Mess is closer to the barracks. You’ll probably get lost a few times, but if you smell burnt toast and shitty coffee, you’re close,” he continues. “And if the lights flicker twice in there, that’s not Morse code—it just means Gaz tried to microwave something he shouldn’t.”

I arch a brow. “Define ‘something he shouldn’t.’”

“Let’s just say the inside of the microwave still has some charred bits of melted plastic we never managed to get rid of.”

“Lovely.”

Soap grins. “You’ll get used to the chaos. Just keep your boots off Price’s table and don’t touch Ghost’s tea stash.”

That catches me off guard more than it should. “Ghost drinks tea?”

“Religiously. The man’s an enigma, but God forbid you mess with his Earl Grey. Had a bloke once who drank the last packet—swear Ghost’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for his handgun right there.”

“Sounds about right.”

We move deeper into the base. It’s a mix of sterile corridors and old reinforced concrete, the kind of place that still hums with Cold War memories. The smell of disinfectant coming from the hallway leading to the medbay overpowers everything else before we go down another flight of stairs. 

“Quarters are down this way,” he says, motioning me forward. Soap moves like he’s used to being in control of his space, comfortable but still easygoing. “You know, I’m pretty sure Price stuck you with me ‘cause I’m the most socially adjusted one around.” 

“Uh, is that code for ‘loud enough to break the tension when Ghost’s being extra murdery’?” 

Soap snorts. “You catch on quick.” He pushes open the door leading to a long hallway lined with evenly spaced doors. “So why’d you sign up? What made you wanna do this job?”

I exhale, reading the names on the doors as we walk by. “Didn’t sign up.”

Soap frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

I glance at him, debating how much to say. “Price invited me.”

His expression shifts, curiosity deepening. “That so?”

I nod. “Maybe he thought you lot needed someone to keep your asses out of trouble.”

Soap lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich. Price must’ve thought you were some miracle worker, then.”

“Something like that,” I say with a half smile.

“Think you’re up to the task?”

I shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Soap watches me for a beat, then nods. “Fair enough.”

We pause in front of a reinforced door with two nameplates already slapped on it—Soap and now, underneath, Reaper.

“How official,” I mutter.

“Price likes to label things,” Soap says, pushing the door open and stepping aside with a mock bow. “After you.”

The room is basic—two bunks, two lockers, a small desk shoved against the far wall. The covers on the bed furthest from the door are slightly wrinkled, like someone was lying there not long ago. There’s a black notebook on the desk and a half-empty bottle of water on the same side. 

I step inside and drop my bag beside the bed that doesn’t look lived-in. This is not much different from every other barracks I’ve ever stayed in. At least it’s not just an old mattress on the floor, so that’s something to be grateful for. 

The adrenaline from the mission's long gone, and exhaustion is settling in like a weighted blanket. I need to sleep, I need food and a shower. Perhaps not in that order.

Soap watches me for a second, then nudges the door shut with his boot and leans against the wall. “So… what’s your deal?”

I glance at him. “That’s subtle.”

He grins, unrepentant. “C’mon. You’ve got the whole ‘mysterious loner’ thing going on. Ghost’s got it too, but you’ve got a different flavor. Less murdery, more… haunted.”

“Charming.”

“I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I unzip my rucksack and start unpacking—just the essentials. Extra ammo mags and spare knives go on my locker. A beat-up copy of Bravo Two Zero that’s survived five deployments and two IEDs on my side of the desk. My zippo lighter resting on top of it.

Soap sits on his bed, watching me like he’s trying to piece me together. His eyes follow me as I move around the room, tracking my every motion like I’m some cryptid he’s studying.

I can feel the weight of it—his curiosity. He’s waiting for me to drop some kind of hint, a clue that might tell him who the hell I am and where I came from.

Tough luck. I’m not going to make that an easy task.

Instead of giving him what he wants, I ask, “You always this chatty?”

“Nah,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Only when I’m bored. Or nervous.”

The scent of gunpowder and sweat clings to everything I’m wearing. I peel off my tac vest and toss it on the floor. Then tug my overshirt over my head, sleeves still stained with dried blood, and drop it onto the growing pile.

“Which one is it now, bored or nervous?”

Soap shifts on his bed and lies on his back, sprawled out like he’s got nowhere to be. One arm flung behind his head, the other resting on his chest. 

He grins at me, unabashed. “You’re kinda scary so I’m a bit nervous, not gonna lie.”

I snort under my breath and tug off one of my boots, tossing it with a heavy thud onto the floor. “You have no idea” I mutter.

Soap just hums, amused. His gaze never wavers, even as I sit on the edge of the bed and start unlacing the other boot with slow movements

“So,” he says after a beat, “the op went well?”

I remove my hidden combat knife from inside my other boot before kicking it off as well, and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I didn’t die. That’s usually my bar.”

Soap snorts. “C’mon lass, give me something.”

I roll my eyes, grab a towel from my duffel, and wipe some of the grime and dried blood off my hands before responding. “Well… Ghost didn’t slow me down.” 

Soap barks out a laugh, shaking his head like I just told the world’s best joke. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.”

I glance at him, and without meaning to, the memory flickers—Ghost’s voice in the helo, low and dry as he muttered, “Soap’s gonna love this one.” Like he already knew how this conversation would play out.

“Funny,” I say, tossing the towel aside. “He said the same thing about you.”

Soap perks up instantly, sitting up straighter like I just activated some hidden command word. “He did?”

“Yeah.” I smirk as I unzip a side pocket and pull out a crumpled ration bar. “Said you were gonna love me.”

Soap blinks. “Ghost said that?”

I nod, tearing open the wrapper with my teeth. “Well, not in those exact words. More like… ‘Soap’s gonna love this one.’ Real heartfelt.”

He lets out a low whistle and leans back against the wall, eyes wide with mock awe. “Bloody hell. That’s practically poetry coming from him.”

I take a bite of the bar, chewing slowly, pretending not to enjoy how off-balance he looks. He’s still trying to figure me out—and now he knows Ghost might already have.

The room’s gone quiet, except for the hum of the ventilation and the occasional groan of pipes hidden somewhere deep in the walls.

Soap’s voice cuts through it, softer this time—thoughtful. “He doesn’t say things like that lightly, y’know.”

I pause halfway through a bite. “I figured.”

He’s sitting up now, legs crossed on his bunk, elbows resting on his knees as he watches me. There’s no teasing in his expression this time—just curiosity and something else. Caution, maybe.

“You get under his skin or something?”

I don’t say anything right away. Not because I don’t know how to answer—but because the question is too close to something I haven’t put into words yet.

“Not on purpose,” I say finally. “We didn’t exactly spend a lot of time talking.”

“Still…” 

Soap squints at me, like he’s trying to see through fog. “You’ve got him clocked already, don’t you?”

I shrug one shoulder, turning back to my pack. “Enough to keep up. Tonight was just… easy.”

I drop into a seated position on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms behind me, rolling my shoulders until they pop. The tension still lingers in my spine, a phantom from the mission that hasn’t quite let go yet. I wince as one knot tightens, then breathe out slow.

Soap tilts his head. “Easy?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear someone say that about working with Ghost.” His brow furrows, like he’s been giving a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. “He doesn’t always tolerate new people, let alone say anything close to a compliment.”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, trust me—‘she’ll do’ is practically a love letter, coming from him. Means he’s already counting you as one of us.” He glances at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “And that’s honestly kinda freaky, not gonna lie.”

I let out a quiet huff, more amused than annoyed, and start undoing the velcro on one of my kneepads. “Why?”

“Ghost is picky about who he works with, and it takes him a while to get used to new people. Makes me wonder what the hell you did tonight.”

He says it like he expects a full report, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for a confession. I debate brushing him off. But instead, I give him just enough.

“We didn’t even have to talk out there,” I say, tugging off the other kneepad. “We just did our job. No drama, no fuss.” I glance at him. “I mean, I thought I was the quiet one until I met him. We exchanged maybe… ten words.”

Soap straightens a little. “During the op?”

“Total. Since Price introduced us before the briefing.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” I lean back on my hands, staring up at the ceiling, voice quieter now. “You ever work with someone and it just clicks? No uncertainty. No stumbling over each other. You move, they move. Go in, do what you gotta do, and get out.”

Soap goes still for a second. “Ghost’s not exactly the click-with-anyone type.”

“Guess we’re both weird, then.”

Soap just hums, his tone light but observant. “You’ve already cracked his surface, I can tell.”

I glance over at him, one eyebrow raised as I pull my legs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “Yeah?”

He nods, stretching like a cat before slouching back against the headboard, arms folded behind his head. “Mm-hmm. He didn’t glare once on the landing pad. Coming from Ghost, that's the same as a hug.”

I snort, resting my forearms on my knees. “Maybe he was just too tired to be annoyed.”

“Doubt it,” Soap says, chuckling. “Man could be bleeding out and still judge you with a single look.”

That earns a quiet laugh from me, soft and unexpected. He's not wrong. Ghost has a stare that could strip paint off a wall—and I’m not sure whether I passed through it unscathed or he just didn’t bother trying.

He watches me, that same little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s filing this entire conversation away somewhere in his brain for future reference. “You’re not what I expected.”

I smirk as I pull my hair loose from its braid, fingers running through the tangled strands. “Most people say that right before they start running in the opposite direction screaming.”

He laughs, bright and genuine, like he didn’t expect me to have a sense of humor. “You’d have to do a lot worse than ‘efficient in combat and surprisingly sarcastic’ to scare me off.”

“Give it time,” I mutter, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail and flicking the tie around it.

Soap raises an eyebrow, grinning. “That a promise or a threat?”

I shoot him a look. “Depends on how loud you snore.”

“You’ve got attitude, I’ll give you that.”

I let out a soft snort, surprised I’m even still talking. I usually shut down after missions. Go silent. Vanish into my own head. But Soap makes it hard to stay closed off—he talks like the world hasn’t broken him yet.

That’s refreshing. 

It’s strange—this ease. I’m not used to it. Not with strangers.

I shift on the bed, propping one knee up and leaning back on my hands. The mattress isn’t exactly comfortable—standard issue, stiff as hell—but it’ll do.

“Really, though. You snore?” I ask, tilting my head toward him.

He lifts an eyebrow, mock offense written all over his face. “You planning to smother me in my sleep if I do?”

I grin. “Just gathering intel.”

Soap huffs a laugh, ruffling a hand through his mohawk like he’s considering whether this is a trap. “Nah, not usually. Unless I’m sick. Or really, really drunk.” He pauses, then gestures vaguely in my direction. “You? Any weird sleeping habits I need to know about?”

I hum, pretending to think, dragging it out as I reach into my bag for a spare shirt to change into after a shower. “Well, I do this thing where I levitate six inches off the bed and speak in tongues around 3am.”

Soap snorts, loud and abrupt. “Ah, brilliant. Can’t wait. Should I keep holy water on standby?”

“You can try.”

I settle back against the wall, tucking one leg under the other. My body’s starting to calm, with that dull soreness that always creeps in after the action stops finally setting in. There’s a moment of quiet between us—not awkward, not tense. Just… still.

Then I speak, my voice low and even.

“I sleep light.”

Soap doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me, expression unreadable now. Waiting. Listening.

I exhale through my nose, slowly, eyes fixed on the far wall.

“If you ever notice me slipping out for a stroll in the middle of the night,” I murmur, quieter this time, “just turn around and go back to sleep, yeah?”

The weight of the words hangs in the air like smoke. I don’t look at him. Don’t need to.

A beat passes. Then another.

Soap’s voice comes soft and steady, no hesitation.

“Aye.”

That’s it. No questions. No judgment. Just that simple word, like an unspoken agreement. Like he’s already accepting my quirks.

I nod once, just enough to feel it. Then I lie back and close my eyes, giving myself a moment to rest before crawling out again to take a shower.

It’s not trust. Not yet.

But it’s something.

--

*Scáthach is pronounced "Ska-ha" (IPA: /ˈskaːhax/).

The "Scá" sounds like "ska" (as in Skate or Scar). The "thach" is a softer "ha" sound with a slight guttural "ch" at the end (similar to the "ch" in the Scottish "loch" or German "Bach").

--

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