New Camera 🔥
Matt Sturniolo x y/n (fem)
warnings: SMUUUUUTTT NSFW 18+ (umm lots. use of camera/recording, dom matt, degrading, slapping, language, daddy kink, slight choking, unprotected, creampie, j very rough)
authors note: so this won the vote for which y’all wanted first! ask and u shall receive! this one is FILTHY AND KINKY so if that’s not ur vibe, uve been warned…also side note, i feel like this goes without saying but, i write mostly unprotected… guys pls don’t actually do that. wrap it before u tap it🫶 ok luv u!! enjoy!!
summary: your boyfriend matt gets a new camera before going on tour and decides to experiment with it on you…
word count: 2,270 w
~you look good on camera baby let’s go make a film~
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your phone buzzed on your desk.
“be over in 10 babe ❤️” read a message from matt. you went back to fixing your makeup in the mirror, wanting to look your best for your boyfriends last night home. Matt was about to leave to go on tour tomorrow and it would be a month and a half before you got to see him again. even though you were excited for him, you wanted to make sure it was extra hard for him to leave you. after swiping on some lip gloss, you rummaged through your closet and landed on a thin white tank and flannel shorts. comfy, but still cute and showed just the right amount of skin to hopefully get his attention. your doorbell rang and you ran to answer it.
“hi, beautiful” matt said, pulling you in for a kiss.
“hi” you said smiling at him, the chill from outside hitting your mostly bare skin. he closed the door and walked in. his eyes gave you a once over as he took off his coat.
“you look hot” he smirked
“oh yeah?” you replied coyly, turning to head back down the hall.
“yeah. some shorts” he chuckled out, blatantly checking out your ass.
“what these?” you teased, bending over slightly
“don’t start with me, y/n” matt came up behind you and slapped your ass, playfully but hard. the two of you walked to your room and you flopped on your bed, reaching for the remote to your tv. matt followed and unzipped his backpack, rummaging through it and pulling out a box.
“whatcha got there?”
“bought a new vlog camera for tour!” he answered, excitedly
“wanna see?” he sat down next to you, showing off the new device.
“oooo fancy” you knew nothing about cameras, but pretended to be impressed since matt was so enthusiastic. his fingers whizzed around the buttons.
“it’s got awesome quality and it’s so easy to use” he continued, the machine chirped as he hit the red button and pointed it at your face.
“matttt” you whined, covering your face with your hands.
“what are you being camera shy?” he snickered, standing above you continuing to point the lens at you.
“cmon show me that gorgeous face of yours baby” you huffed, dramatically and lowered your hands looking up at him.
“that’s my pretty girl” he cooed, making a smile toy at the corners of your mouth. you could never say no to him. his eyes flicked over you behind the camera and you tried to read what he was thinking. he licked his lips and backed up, silently, getting a wider view of you in frame. you stayed put on the bed.
“take your top off” he stated, flatly.
“matt-what—?” you nervously laughed out
“did i say it was a question? take your top off” something about the harshness of his tone was so out of character it made your heart race. you reached for the hem of your tank and began to lift it.
“damn, baby” matt growled out, lowering the camera to capture your exposed tits. you breathed heavily, unable to bring yourself to move from your perched position on the edge of your bed. your eyes followed as his hands lowered the camera even further to where you had your hands in your lap.
“now your shorts”
“but—matt—im not wearing any underwear” you stuttered.
“and?”
“well you’re filming i mean i—“
“if you’re gonna be a little slut and not wear your panties then i get to treat you like a little slut. strip.” he interrupted, gruffly. you couldn’t help but notice how insanely hot he sounded being so demanding, and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see your already obvious wetness. you reached for your waistband, standing, never taking your eyes off him as you began to lower your shorts to the floor. you stepped out of them and kicked them aside. nervousness spread goosebumps across your skin as you became aware of how completely exposed you were to matt and his camera. this was unlike anything you’d ever done before.
“good girl” matt praised, dryly.
“you wanna give me a better view of that pretty little ass of yours and bend over the bed for me?” you felt as vulnerable to matt’s commands as the machine in his hands. you slowly turned half way and rested your hands on your bed, lifting your ass into better view for him.
“fuck” he exhaled. you could feel him move closer behind you. he brought a hand sharply down against your flesh. you whimpered.
“so sexy” he growled.
“got me so hard just looking at you baby” you turned your head back to look at him. he laughed, sinisterly.
“what? you wanna see what you’re doing to me, slut? huh?”
you nodded, dumbly. he snickered again.
“course you do. get on your knees for me.” he demanded. you followed every order like a well trained dog. you settled down by his feet and looked back up at him, as he readjusted the lens again.
“mmmm you look so perfect from this angle, babygirl” he praised stroking your face gently, before slapping his hand against your cheek just enough to sting a bit. your jaw dropped slightly in surprise, which matt took as an opportunity to slid his thumb into your mouth. you sucked at his digit and he groaned, watching you before sliding it back out of your mouth creating a popping sound.
“take off my pants” he commanded. you eagerly fumbled with his belt and zipper, hooking your fingers around the waste and and pulling slowly. his already rock hard dick sprung out and slapped his t shirt. your mouth almost watered in desperation at the sight of his veiny, practically throbbing, member.
“open your mouth, baby” he exhaled. you looked up into the camera, doe eyed and parted your lips with your tongue out slightly. he pumped himself with his free hand, the tip of his dick just grazing your lips and tongue and then began to slowly insert himself into your warm wet mouth. he ran his hand down your head, petting your hair, soothingly, as you took him all the way down the back of your throat. fighting the urge to gag at his size.
“such a good girl” matt groaned. his pets reached the base of your skull, then latched harshly into your hair. his grip was tight, as he began to thrust into your mouth. you felt tears form at the corner of your eyes as he forcefully fucked your throat. matt let his grasp on your hair go and slid himself out of your mouth. he grabbed your jaw and forced you to turn your messy face to him, getting a clear shot of the streaks of tears on your cheeks and spit running down your chin.
“get on your hands and knees. i need to feel that pretty little pussy of yours” he huffed, patting your face again. you scrambled to the bed, desperate to feel him fill you up. you’d never felt so much heat screaming from between your legs in your life. you arched your back, letting matt have perfect access to your dripping folds. matt dragged a finger down them, teasing you and eliciting a loud whine from your lips.
“soaking for me already huh, slut?” he mocked. all you could do in response was whimper.
“so pathetic for me” he taunted, pressing two fingers against your entrance.
“matt—please—“ you breathed out in agony
“camera can’t hear you, baby. be a good little slut and beg louder for me.”
“Matt—fuck—-please—i need your dick now—“ you cried out, the need for contact almost eating away at your brain. you screamed as matt rammed into you, entirely, and without warning. the unprepared sensation of stretch caused a pleasurable pain to radiant through you. he groaned, finally feeling your wet pussy around his torturously hard dick. he began to relentlessly pound into you from behind, filling the room with deafening slapping sounds intermixed with your screams and his grunts.
“MATT—“ you cried out, overwhelmed by his intensity, collapsing your face into the pillows beneath you.
“what? ” he wrapped his free hand around a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back up.
“don’t act like you can’t handle my cock now, slut.” he snarled, not letting up on his unwavering rhythm in and out of your core. he slapped your ass again.
“understand?”
“yes matt” you wheezed. he slapped your ass again.
“yes, who?”
“fuckk—yes, daddy” you sobbed out
“good girl” his thrusts hit your g spot each time, making your legs shake and stars form against your tightly squeezed eyelids.
“you wanna show me how much you love my cock, princess?”
“yes, daddy” you hardly could think straight
“bounce that perfect ass on my cock, baby” he said, slowing his thrusts. you obeyed and began to rock your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his dick.
“good girl. doing such a good job” he sang out, one hand gripping your flesh while the other captured your movement on film. you whimpered again, your hips stuttering.
“you tired, princess?” you nodded and let out another pathetic sound.
“need daddy to take over again?”
“yes—oh fuck—please daddy-“ you managed to mumble out. Matt pulled out of you abruptly, causing you to whine at the loss. you couldn’t move anymore, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop fucking you. he slapped your ass again
“turn over” he growled
“i wanna see your pretty face when i cum in your pussy” you felt like you could cum from his filthy requests alone. you’d barely even landed on you back before matt slammed back into your throbbing entrance. he struggled to keep his balance momentarily, too desperate to feel you around him again. he kept one hand supporting himself upright and the other still holding the camera, pointed at you as his picked back up his steady thrusts.
“so perfect—look ss-so good—with my cock stuffed inside your little pussy” he huffed out between thrusts
“OH—fuck—yes—your cock feels so good, daddy” you moaned out, helplessly. your eyes rolling back into your head. matt’s free hand wrapped around your throat, constricting your breathing perfectly.
“watch me while i fuck you, slut” he growled.
“yes, daddy” you wheezed out against his tight grip. he removed his hand and you gasped for air. within moments of his dick pounding perfectly back against your sweet spot, you felt your orgasm begin to crest.
“FUCK—IM—“ you panted.
“that’s it—good girl—cum all over daddy’s cock” he ordered. your walls clenched and throbbed around him uncontrollably, causing him to let out a string of curse words. you felt his dick begin to twitch deep inside you.
“ohh-hh-fuck—shit” he stuttered out, his thrusts becoming wilder and less expertise.
“mmm—close—“ he groaned, his jaw dropping slightly.
“mmmm fuck yeah cum inside me, daddy” you whined out, your high still settling.
“shit yeah baby? you want me to fill your little pussy?”
your brows knotted and your nodded your head desperately.
“fuck i’ll fill you up—so full of cum—baby you’ll look—-so perfect—spilling out of you” he huffed
“OH FUCK FUCK BABY IM GONNA CUM” he cried out as his whole body shook. he thrust deep into you one last time, halting as his cock spasmed against your walls. releasing a multitude of spurts of his hot white load. once matt seemed to regain his senses, he clicked the red button again—ending his taping. he pulled out of you slowly, making your legs shake. he glanced down at your trembling sensitive entrance leaking his release in pulses and bit his lip in a satisfied smirk, snapping one last photo of the mess he’d made of you.
“MATT!” you laughed out in embarrassment, shutting your legs and rolling onto your side.
“sorry…i had to. too hot not save” he said, smiling and flopping down next to you.
“are you okay? was that too much?” he asked, pushing your hair out of your face.
“no way. i loved that”
“you swear i wasn’t too rough with you?” he said with worry. you shook your head vigorously
“not at ALL! that was HOT” you replied through a smile. he fought a grin, biting his lip clearly extremely pleased at your enthusiasm.
“so can i ask what inspired the camera?” you questioned.
“well, now on tour i can reminisce what it’s like to fuck my crazy hot girlfriend” he smiled at the ceiling.
“hey!” you slapped his chest playfully “you know you can always facetime me and we cannnnn” you dragged your words out, looking off into the distance above his face in teasing suggestion.
“oh don’t you worry, we’ll have phone sex all the time. this is just for when you can’t call me and i need to…y’know” he glanced down at his crotch.
“jesus, how many times are you planning on jerking off” you teased
“twice a day. minimum.” he matter of factly stated, grinning again.
“MATTHEW!” you scoffed out in shock
“What? not my fault you’re so sexy” he laughed, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips.
“yeah yeah whatever. just NEVER show that to anyone”
“are you kidding me? you think i’d ever let anyone else get a look at you like that? nhhuhh nope.” he shook his head dramatically
“only i get to see how perfect you look getting your brains fucked out” he leaned in, kissing you playfully again. you giggled, feeling a slight blush.
“i love you, you freak” you said against his lips.
“i love you more, baby”
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ok y’all were on to something with wanting this one cause WHY DO I LOVE IT?? rly hope everyone likes it ahhh 🫶🫶
also guys imagine matt accidentally posting the wrong video and posts ur tape instead of a car video?? HAHA
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Yandere Simon "Ghost" Riley Headcanons
Summary: You were just a civilian caught in the crossfire, kidnapped by a cartel and held prisoner. And now, after being rescued by Ghost, you may wonder if you are any safer with him than you were out there.
Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of physical abuse, memory loss/amnesia, loss of ability to walk (temporary), yandere behaviour, toxic behaviour, possessive behaviour, kind of slow burn, romantic tension, Ghost gets jealous, somewhat angsty in some parts, very fluffy in others (a good balance), mentions of interrogation, Reader showcases anxiety, no use of pronouns for Reader except ‘you’, mentions of games,
Wordcount: 7,581 words
You were a tourist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time - seen things you weren’t meant to see.
And that’s how you ended up here, chained up in a warehouse for what you could only have guessed to have been a couple of months.
You were barely kept alive by restricted rations of food and water the cartel members gave you, needing you alive but just weak enough to not be able to fight back.
They kept you around for their own amusement, hitting you, beating you, humiliating you.
You missed your family, your friends, your old life. You truly believed, with a heavy heart, that you’d die here without ever getting the chance to see them again.
Until…
It had all happened so fast that you couldn’t keep up with it all.
One minute there was a group of men playing poker at a table nearby, the next they’d all been blown away by some nigh-silent, unseen force.
As soon as it had began, it was all over, though gunfire resonated from deeper within the warehouse.
Your heart thudded, your mind hazy and heavy yet just about conscious enough to acknowledge a set of heavy, booted footsteps nearing you.
A walkie-talkie crackled, followed by a deep, gravelly voice.
“One potential hostage found. Commencing collection now.”
The chains keeping you tethered to the metal post were cut and your hands fell.
You barely had the strength to lift them, nevermind your head, which lolled forward, gaze fixed in your lap.
The person who you presumed to have released you knelt down before you. A gloved hand pushed against your forehead, forcing you to look at them.
He was ghastly.
His flesh face was covered by a second, the insignia of his endoskeleton splayed across a dark mask. His eyes were dark and seemed to swallow all light that tried to glimmer within them.
“Can you talk?” he said. His voice was calm yet lacked patience, as if he knew time was short.
You could barely move, barely think.
You said nothing.
The man took your non-answer and moved to lift you, keeping an arm under yours and the other firmly holding his gun.
Now, stood at full height, walking on legs you hadn’t used in months, your body couldn’t handle it.
Your blood pressure dropped and so did you.
The man grunted as your weight collapsed into him, almost taking him with you.
You fell unconscious, and the man rearranged you, slinging his gun over his shoulder and carrying you in his arms.
The next time you awoke, the setting was drastically different.
The dust-filled, sweltering warehouse you had grown accustomed to had given was to a blindingly white facility, the scent of streilisers and medicine filling your nostrils.
You couldn’t move much, body heavy yet soul willing, and your eyes shifted beneath hooded lids.
A machine beeped closeby, one you recognised to be mimicking your heartbeat. The rest of the room was quiet, save for the turning of paper somewhere.
The surface beneath you was plush, encompassing you, unlike the warehouse floor.
Putting the pieces together, your heart began to pound. The heart monitor copied.
A nearby nurse rushed to your side, turning your head this way and that and shining a light in your eyes, talking at you rather than to you.
The rest became a blur.
Doctors visited, recorded your condition. You didn’t know where you were but you knew you were safe. For now, at least.
Some officers came and tried speaking to you, only to find you unable (or unwilling) to talk.
This came as a discovery to you, too.
Soon after waking up, you found that your mind, your memories, were blank. Nothing of your prior self remained save for an overview of your torturous time in captivity, and…
That mask.
The man who’d saved you.
You found it hard to speak, not having done so properly in months save for begging for your life and crying whenever you were alone.
When one of the officers asked you if there was anything you needed, your body acted on instinct, by reflex, and came out with only one word.
“Skull.”
Ghost was stationed by you shortly after that, having been known to be the one who brought you back to Base and the only one to resemble the ‘skull’ you’d spoken of.
The task was…mind numbing, to say the least.
After your singular request for the man who saved you, you went silent again.
No words, no noises, just you sat in the hospital bed, dead to the world.
Nobody could coax a word from you, not even Ghost, as you heard him introduce himself.
The events of the last couple months had forced you into a state of “Dissociative amnesia,” as the doctor had put it. “Rare, but real.”
The doctor said it could take a while for you to regain your memories, and until then, you would have to be kept under supervision.
No permanent thoughts crossed your mind during your period of blankness. They flitted in and out of your consciousness as a phantom would.
Ghost had only tried interacting with you two or three times, the first being his introduction, the others being an attempt at getting any sort of response from you.
Nothing worked, and you were both resigned to sitting in silence with one another.
Days passed, you weren’t sure how many.
Ghost was getting impatient.
He knew you could be a key witness to the cartel’s deeper activities, but he knew he couldn’t force your cooperation. Not while you were practically vegetative, at least.
Ghost sat on a chair by your bedside, all but resembling a mannequin.
He stared into the distance.
“Oh,” came your small, croaking voice. “It’s you.”
Ghost almost didn’t turn to look at you, believing the voice to be a hallucination.
He hazarded a glance and almost considered jumping.
You looked at him, dead into his eyes, conscious, talking.
Another blur of activity surrounded you immediately after, Ghost alerting the doctors to you becoming vocal again and leaving them to do their job not long after.
Tests were run, your memory was tested (of which there was still little), and the better part of a day was spent observing you, trying to determine whether you were ready for interrogation or not.
Luckily, the higher-ups seemed to feel lenient, giving you longer to recover until you were expected to produce answers to their copious questions.
In the meantime, Ghost was assigned to you day and night, both as your protector and observer.
He was…quiet, to say the least.
Rarely spoke unless spoken to, meaning he was of little entertainment to you in your bed-bound state.
This led to you trying to make small talk, regardless of whether Ghost would respond or not.
Little did you know that, despite his lack of participation, Ghost was listening to every single word you said.
During a one-sided conversation, you mentioned colouring, an activity you liked when you were younger.
“Yeah!” you said, face lighting up as you slowly recalled a memory of your younger self, colouring book in tow. “I remember that my grandma had this old, really old colouring book that she gave me. It was vintage, smelled like antique book pages, sweet,”
Ghost watched you, listened. He saw your face light up. You looked at him, eyes smiling.
“It was nearly as old as her when she gave it to me; I was terrified of ruining it so I never coloured in it. Just kept it safely on my bookshelf, looked at the pictures before bed…”
The day after, Ghost came to you with a colouring book and a box of pencils.
“Not exactly vintage, but it’ll do,” he said, laying the book and the utensils on your bedside.
You smiled up at him as he settled into his seat.
“Thank you, Ghost,” you said, smiling. “I mean it.”
Ghost offered minimal input whenever you spoke to him, which you still did while you coloured the pictures.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
After that, over the course of a week, more memories came back to you.
They were small, inconsequential at best, but they were evidence that you were making a fast recovery.
And Ghost was there to hear every single one of them.
Whenever you came out with something new, he’d write it down in a Base-issued notebook, telling you to slow down whenever words failed you, your mind wrapped up in splinters of who you were - who you are.
And you would glance at his notes every now and then.
“Wow,” you said, suppressing a smile. “Your handwriting’s worse than mine.”
“I’d like to see you do better,” Ghost replied, barely casting you a glance.
You reached for the pen, which Ghost withheld from you until he realised what you were trying to do.
Now, equipped, you turned to a new page in the notebook and tried writing something.
It came out like a doctor’s signature, merely cursive scribbles that meant nothing to the untrained eye.
Ghost eyed your work.
“What you tryna write?” he said, accent rough.
You bit your lip, trying to focus all your efforts on making what was in your head come out onto the paper.
“My name,” you said.
Ghost seemed to straighten up at that.
The memory was weak, a fawn stumbling on its wiry legs, trying to find purchase.
But it was there, behind frosted glass. You could vaguely make out the letters which would be the key to your existence.
You kept scrawling, muscle memory having weakened significantly, until you hit upon a familiar pattern.
The ‘letters’ were indecipherable, even to yourself. The memory of your name began to fade, and, though you grasped at it, you were left with nothing as it was consumed by darkness.
You stopped writing, defeat overtaking you.
“Why’d you stop?” Ghost asked, looking up from the notebook to you.
You felt tears fill your eyes, tried to keep them in.
“I forgot again,” you said, voice cracking.
The pen lay limp in your hand, and Ghost removed it, putting it down.
The fabric of his glove against your skin sent a jolt through you, unexpected but strangely comforting.
“Well,” Ghost said, a temporary solution coming to him. “How ‘bout we give you a new name, just ‘til you find your real one.”
You sniffed, tried smiling at the gesture, and nodded.
You went back and forth for a while, trying to think of a name that would suit you based on the limited information you had about yourself so far.
“It needs to be nice,” you said. Ghost gave a slight inclination of a nod. You kept thinking.
“Fawn,” Ghost said.
His eyes bore into you, though you suspected that was just his disposition rather than him intentionally trying to spook you.
“How’s that sound?”
You tried the name on your tongue, then, you beamed.
“I like it,” you said, giving Ghost a grateful smile.
From that day on, Ghost referred to you as Fawn, a name that the rest of the Base staff called you, too, having nothing else to call you.
Ghost never told you why he picked that name. Perhaps he saw something in you that resembled your namesake. Your newborn optimism, perhaps.
At your bedside night and day, Ghost became the first and only witness of your memories as they slowly revealed themselves to you.
Some were light-hearted, some were filled with the natural sorrow found in human life, and some were downright embarrassing; all of which gave Ghost gradual insights into who you are.
He eventually seemed comfortable enough to make fun of your more embarrassing ones, such as the time you went to a store your crush worked at, only to find that you had toilet paper stuck to the heel of your shoe the entire time.
This became somewhat of a joke between you and Ghost. One that the staff seemed to find confusing.
Whenever staff escorted you to and from the bathroom, Ghost would look down at your feet.
“No toilet paper to worry about this time,” he’d say.
Your face would burn at the memory, but you’d laugh regardless.
You also forced him to listen to music that came to you as visions from another time, tunes which you’d hum to Ghost, who recorded them, took them to whoever, and would come back with the song it originated from.
Soon, you had three or four CDs which contained music you’d enjoyed before your amnesia.
They all felt and sounded familiar. Comforting.
You’d implore (guilt trip) Ghost to listen to them, too.
His face - his eyes, really, the rest of it was covered - were blank as you passed him the headphones, preparing himself to listen to whatever you’d found that day.
He gave no indication of whether he enjoyed it or not.
“I can see why you like it,” is all he would say, passing the headphones back to you.
“Oh?” you said once, laying the headphones on the bed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Ghost leaned forward onto his knees, elbows propped upon them.
“It means,” he began, “that I’m not surprised this is the type of music you listen to.”
You feigned hurt, having slowly regained your ability to utilise humour after your diagnosis, the days getting easier.
“Well, I bet I can guess what type of music you like to listen to.” You held a smile on your face, just bordering on smug.
Ghost gave you a look. “Oh yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on, then.”
You pretended to think for a moment, already having thought this question through many times before. Ghost was elusive, that much was plain to see, yet you imagined him in ways that made him familiar - human - to you.
“I bet you like metal,” you said. “Heavy.”
Ghost gave a sound that may have been a laugh.
“Am I that easy to read?” he said, a smirk vague in his tone.
“No,” you replied, innocently. “I’m just not surprised that’s the type of music you listen to.”
Ghost gave a slow, sarcastic, demeaning clap, muffled by his gloves.
“All right, well done,” he said, the smirk in his voice growing.
The two of you played board games together, too.
Initially, he let you win, claiming that life in the military had left him “No time for leisure.”
Translation: “I haven’t played board games in an age.”
You picked up early on he was letting you win and insisted on having him play fairly.
There was something deeply enigmatic about watching a trained soldier try and mask his frustration when he lands on Mayfair for the third time in Monopoly.
Whenever you’d lose you’d challenge him to another game, thus continuing the cycle of celebration and condemnation, with you claiming he was “cheating” when he won.
“You told me to play fair,” Ghost would say, a smugness in his voice.
Not all times with Ghost were light-hearted, however.
Even if his presence reassured you, there was the overwhelming feeling that you were missing out on something.
You knew you had family, if they were still alive, but you didn’t know them.
Friends, too. You wondered how many you had.
If you had a crush, that meant you interacted with people on some scale, right?
And it was in times like these, times when you just wanted to go home, wherever that was, that Ghost was there for you.
More often than not you’d end up in tears, trying to stifle them.
Ghost said nothing as you wept, chiming in only when he deemed the onslaught over.
“Why don’t blind guys skydive?” he said once.
You sniffed, wiping your nose, and looked at him.
“What?” you said.
“I said, why don’t blind guys skydive?”
You looked down, as if the answer lay in your hands. You shrugged.
“Scares the shit outta their dogs.”
Silence for a second. And then, a laugh.
You gave a laugh, airy at first but firmer the longer it went on.
You put a hand over your mouth, as if to hide your growing smile from Ghost.
Wiping the streaks of tears from your cheeks, you looked at him.
“Thank you,” you said. “I feel a little better.”
“S’what I’m here for.”
About two weeks into your rescue, your physical training began.
Having fully recovered from malnutrition, Base wanted you to start learning how to walk again, both for your convenience and theirs.
Ghost attended each meeting you had to go to, watching from the sidelines as a nurse guided you between two wooden poles.
The sessions were tough. Very tough.
You felt useless, responsible for your own suffering.
“If I’d done more, if I’d fought harder-”
“Then you’d be dead,” Ghost would insist whenever you questioned your choices.
“Types like the ones who kidnapped you don’t enjoy people who can easily fight them off. Trust me, you did the right thing.”
After sessions, you were usually tired, opting to try and push for an extra hour or so to get back your ability to walk quicker.
The nurse would insist you rest immediately afterwards.
One evening, you wanted to push yourself.
“I need to do this,” you told Ghost, pulling your legs over the side of the bed. He stood by your bedside, waiting to catch you if you fell.
“I need to-” you slid off the bed, lost your balance, and fell into Ghost’s arms.
His chest was rock solid, and he held you by your arms, close to him, helping you back up.
“You need to rest,” he said, trying to guide you back to bed.
“No!” You yelled, immediately regretting it.
Still in Ghost’s arms, you looked away, shame overtaking you.
“I’m sorry, Ghost, but I- I really, really need to…”
You didn’t finish your sentence. Ghost remained silent for a minute, then nodded.
“Alright,” he said, pulling you away from the bed.
“I’ll help you.”
In your room, Ghost walked a few laps with you, his hold emigrating from your underarms to your elbows, and then to your hands.
You took uneven, shaking steps, but they were steps in the right direction.
You smiled back at Ghost as he stood behind you, helping you.
Another couple of weeks passed. Ghost would give you secret after-session sessions, helping you walk wherever you pleased (within the confines of the room).
You were still shaky, very weak in certain areas, but you were getting stronger, more reliable.
You got to know Ghost more whenever you were resting in your room.
“My favourite colour,” you began one day, “is…[f/c].”
Ghost gave a brief noise of acknowledgement.
“What’s yours?” you asked, continuing to colour.
Ghost spoke plainly. “A secret,” he said.
You blinked, wondering if you’d misheard him.
“Huh?” you said, looking up at him.
There was no humour in his eyes. He was dead serious.
“Aww, come on!” you said, oddly hurt by his lack of willing. “You don’t trust me?”
Ghost’s eyes said everything and nothing at the same time.
“Depends,” he said, diplomatically. “D’you trust me?”
“Yes,” you said, without hesitation and with all the certainty of someone who felt nothing but trust and blind faith.
Ghost’s eyes widened for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting your answer, or maybe the light was playing tricks with your eyes.
Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything, you tried to cover for his absence.
“I mean, it’d be hard not to.” You looked down at your colouring book. You became warm, as if confessing something personal.
“You saved my life, you protect me, you’re always there when I need you,”
“Because it’s my job.” Ghost’s declaration came out as if it were an attack, a deterrent for you to not pursue this line of thinking any further.
You swallowed and continued on.
“Yeah, you could say that,” you said. “But you took this job.”
“I was assigned-”
“No, no, not this one,” you said gesturing to the room, looking squarely at him. “I mean as a soldier.”
Ghost said nothing, only watching you.
“Why would you take a job protecting people if you didn’t see yourself as trustworthy enough for them to rely on you?”
Your question was simple yet revealed a lot. Too much for Ghost’s liking.
Ghost gave no response, his gaze travelling elsewhere.
You dropped the conversation.
The room returned to silence.
“Green.” Ghost’s voice came out of nowhere, low, making you jump.
You looked at him. He said nothing else.
You swallowed, looked down at your box of pencils, and withdrew a green pencil. You passed it to Ghost, who took it reluctantly, and turned the colouring book so he could reach it.
You coloured the rest of the page together.
Then, the interrogations began.
What memories and names Base didn’t gather from your notes, they tried extracting from you in ‘interviews’.
They were simple enough at first: what did you see during your time with the cartel; what were the names of the people you encountered (ones which you hadn’t already alerted them to); how long were you in the cartel’s captivity, etc.
The interviewers were firm yet didn’t push too hard in areas which were still hazy to you.
You gave every detail you could remember and passed on every memory, no matter how small, about your time in captivity.
It brought back unwelcome feelings, the fear, the hunger, the shame…
You were offered psychological aid, which you found to be of some help, though there was an itch the psychiatrist couldn’t quite scratch.
One that you spoke to Ghost about.
“It’s like…it’s like they’re going by a script,” you said, walking with Ghost around your room, leaning against him as you navigated the circuit.
“Like they’re trying to help, they want to help, but…”
“But?” Ghost’s voice was heavy behind you, like a wall. You stopped shambling and Ghost came to a stand-still behind you.
“But…they don’t know how. They don’t know how to help me because they’ve never-”
“Been in your situation.” Ghost finished your sentence.
You turned to look at him, mouth agape as you heaved laboured breaths, your exercise having taken it out of you.
You felt a shiver crawl up your spine. Recognition.
“Yeah,” you said, exasperated. Finally, someone understood!
Ghost nodded. “I know how it feels.”
You both sat down, you on the bed and Ghost in his seat. You shifted, watching him. He searched for something to say.
“I know how your situation’s affected you,” he said. His gaze flitted from your eyes to anywhere else. “And I wish I could say it gets better. But…”
His eyes looked hard, dark. His gaze finally settled on you, penetrating your soul.
“Look, the only way you can start to rebuild your life is to talk to someone.”
“You mean…” You dared not let your gaze slip.
Ghost gave a fractional nod.
“I know these shrinks ain’t much good when it comes to our kind of trauma, but talkin’ to someone who’s been through what you have might make you feel like you’ve not lost the plot.”
You felt like a breakthrough had been made. Something, maybe excitement, crawled up your throat.
“Our?” you said, quiet, as if sharing a secret. A small smile tweaked at the corners of your lips.
Ghost gave no confirmation. But the silence was enough.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, alongside recovering more menial memories of your past, the interrogations became harsher.
You told and retold the interrogators everything you knew, any new developments which had occurred to you, forced to relive everything which had reduced you to your current condition.
But they weren’t satisfied.
They thought you had something to hide. That you were covering for the cartel by withholding names and knowledge.
The second you were back in your room, you broke down.
You ranted and raved to Ghost, who listened intently, his attention solely on you.
In one hand you squeezed your fist, looking for your stress ball; the one that, ironically, was given to you by the same people who had caused you to need it now.
You couldn’t find it. You turned to Ghost.
Hyperventilating, in your panicked, angered state, you reached out to him.
“Can I squeeze your hand?” you said, words spewing out faster than you could think about them.
Ghost seemed rigid.
You swallowed thickly.
“Please.”
Ghost took a step towards you and, slowly, he raised his hand to you.
You took it, squeezing it, trying to stamp out the anxiety pulsing through you.
With your eyes closed and breathing evening out, you held Ghost’s hand close to you, your grip lessening with every minute that passed.
After your attack, as you got ready for bed, outside of your field of vision, standing just outside your room, you didn’t see Ghost.
Didn’t see him look down at the hand you’d so intimately held, squeezed, close to your chest.
He could feel your remnant, phantom warmth encompassing it.
He clenched his fist, as if trying to hold your hand, the memory of it which swam around his like fish in a pond.
A couple days later, you were set for another interrogation.
While you were holed up in that room, Ghost remained in yours.
He searched for your stress ball, the image of your tear-stained face in the forefront of his mind.
Somewhere within his psyche, as he scoured the space for that little yellow sphere of temporary distraction, your voice echoed.
It thanked him for finding it, held him in its grip, drove him.
The warm gratitude you’d express plagued him, encompassing him in a similar, diluted warmth he’d felt when you held his hand.
He glanced under your bed. And there it was.
He plucked it and turned it over in his hand.
The gratification of seeing your face light up when he presented it to you fizzed in his mind.
And then another, heavier thought crossed his mind.
The feeling of you close to him, holding, gripping him in your time of need…did something to him.
He’d be the last to admit that he hadn’t felt warmth like that in a long time. And to forfeit it just for a moment’s gratification seemed a waste.
Ghost glanced at the ball. He deposited it deep into his pocket.
He told himself he’d return it to you later.
Later. Later.
Later came as you hobbled down the corridor with the help of a frame.
You seemed stressed. In need of release.
Ghost slid his hand into his pocket. Squeezed the ball.
“Did you find it?” you asked, hopeful. Your optimism was difficult to ignore.
Ghost shook his head. “Negative,” he said, a habit he’d picked up. Slow and intentional. He knew what he was doing. “But I’m here if you need me.”
And need him, you did.
You ended up confiding in him how the interrogation went, how the interviewers had made you feel like you had something to hide.
All the while, you clutched Ghost’s hand.
No amount of pressure you could muster could possibly hurt him, yet Ghost could tell you were holding back what little strength you had - both physical and mental.
“Don’t be shy,” Ghost said, voice cutting through your anxious ramblings. He looked down at your conjoined hands. “Squeeze harder.”
Something in the way you looked at him, with a look that said ‘I don’t want to hurt you’, crossed your eyes.
A look Ghost had nearly forgotten in his line of work.
You eventually fell into a comfortable rhythm wherein you would squeeze Ghost as hard as you could, leading to him faking injury at one point.
You chided him, you both laughed (or, Ghost nearly laughed), and you rested against your pillow.
“You know,” you said, turning to Ghost, “one day, I hope we won’t need a military.”
You were exhausted. Ghost could tell. He humoured your sleep-deprived ramblings regardless.
“So that people like you don’t have to fight for us.”
“Oh?” Ghost said. He’d be lying if he said his curiosity wasn’t piqued.
You nodded, movements growing sluggish, lethargic.
Your hand still held Ghost’s, resting it upon your stomach.
“You’re people, just like us.” You said, yawning. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Ghost felt an unfamiliar warmth spark in his chest. He ignored it.
“Not gonna happen, I can assure you that.”
“Which part?” you asked, eyes shutting.
Ghost leaned to mutter in your ear: “I’ll always be here to protect you.”
He didn’t know if you’d heard him.
When he withdrew, you were asleep. Still holding him.
He pulled his seat closer to your bedside, unable to bring himself to dislodge his hand from yours.
And that’s how he found you the morning after, awaking from his rigid sleep, still conjoined.
And thus, a habit was born.
After each interrogation, or psychiatrist visit or physical rehabilitation session, you would return to your room with Ghost and squeeze his hand until your anxiety dissipated.
All the while, your memories had begun returning at a quickened pace.
Ghost was learning more about you day by day.
Your favourite food, your home country, the names of your family members.
Your real name.
When he’d heard you say it for the first time, he swore the room got brighter.
It was beautiful and personal in ways that ‘Fawn’ could not compare.
It gave him a place to start searching for traces of you elsewhere.
Social media accounts, certificates, places of work and education - he knew he could find it all.
To make sure you were better off at home than you were at the Base is how he’d justified this interest to himself.
He still called you Fawn when you were alone, the name an inside joke between the two of you.
Speaking of, Ghost exchanged many jokes with you.
Regardless of how illogical or downright plain they were, you laughed each time.
Genuinely laughed.
Ghost wondered if you’d have reacted the same had you not been in the situation you were in right now; practically tethered to him and needing him for everything.
Well, almost everything.
After a few months of physical rehabilitation, you could just about walk again.
Your balance was a little off and you still needed the frame, but it was a start!
Ghost was there with you to celebrate, which, despite their best efforts to make you feel like a caged bird, the Base celebrated, too.
You’d been incredibly useful to them, having turned up many new leads for them to investigate.
As a reward, Base let you do something which caused Ghost to wonder if this was really the best decision.
They let you go to a bar with the boys.
To clarify, they said you could leave your room, the news of which travelled around the Base until it reached the ears of Ghost’s team.
“When were you gonna tell us?” Soap said, Alejandro nearby.
Ghost’s face was blank.
“Didn’t deem it necessary,” he said. And left it at that.
Naturally, Ghost’s team came to visit you and asked if you wanted to go to a bar with them.
“All that alcohol might help you remember something,” said Gaz, looking between you and Ghost.
You looked to Ghost, who, under the silent scrutiny of the other Force members, knew he couldn’t deny you of this freedom.
“Sure,” he said on your behalf. His eyes found yours and, while yours were filled with hope, Ghost’s seemed to exhibit a darkness never before seen by you.
You squeezed his hand that night you were set to leave.
“What if they don’t like me?” you said. “What if I was a terrible person and I remember all the bad things I’ve don-”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ghost’s voice came as a welcome distraction. You looked at him, swallowing your nerves.
“So what if they don’t like you? S’not like you’ll ever see them again.”
Ghost realised what he’d said wasn’t what you wanted to hear when your eyes widened, at which point he cleared his throat and tried again.
“What I mean is that they’ll like you regardless. Hell, they’re excited to just meet you after you’ve been holed up in confinement for the last few months.”
“You think so?” you said. Ghost nodded. And squeezed your hand back.
“I promise.”
The bar was nothing spectacular, being dimly lit and made solely out of wood, it seemed. But it was a change.
Creaking into the room, Alejandro spotted you first, throwing a cheer your way, followed by the rest of the Task Force, turning to face you.
Ghost was your shadow, large and wall-like behind you.
You held onto his wrist, daring not to let go, your other hand on the frame.
“Welcome, (Y/N),” said Gaz, lifting his drink in your general direction before taking a swig.
You gave him a slight wave, a shy smile crossing your features.
“Come, take a seat with us!” Alejandro hollered, waving you over.
You cast Ghost a glance over your shoulder. He nodded stiffly and you made your way to the group.
Ghost came to your side, with you gripping onto his arm.
His hulking mass beside you relieved you somewhat.
And, though he wouldn’t admit it, having you cling to him brought back the same feeling he experienced whenever you squeezed his hand.
Was this perhaps…liking?
The cheers of the team cut his thoughts short.
He knew you’d be safe with his team if he just left. And, with your warmth radiating through him, he felt that he needed to take a step outside to rid himself of this growing affliction.
He made a move to detach himself from you, and, quick as lightning, your hand was atop his.
“Don’t leave,” you whispered to him, eyes pleading as you snapped to look at him.
His heart jumped. Something in him stirred.
“Alright,” he said. “I won’t.”
“Hey,” came Alejandro’s jovial tone. “I can see why Ghost’s been hiding you away and keeping you to himself all this time.”
You felt your face heat up at the implication, then feigned oblivion. Just in case you were misreading the situation.
“Oh?” you said, tone inquisitive.
Alejandro nodded. “You’re very attractive.” He gave you an eye smile.
Your face felt as if it were on fire.
“Ah, look what you’ve done,” came Soap, emerging from the group. “You’ve gone and embarrassed (Y/N)!”
All the while, Ghost was beside you.
He seemed…rigid.
“That’ll do.” Ghost’s stern voice came, cutting through the chatter of the bar.
You nuzzled further into his side, as if trying to cover yourself.
You and Ghost settled into a quiet section of the bar after that, Soap, Alejandro and Gaz coming to pay you a visit whenever they brought you a drink, chatting for a minute or two before feeling ghost’s icy stare on their backs.
That night, laying in bed, you cast Ghost a tired smile.
“M’sorry I’ve been so clingy recently,” you said, Ghost tucking you in beneath the covers.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with you.
Leaning back into your pillows, you reached for Ghost.
“Nervous?” he said, placing his gloved hand in yours.
“No,” you said. “Just want you nearby.”
Ghost’s heart spiked. He ignored it.
You fell asleep with his hand on your chest, hands holding his.
Ghost couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep without taking you in.
Even in the darkness, your features struck him as ethereal, your temperament and trust enrapturing him in ways he’d never been before.
He sat beside you, your loyal guard, watching over you through the night.
At some point, perhaps lulled to sleep by your rhythmic breathing, he joined you in a world far from this one, in a house you’d never seen before yet had lived in for years. You were happy, with Ghost behind you, unmasked, holding you.
Whether you shared this dream or not was irrelevant to Ghost. The only thing that mattered was that this, for now, felt real.
And yet, dreams can only satisfy the human lust for that which they do not have for so long.
The next day, more confident in your physical ability, you asked Ghost something which held an implication you weren’t yet aware of.
“Play Twister with me,” you said. You had a small smile on your face, one which Ghost was finding more and more difficult to deny.
After much pleading and begging, he eventually relented, more fond of the idea than he’d let on.
However, there was a stoic hesitance about him.
“I might hurt you.” His voice was sincere, yet his tone felt blank, as if he were protecting himself from the thought of injuring you.
You just smiled. “Never,” you said. “I trust you.”
Ghost scarcely contained the warmth seeping through his chest, threatening to make him smile.
He suppressed it.
“Fine,” he said.
Half an hour later, you were tangled together, neither relenting as your competitive nature got the better of you.
You span the dial, then called to Ghost: “Right foot, yellow!”
You tried. You really, really tried. But being pinned under the weight of a 6’2 ½ man and only just getting your strength back didn’t exactly give you an advantage. And stretching yourself too far, spreading your strength too thin, caused you to crumble.
You yelped, falling onto your front, winding yourself.
Ghost remained stationery on top of you.
You turned over onto your back and looked up at him, laughing.
“You can let go now,” you said. “You’ve won.”
“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”
You gave a breathless laugh, hands either side of your head.
Ghost lowered himself onto his knees, your legs caged between them.
He didn’t notice until he felt your thighs touch the inside of his legs, at which point he became aware of the position you were in.
His hands were on either side of your shoulders, trapping you beneath him.
You went quiet, the only noise being your laboured breathing as you regained your breath.
You were so close, you noticed, able to see Ghost’s dark eyes searching yours.
Neither of you spoke.
Slowly, cautiously, Ghost leaned down, drawing closer to your face.
You watched, frozen by your own indecision.
Sure, you liked Ghost, but did you like like him?
Your body decided the latter as you tried to meet him in the middle. Instinctual.
The material of his mask just grazed the tip of your nose when a hurried knock came at your door.
Your heart jumped and you gasped, both you and Ghost turning to look at the door.
You regained your breath, chest heaving. “We should…um…” you struggled to find the words to say, sliding out from beneath Ghost.
“Yeah,” he said, getting up. He offered a hand to you, which you took, and hoisted you up.
You landed on his chest, his hand still gripping yours.
You couldn’t bring yourself to let go, and neither could Ghost, by the looks of things.
But alas, the doctor was persistent, calling your name through the door.
You parted without another word, leaning onto your nearby frame. Ghost assumed his usual tall posture, shaking the situation off his shoulders as if it were snow.
A couple weeks later, the foundations upon which you and Ghost had built your friendship came tumbling down.
Base had announced that they were sending you home, having gotten in contact with your family.
More of your memory had resurfaced, as had your strength; enough to reduce the risk of you getting injured somehow during transit.
Upon hearing this, you and Ghost had very different reactions.
Your heart swelled and you cheered, the thought of reuniting with your family again making your body light up.
Ghost remained quiet, no different from usual. But something about his quietude felt…off.
Cold.
Base would discharge you within the next day or so.
You related your plans of what you would do when you returned home.
“I’m going to go to the beach, I’m gonna read more, I-”
Ghost tuned you out, watching you with a vacant stare.
He knew he should have respected that you were bound to leave eventually, as all good things do. But…something about you made this separation more difficult than it needed to be.
Perhaps it was his ego, so inflated with your reliance on him that he could scarcely see himself having any value outside of it.
That was his first and final line of defence against what the real issue was.
As he watched you get excitable to get away from here, from him (he told himself), his resolve began to crack.
It had been chipped and scathed by other occurrences, sure. But this pressure, this final obstacle, threatened to destroy it entirely.
“What do you think, Ghost?” your voice tuned in as if it were re-emerging from water.
“About what?” he said. He saw little purpose in feigning interest now.
“About me being able to go home.” You wore a smile, a genuine smile. Ghost had seen enough to be able to identify it.
“Good,” he said. “Finally be out of my hair.” There was a venom in his tone that made you double-take.
You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on what the future held for you, but something in Ghost’s demeanour had changed. You sighed, dropped your previous train of thought.
“Ghost…” you said as you slid off the edge of your bed. Your balance had improved, making the trip to Ghost easier than it used to be. He reached out to grab you on instinct.
Standing before him now, you gazed into his eyes, trying to find the root of the issue.
“I wish we got more time together. Under different circumstances, of course.”
Of course, Ghost wanted to say, but he remained mute.
You placed gentle, cautious hands upon his chest, smoothing them over the fabric.
“You’ve been so good to me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”
Your hands inched their way up to hold the sides of his mask. He made no move to remove you. His eyes bore into yours, soft in a way you’d never seen them before.
He placed his hands upon your waist, pulling you closer to him, slowly, methodically.
Your mind flashed back to your game of Twister. How close you’d been then and how close you were now.
Without thinking, urged by some sorrowful desire, you pulled Ghost into a tight hug, burying your face into his shoulder.
You sniffed, feeling tears sting your eyes and throat.
Ghost’s arms gingerly encompassed your frame, sliding around your waist, securing you.
The aversion he had to physical touch seemed to dissipate from him as you felt his weight pile on top of you, no longer holding back.
Neither of you spoke.
In your mind flashed a future without Ghost, a very real possibility. In Ghost’s, a future of only you and him. A silent promise he made to the both of you.
It took some time but the two of you eventually separated, with you wiping your nose on your sleeve.
Ghost watched you, hesitant to leave. Hesitant for you to leave.
You went to sleep that night as you never had before; Ghost laying in bed beneath you as you rested on his chest.
In his pocket, Ghost squeezed the stress ball, having found more use for it than you had.
In his haze, overwhelmed by the scent and presence of you, came an idea.
Later that morning, as you prepared to leave the Base, Ghost returned your stress ball to you.
“You found it!” you exclaimed, taking the ball and holding it close to your chest. You beamed up at Ghost, though there was an evident sorrow within you. “Thank you.”
Ghost offered his hand to you as he had many times before. And, for what you believed to be the final time, you took it, squeezing it.
You didn’t want to let go.
And neither did Ghost.
You were escorted onto the aircraft, Base fearing that you may be a target for any remaining cartel members while in the country, thus issuing you with a more discreet method of air travel home; a small helicopter.
You watched as Ghost grew further and further away, waving to you as you did to him, until he was gone.
In your hand you clutched your stress ball. Looking down at it, you turned it over in your hand.
There was something on it.
Looking closely, you saw the unmistakable outline of a phone number written in black ink, along with the word ‘Ghost’ below it.
You smiled, the crushing dejection you’d experienced for many hours before evaporating, replaced with a feeling you had grown all too familiar with.
Hope.
Meanwhile, Ghost got straight to work on tracking your location.
He wanted to know where that aircraft was going, when it would land, and approximately how long it would take for you to get home (and call him).
You may not have been able to see him anymore, but Ghost was watching over you.
This would be far from the last time you’d see him, he’d make absolutely sure of that.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
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A/N: Due to tumblr's 4,096 character limit per text box (paragraph), I've had to separate the whole post out like this to be able topost it. I've tried putting the breaks where there would be a time skip so that reader immersion doesn't suffer too much.
Thank you for your patience :-)
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