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itsstrange · 10 months

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Mystery Bird

Fandom: MW2

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Rozlyn “Ace” Doyle (OFC)

A/N: After many weeks/months I’ve finally finished this one! Been coming back and forth with this one for a while now and I’m so glad it’s finally done! I just wanna thank and give a huge shout out to @ebbandfleur for collaborating with me on this one! They definitely deserve it! Thank You Love for bringing my vision alive! Much Love!

With that being said, hope all y’all Ghost sluts enjoy this one! And maybe stay tuned for a mini series 👀

Summary: Ghost is not a hypocrite.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings ⚠️: (No, Maybe?) Fluff, Curious Simon, Cuteness, a little bit of angst.

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Enjoy! ✨

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Simon “Ghost” Riley was not a hypocrite by any means. Well.. at least that’s what he tells himself. Everyone who lives, works, or knows of the 141 crew, all know that Simon “Ghost” Riley is one secretive man. Nobody knows his story, nobody knows anything from him— well.. minus Price, he knows snippets of his story— but other than that nobody else knows and he liked it that way. Easier to handle, especially out on the field, if he were to get captured, again, nobody would know anything about him.

He hopes.

It was better. Safer. Why give any information at all? Especially in his line of work, it’s always better to keep thing’s limited. Besides, nobody needs to know anything about him except for the way he works, the way he gets shit done without question and nothing else. There’s nothing to know anyways, just a dark, painful story that he honest to god would rather avoid. There’s no need to bring those dark times back, no need to share such information, he doesn’t need nor want to, ever, so he doesn’t.

But again, he’s not a hypocrite. But then again he is. Just don’t ever tell him that, unless you’ve got a death wish and are looking for different shades of pain.

Now why hypocrite? Well, maybe because the moment he laid eyes on her frame he has been wracking his brain in trying to figure her out. By her, he means Rozlyn Doyle. Or better known as Ace by the rest of the team, or Roze, the nickname Ghost—Simon has claimed for himself.

It’s been around.. five to six months since she’s joined the team, and from those months, Ghost hasn’t been able to figure her out, figure her story, her secrets. How ironic right? He doesn’t even share his own. She was just hard to fucking read, and that alone held the Lieutenant in a tight grip. He didn’t know why he couldn’t brush it off, brush her off, normally he would, but for some reason he just couldn’t let this go. Just like his job, he was determined in figuring out the rest of her story. He tried asking Price that same month she joined, making it seem like he was just curious on who he was going to be working with alongside on the field, but the older man only lets a short chuckle escape while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

‘Ask her yourself Simon,’ Is what the old man told him, patting him on the shoulder as he turns to walk away with a fresh cigar in between his lips,

He did not ask her. Obviously. Otherwise he wouldn’t be staring at her from dark corners trying to figure something, anything new that he doesn’t know already. Despite already knowing her incredible hand to hand combat skills, incredible speed, phenomenal aim, he did in fact learn new things about her while lurking in the shadows. As creepy as it sounds he learned things from keeping a close eye on her. For instance, in the first month of her being in the team she had managed to get shot in the arm, it was that same day he learned she was ambidextrous. After that it was the little things, like her favorite drink, whiskey, neat. On exhausting, traumatic days, she’d go for Tequila, 5 shots. If it’s one of those brutal tough days, she’ll drink till she forgets. (He’d know of course since he’d be the one to carry her back to her personal quarters once she’s passed her limit. Yet, she didn’t need to know that). Then there’s her Coffee, sometimes black or with 3 sugars and five creamers. Favorite foods, pizza, sushi, but honestly he’s noticed she’s not picky, she’ll eat whatever is available. Then came the habits, from twirling a knife with her fingers whenever she’s bored, smoking whenever she’s anxious about something, going to the gym whenever she needs to blow off steam, which happens to be on a daily, specifically whenever they come back from a mission.

Then came the annoying habits which were, tag teaming with Soap to annoy the shit out of him, bickering with Soap over ridiculous things, like seriously they were just alike in various ways it’s no wonder they are always arguing over the dumbest things.

One thing Ghost honestly loathes from her would be, not getting help for her injuries, again, ironic right? He alone doesn’t even step foot in medical, usually takes care of himself in his room, unless it’s serious then he’s being dragged by Price or Soap. But that wasn’t the point, she has the habit of hiding her injuries, like the time she got shot in her arm, it was dark and raining that day perfect coverup, but it was when they made it to the safe house where he found out. She was sitting on the broken down bathtub, aid kit wide open on the floor, bloody rags littered the ground, blood oozing down her arm as she shakily stitched herself up. It was a fucking massacre, literally as if someone had been butchered in the bathroom, and boy did he talk her ear off as he took over in patching her up.

Every time he learned something new from her he couldn’t help the way his chest fluttered, the way he was more interested in learning new things about her. Whether it was good or bad, he wanted it all. Wanted to know everything there is about her. Yes, he did know certain things about her, the little things, the snippets, but that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t satisfied with what he’s learned and he knows it’ll eat him alive if he doesn’t figure her out soon.

He really doesn’t know why, but he wants to feel that feeling every time he learns new things from her. It’s a feeling that settles in his chest, he doesn’t know how to explain it other than it brings him peace, admiration and.. happiness. Something he definitely has not felt for years but oh how much he craved it, knowing she was the reason for it only made him want to feel it once again.

Like now for instance, he laid on the ground with an arm propped behind his head as he kept his gaze up at the molded ceiling, mind constantly wondering back to what he had seen a couple hours prior. While meeting with Alejandro’s informant, an ex gang member who had new information about where Valeria is possibly hiding— after she was taken—broken out of their custody— they had been interrupted by a little girl no older than 6 years old. She was collecting a couple of coloring books and crayons, completely oblivious to their conversation or the fact that there are seven armed soldiers in her kitchen, however, before the little girl can intervene any further Ghost watches how Roze quietly makes her way towards the girl, considering she’s the closest to her and quietly whispers something to her before helping her with the rest of the crayons and walking outside with her.

Ghost, who stood opposite side of the room next to Price, silently stared at the whole interaction. He didn’t know why, but the way a small smile appeared on the Sergeants face as she sweetly spoke to the child made an unfamiliar feeling stir at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was actually quite the opposite, it was a warm feeling that dissolved into pure utter happiness as he watched her around the child. Something that has never ever crossed the Lieutenants mind. However, that same feeling only grew stronger as he stepped out the house.

Once they were debriefed on the whole Valeria situation, Ghost and the rest of the soldiers made their way out of the home, where they see Doyle sitting on a small kids table coloring and chatting away with the little girl. It might’ve seemed odd, an armed soldier with an M4 resting on her back while coloring with a nearly 6 year old child, but for Ghost.. it was a sight. Even more so when he catches a glimpse of the sergeants work on the paper.

She can draw? Is what he questions with furrowed brows, yet, interested eyes. On the paper laid in front of her was an identical drawn out portrait of said little girl, exactly the same.

She can draw. Is what he’s been saying throughout the whole day. He just couldn’t seem to get the new fact out of his head, even worse now, as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor besides Soap, who was snoring like a damn hurricane on a beaten up couch. He already doesn’t sleep much as it is, but if it wasn’t for knowing something new, so innocent and raw about Roze, then he definitely would blame Soap and his brutal snores for his lack of sleep. But he wasn’t to blame. It was Rozlyn Doyle who he couldn’t keep his mind off of, he was too invested in her, he just could not stop thinking about her, everything about her was just so captivating and Ghost—Simon knew, he had fell hard.

Shaking his head with a heavy sigh at the foreign feeling, he pushes himself to a sitting position. Softly groaning from the way his shoulders feel tensed and tired from carrying a vest all day and possibly from laying on stone like floors. Popping the aching muscles from his neck and shoulders, Ghost looks over at Soap—who remained in a deep sleep with an arm perched behind his head— and quietly gets up from the floor. As quietly as his feet can, he makes his way towards the door that leads out to the roof.

Quietly stepping passed Garrick who was fast asleep on a smaller couch by the stairs and Price who was also asleep on the floor, arms crossed over his chest with his iconic hat slightly bent covering his eyes, he successfully makes it to the door without awakening his teammates. However, he just remains standing still by the door frame when his eyes land on her, Roze, who was currently sitting on a foldable chair while quietly looking down at her hands, who were fiddling with something. Darkness surrounded them, only the light from the moon and the small LED lantern by her feet illuminated her beautiful features. From where Ghost stood he noticed the way her brows met in the middle, tongue slightly peeking through her lip as she kept her focus on whatever it was she was doing with her hands, who then realized held a blade on one hand and another object in the other.

She was so engrossed in her task that she hadn’t sensed his bulking figure by the entrance, yet, she had the vision of an eagle and hearing like a moth. Then again, Ghost has always blended well with the shadows, either that or she just wasn’t aware of her surroundings at the moment, which would defeat the purpose of her assignment of taking first watch. With a soft snort and a shake of his head, Ghost finally emerges from the door frame.

“Get some sleep Ace, I’ll take over,” His baritone voice causes the woman to glance up from her work, that happens to be some sort of small wooden block,

Roze gives him a smile, eyes following his large frame until he settles beside her on an empty chair, “It’s okay, I don’t really sleep much.. wouldn’t mind the company though,”

Ghost looks over at her, catching that little smile on her lips before averting his gaze outward, definitely feeling the way his stomach buzzes from the small affection. Silence quickly settles in between them, neither saying anything, it wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, it never is. At least not with her. The sounds of crickets chirping, coyotes howling every so often, and the way Roze’s blade scrapes along the wooden block can be heard around them.

Speaking of.

“What are you doing?” He finally asks her after watching her scrape her knife against the wood for five seconds,

A wide smile spreads on her face, without glancing up from her work she responds, “Wood carving,”

“Wood carving?” Ghost repeats her response in a question, one brow raised while his brown orbs continue staring at her soft, skillful hands,

“Mmhm,” Her smile still visible on her face as she continues carving whatever it is she’s carving, “Wanna see?”

She suddenly asks, bright hazel eyes staring into his own brown orbs, which of course only ignited his feelings towards her even more by the way she looked at him. Not being able to help himself, Simon’s eyes drift from her hazel eyes to her soft pink lips— that looked slightly red due to her constantly nibbling on them— and back towards her eyes again.

He really did fell for her and that honestly scared the shit out of him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” He asks her instead, eyes not once parting away from hers,

She shrugs a shoulder, same smile on her face, “I get bored of staring out in the darkness alright now c’mon.. put your hand out,”

Ghost rolls his eyes at her but obliges by extending a gloved hand, palm facing the sky and waits patiently as she bends down to her right. With a wide, childlike smile she excitedly places her woodwork on his hand.

“Dog,” She proudly begins by balancing a small wooden dog on his palm and continues with, “Cat. Horse. And a bird,”

Ghost stares at the small wooden objects with an unreadable expression, yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart swelled in his chest when he sees that bright, wide, gummy proud smile on her face. The way her features illuminated beautifully from the moon light and the LED chandelier on the ground was something Ghost would never grow tired of. He would absolutely do everything in his power to keep that same smile on her face, would do anything to not have it disappear from her face because that smile gives him life.

“It’s not my best work but..,” She claims with a short shrug when she watches the way the lieutenant stares at her work in silence, not saying another thing she carefully begins removing the wooden objects from his palm,

Slightly feeling a little insecure from the heavy silence radiating from the brute, she never did believe she had artistic skills and the way he stared down at her art with an unreadable look only made her insecurity overcome her confidence.

However, before she can remove the small bird, Ghost repositions it to grab it with his gloved fingers. Skull fingers gently holding the small wooden bird as he carefully observes the little details she had carved onto its little body.

“It’s weird, I know,” She jokes with a nervous chuckle, eyes looking down at the other little wooden pieces in her palm,

“No,” Ghost quickly corrects her, eyes still observing the small wooden bird, “It’s mysterious. It’s a Mysterious bird.. like you,”

At his words he turns around to face her, immediately locking eyes with wide hazel orbs but catch the moment they switch from wide to soft in a matter of seconds, then catch the way a small, shy smile tugs on her lips. He didn’t know if he saw correctly due to the lack of lighting, but he was certain he caught a glimpse of red forming on her cheeks.

“I’m not that mysterious,” She argues back, hazel eyes falling to the ground, shy smile still plastered on her face,

“Have’ta disagree sergeant. You’re like a rubrics cube that’s difficult to solve. Once the colors finally match.. it’s like I’ve won the lottery,” Ghost. Simon partially admits on how he feels, come to think of it he’s never really shared on how difficult she is to figure out,

Roze couldn’t help but chuckle as she turns to look at him again, “What why?”

Simon stays silent for a few seconds, just enjoying the way her eyes shine beautifully from the small light illuminating around them, “Because I unlock something new about you. Hence mysterious,”

Again, a wide smile spreads on her face as she takes in his words. She didn’t know it, but a small smile also tugged on his lips beneath the mask. He really did love seeing that smile on her.

“Well.. all you gotta do is ask if you really wanna get to know me better,” She gently shoves his shoulder, same smile on her lips,

No. Because it’s dangerous. Dangerous for me. He thinks to himself, brown eyes observing her beautiful features in silence.

“I don’t like to pry,” He claims, averting his eyes out to the darkness when he hears a twig snap in the distance,

It was a lie, obviously. And he knew she knew it too, but was glad she didn’t call him out on it. Instead she only lets a soft chuckle passed her lips as she sits back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest while her eyes glance out towards the darkness. Mind constantly repeating the lieutenants words in a loop. Mysterious Bird. She didn’t know why, but she just loved the sound of it, probably because it came from him most likely, or the fact that this brute of a man who can easily break an enemies neck with his bare hands had just gave a her a heartwarming nickname, another nickname which only widened her smile even more and made her cheeks just a little warmer.

Comfortable silence surrounds them. Again, only the sounds of coyotes howling every once and a while, crickets chirping, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, and the calm soothing sounds of each others breathing. Ever since she’s met the Ghost, she knew he’s not one to engage into a conversation, let alone start one, but luckily she just didn’t need to have a conversation with the Brit. He preferred silence, observing his surroundings, and she respected that because deep down, she too preferred just sitting in silence with someone. Enjoying the view, the sunset, a movie, just enjoying each other’s presence without any words and she knew she had that with Ghost. Now don’t get her wrong, of course she’d love to talk to him, she usually does, just a few words here and there, at least thats how it was in beginning when they first met, now she gets more than three sentences from him. But she knows he’s not one to talk, at all, at least not with her, she’s seen and heard him have a full conversation with Soap and Price, so maybe it’s me? Maybe he just doesn’t like talking to me? She thinks to herself as she continues to stare out into the darkness. But little did she know, the lieutenant was just too nervous to speak to her, afraid to say the wrong thing that’ll have her distance herself from him, and he didn’t want that. So he limited his choice of words when it came to her, besides, despite wanting to actually talk to her about anything and everything, he truly did enjoy her presence—company in silence. It was something they both built without knowing, but surely enjoyed it.

After 10 minutes or more of comfortable silence, Roze quietly reaches down to her right and picks up a slightly beaten black leather journal with a small golden rose in the center. Something Johnny had gotten her one day after finding out about her hidden talent. The poor thing has seen and been through more things than she can count; from dirt, mud, water, rain, concrete, sand, sour cream for some odd fucking reason that she can’t remember, bullets, blood, vomit, sweat, tears but in other words it’s been through hell and back. Till this day she doesn’t know how it’s still usable or how it even managed to survive every torture she put it through, but is still grateful for its immortality.

Gripping the journal in one hand she maneuvers her chair to the side where the lantern resting on her feet gives her enough lighting. Placing one foot on the small rotten crate in front of her she lets the other swing on top of her other leg, ankle resting just above her kneecap when she places her journal down on her lap and begins doodling away.

Ghost watches her every move in silence. Dark eyes observing her from the corner of his eye. Taking in the way her skin lights up beautifully with the small lantern on the ground, watches the way the light illuminating her skin only makes her look younger, breathtaking, astonishing. It was fucking dangerous. For him. Why did he have to come outside? Why couldn’t she just take his offer to go rest up inside the building? Why does she effect him this way? What the fuck is she doing to him? Question after question piled in the lieutenants head, questions he had no answers for, questions that have been digging into his skull for past couple months.

He really needed to get his shit together, otherwise he’d be making a mistake that’ll only hurt both of them, a mistake that’ll most definitely cause her to leave, for good. And he couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t have that.

So, after what seemed like eons of just staring at her, observing her, he silently inhales deeply through his nose as he reaches in one of his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Plucking one out from its beaten box, he slips it in between his lips before fishing out his zippo lighter. One that Johnny had gifted him with one day while staying at the Los Vaqueros base. He was relaxing with the gang on a old couch, having a beer or two when the Scot had plopped down right next to him with a pink plastic bag of necessities. With no explanation or any other word, Johnny reaches inside the bag and tosses him the lighter before rummaging through it and pulling out a couple snacks for the men and a chocolate bar for Roze. Simon sat there, staring at the lighter in silence, rubbing his thumb against the carved skull, feeling the way his lip slightly curls upwards beneath his mask before slipping his new lighter inside his pocket without another word.

He doesn’t like gifts, never has. Yet, here he is igniting his cigarette with a gifted lighter.

Comfortable silence surrounds them once again. The weather slightly picking up it’s temperature, but nothing too extreme where they both have to switch to their jackets, it was nice and fresh. Perfect weather for the middle of June.

Besides the chirping sounds of crickets, coyotes howling in the distance, trees swaying with the wind, it was a peaceful night. For once. The past few weeks have been so chaotic since they’ve arrived in Las Almas, from gun fights, to driving to various locations for different information on where Valeria can be, it is finally nice to have some sort of peace and quiet. They were still on guard considering they were only 5 miles away from where their next target is holding, but luckily this old beaten mansion hidden amongst trees allowed them to get the rest they desperately needed.

So, to past the remaining time they still have, Roze goes ahead and sketches random things in her journal. From birds, buildings, burned cars, stray animals, street vendors, or as she learned “El Paletero” the ice cream man/woman or “El Elotero” a corn on the cob. She then goes ahead and begins sketching things that have caught her eye, like the little girl, some elderly couple holding hands, a not so good sketch of Soap trying on a sombrero, her M4, birds, roses, Price smoking his iconic cigar, and finally those eyes. She sketched his eyes from different angles, then transitioned to his masked face in different angles, his gloved skull hands, his actual hands that have beautiful scars that she has noticed every so often when he’s either tuning his gun, writing on something, smoking a cigarette or simply just slipping on his gloves.

Yeah. She lurks observes too.

However, due to the exhausting day of traveling from one place to another getting different information, running into the cartel which resulted in a 40 minute fire fight, then chasing one of the surviving gang members through the woods where she had tackled him into a small river and ended up having a leech latched onto her fucking neck, which of course she didn’t spot it right away, it was Soap who had pointed it out but it was Ghost who had carefully removed it from her. A relived thank you slipped from the sergeant along with her cursing under her breath and hoping she wouldn’t catch any sort of diseases.

So due to a hectic day, it all creeped up on her very slowly. One minute she was sketching, shading, and the next she feels her eyelids shutting on their own. She fought to keep them open, fought to keep herself awake, but her exhausted body fought back and before she knew it she had already dozed out. Head slightly leaning to the side, pencil holding dearly between her fingers and her journal resting on her lap as she slept the remaining hours of darkness.

It was the sudden silence and the way he couldn’t hear the way her pencil scraped against the pages that made him look over to her. Only to feel the way his heart fluttered heavily in his chest as he noticed her sleeping form.

Fucking Hell. Even sleeping she looked beautiful. Peaceful and for some weird odd reason, she looked younger. From the way the small lantern by her feet illuminated her features only made her younger and only made him fall harder.

There was nothing more he wanted than to just watch her sleep, to take advantage of just memorizing her sleeping form, from the way her lips slightly pout in her sleep, from the way a few strands of hair make their way across her face, from her brows knitting together every so often, from the way she just looked peaceful, happier, calmer, and safer. He wanted to memorize as much as he can before doing the unwanted.

The thought of waking her up from her peaceful sleep brought guilt in the pit of his stomach, but he knew had to. It’d prevent her from getting a lecture from Price, not that the old man would give her a hard time for falling asleep when he’d be on guard right next to her, but he mostly wanted to prevent her from getting a sore neck. He genuinely wanted her to be comfortable, to get a good amount of rest before having to wake up in a few hours to head out for the mission.

So with a regrettable inhale Ghost reaches over to shake her awake. While leaning towards her space his eyes cast down in hopes to not knock over the lantern, but instead they land on her opened journal where a beautifully hand drawn portrait of him can be seen.

Wide brown eyes scan the page in front of him, every little detail she had made, every stroke from light to dark, he was so mesmerized and in awe to look away. He couldn’t. Not when he knew she had sketched every single detail of his features, and that alone caused a foreign feeling in the center of his chest. So many things can be said about the portrait, she probably got bored of drawing trees. Was she drawing trees? Does she even draw trees? She probably didn’t have anything else in mind so she went ahead and drew a full portrait of me, right? People do that, besides what can she draw when the only speck of light she has is by her feet, everything else in front of her was nothing but pure utter darkness.

Fuckin’ hell she’s a bloody minx. If only she knew how fuckin crazy she makes me. Can never go a day without her clogging my bloody mind. Ghost—Simon thinks to himself as he continues to stare at her sleeping form, not realizing how he had reached a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. God, what he wanted to say to her, what he wanted to share with her, what he wanted to do to her. Yet, he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t appropriate, things would get complicated rather quickly if it were ever to go that far, and the most important thing, he knew he’d hurt her. One way or another.

He only knew violence, hurting people, killing people, he lives for it, no good thing ever stays with him. Even if it did it would fade away all too quickly. And if it wasn’t him who would hurt or push her away, it would be the job. Hell, he definitely doesn’t know what he’d do if her ever lost her, yet he knew one thing. He’d go insane. On a rampage, only this time he doesn’t think he’d ever come back from it. Not this time.

So, in order to prevent any of that from happening he had to keep his distance, had to not let their relationship go any further other than teammates, had to be her superior who needs to push her into being better, not risk both—her life because they were to busy being worried about one another rather than focusing on the mission at hand. He couldn’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. As much as it honestly pained his dark, broken heart, he knew it was best for her, not him, for her.

“I can’t have you… Bloody hell I want to, but I can’t,” Simon whispers to himself, brown eyes still observing the sergeant, watching the way her brows furrow, probably dreaming of something or someone,

Whatever it was, she won’t ever be able to dream or have a nightmare again if she stays with him. He’s bad luck, a land mine that is waiting for someone to step on for it to go off and ruin everything and everyone around him. She’s good for him yes, but he’s not good for her, at least that’s he sees it.

“Sergeant,” Ghost softly calls her by her rank, but sees it didn’t do much so goes ahead by calling her name with a shake to her shoulder, “Roze,”

That makes her eyelids crack open. They quietly scan his eyes before averting them out in the darkness with a silenced yawn.

“Get some proper sleep Sergeant, I’ve got it from here,” The lieutenant claims before averting his eyes towards the dark,

He doesn’t look at her, not even when she nods her head with a soft yawn or when she stands up from her chair. It’s only when she grabs her rifle from the floor and makes her way towards the door when he allows his eyes to watch her frame.

He fell too hard. It was dangerous. She is dangerous, she is his weakness, and little did he know he is hers as well.

He would never ever want to put her in any harm, would never want to hurt her, so it was better if he kept his distance, remained as her superior, a teammate and a.. friend.

Better than having to carry her casket, having to mourn for her, cry for her. He can prevent that by not giving in… right?

Right?

Right.

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-Hey loves! I’m so glad I’m back with another fic! My god it’s been a wild one writing this one. You have no idea how many times I’d come back and forth with this one, I’d write for a week straight then completely abandon it for the next few weeks.

Lordy was it freaking annoying but thankfully I got my ass to finish this, it’s been way too long and I’ve been wanting to get it out there for y’all.

-So again, I hope you enjoyed this one! And stay tuned for more of this Handsome man!

-Make sure to Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔🔔 For more Updates!!

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#mordern warfare 2 #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x ofc #simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #Simon Riley x Rozlyn Doyle #Simon ghost Riley x Rozlyn Ace Doyle

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anogete · 7 months

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Fifty-Fifty by anogete

A Call of Duty Ghost/OFC fic

Oops, I forgot to post yesterday that I uploaded Chapter 16. Well, I did. And Chapter 17 is also available if you're reading along and want to get caught up. The entire thing can be found HERE ON AO3. (Yes, I DO put you out of your misery in this chapter.)

And here's a teaser from the latest chapter:

He turned around to look at her, the balaclava preventing her from seeing anything but his eyes. They didn’t look happy at all, though. “Have you eaten today?” Anna shook her head. “I’m not your problem, Simon. I–I understand we were out of line last night. I’ll talk to Price when I get back and tell him...I’ll tell him I have, uh, feelings for you and need a transfer. I won’t throw you under the bus. I’ll tell him it’s just me.” “Anna, fuck, do you–I’m the one who started that last night. I don’t know what you’re going on about, saying it was just you. I fucking took advantage of you and what you were feeling and–” “You didn’t,” she told him, getting up to walk back to the house. He stepped forward to help her stand and then stopped himself short. She held up her hands in defeat. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time...with you. And I know you don’t want it. I just...my wires got crossed with the way you were with me yesterday. It felt really good, and I started thinking maybe...no, it’s okay. I’m fine.” She gave him a tight smile as she turned to trudge up the hill. “It’s not that I don’t want it, love,” he called out behind her. “I can’t have it.” All she could hear was that she wasn’t enough. That he wanted her, but not enough to try. She wanted to turn around and say that. Part of her hoped it would turn into an argument. That she could lash out at him for leading her on and making her feel like he’d always catch her. But she was damaged goods and so was he. He couldn’t meet her 70 with 30. Maybe he was willing to give her 5, but that wasn’t enough.

#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod #cod fic #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x ofc #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #fanfic #anogete

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gazspookiebear · 1 month

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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.

#I'm actually so tired it's unreal #Dying out here #Ofc I didn't get to take the day off. I have to suffer #Who knew exhaustion was what would make me write smt #That's crazy #Got less than 2 hours of sleep #Which actually normally doesn't bother me #But I guess it adds up over time #*shocked pikachu face*#If only I had a Simon in my life #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader

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bunnyreaper · 7 months

Text

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.

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty fanfic #a loose grasp on welding and workshops but i havent stepped foot in one in 8 years #forgive me for my crimes pls #written for noel ofc #my favourite welder !!!!!!#this is a mess im sorry

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ghcstao3 · 6 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#johnny can just tell by like. miniscule details which brother is which #asides from personality ofc #but he’d be like. i see one (1) freckle out of place you are Not simon #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghoap #ghostsoap #alternate universe

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ghouljams · 5 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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whiskeynwriting · 8 months

Text

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.

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

“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.”

#baby #I love you so fucking much #you're mine #Simon Riley #Simon Riley x OFC #Simon Riley x Female Reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon “Ghost” Riley #Ghost x Bones #Call of Duty fanfiction #COD MW2

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sant-riley · 1 year

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[Black Out Days]

A mission goes wrong

Pairing: Ghost x OFC!reader (Teddy)

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

Word count: 2.5k

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

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

Not good. Very much not good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Atta girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost shot off like a bat out of hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not sure what-"

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

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

"Damnit Teddy! Fucking say it!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sprout-fics · 2 months

Text

Mayday Mayday Chapter Two: Effective Fire

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Six of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Themes Wordcount: 4.8k Tags: Slow Burn, Whump, Blood and Injury, Active Combat Scenarios, Teammates to ??? to Lovers, Angst, Banter Warnings: Crashes, Descriptions of blood and injury A/N: Special thank you to @okaycoldplay @gazs-blue-hat , @laeilaps , and @vampirekilmerfic for the research and development of this installment! and thank you to everyone still reading despite the large gap in updates.

In the darkness of the desert, you engrave in your soul the names of the dying and the damned.

You set to work quickly, assessing the men injured in the crash laid down beside each other against the gritty earth. It’s slow, slogging work, working in near total darkness. Ghost had punched out the lone red blinking beacon from the helicopter lest it betray your position, and as a result you work only through the scant illumination of the flashlight held by the pale-faced private next to you. You try to refrain from snapping at him when his hand wavers and you pause your hands over the limp forms of his brothers.

There’s no way around it. It’s bad. It’s...really bad.

Aside from Ghost and his concussion, there’s four more soldiers wounded, not including the pilots. Fractures, contusions, and shrapnel laced wounds litter the debris-strewn space around you. Groans and scarcely stifled cries seem to be the only sound aside from the lonely, cold wind that travels through the valley.

You try your best to push aside any thoughts of impending attack, narrowing your focus down to the flesh and bone under your hands. The flashlight illuminates seeping pools of red under some of the bodies, and as fast as you work it doesn’t seem to stem the tide of crimson that you know will haunt you for days to come.

Both pilots are concussed, out cold, and you think it’s for the best. If they awoke to the state of themselves, it would be far more agonizing. The pilot has a broken right leg, the thing bent at a horribly awkward angle that had one of the other marines swear a sacrament at just the sight. Shrapnel litters down his waist to his calf, and somewhere between it all you think you feel a fractured rib that belays a tender, weakening heartbeat that flutters with every red ooze from his wounds.

You try your best to make him comfortable, and quietly attach a black tag to his jacket to signal his chances of survival. There’s only so much you can do, and silently you pray that if he does pass, that at least it’s without pain.

His co-pilot isn’t much better.

When you go to attach a black tag to him, the marine behind you shoots out to catch your wrist. In the sloping glow of the flashlight, his eyes are pleading.

“Please.” Is all he offers, quiet and forlorn. “He’s…my friend. Please.”

You regard him with sad eyes, but quietly nod and begin to work on the unconscious man who had saved your lives.

The shattered windshield sliced through his upper arm, where a tourniquet now cinches the vein tightly as you work to apply bloodstop to the worst of the gashes. There’s a piece of debris lodged in his stomach that you work desperately to treat, thanking whatever higher power that be that the object itself stops most of the blood flow. You use a good amount of your supplies on him, ensuring your assistant holds aloft your one and only fluid bag to try and ease the strain on his body despite the blood loss. He’s covered in your own jacket to try and keep him warm as he shivers, a tell-tale sign of shock. The cold that bites your skin is nothing compared to the silent dread that pools low and dark in your stomach. He's deathly pale, and you assign the marine to watch over him and the other pilot, to guard them if and when you should be found.

Down the line, your next man is unconscious, bleeding from his head and arm broken, but otherwise whole and in one piece. He’s a boyish sort, you think as you wipe the blood free and use butterfly stitches for the gash on his forehead. He still hasn’t shed a soft roundness of baby fat on his cheeks, and you can’t help but think how young he is to be out here, prone in the dark desert sand.

He rouses just as you finish working on him, startling and grasping at your sleeve in a sudden panic.

“Easy.” You soothe, laying a hand flat on his chest as he tries to raise his head. “Try not to move. You’re okay.”

You catch his eyes by the light of the flashlight. They look lost, but then they find you, blink, before he slips away again. His heart pulses steadily under your hand. You squeeze his hand just one, hoping he feels it before he goes still again.

Beside him is a corporal who seems to babble in delirium as you carefully inspect his pupils and wrap gauze around his head. His left arm has debris engraved into it, not nearly as bad as the pilots, but no doubt requiring a careful operation the second you land back at base.

If you land back at base.

You try not to think about that either.

The corporal talks in circles, no doubt severely concussed but at least halfway lucid. You catch him drifting more than once, shaking him awake and telling him to keep talking unless he falls asleep. He chokes back a sob when you wrap a tourniquet around his upper arms, biting his lip so hard it bleeds but offering no other complaint. When you tell him, breathless but firm nonetheless, that he’s going to be okay, you find him smiling at you through heavy eyes.

Your designated assistant, a flint-eyed man with dark hair who goes by ‘Smit’ bends to assist you with each man, each of you easily slashing the straps of the plate vests and discarding them to the side so you can inspect the unevenly rising chest of each man. A second holds the flashlight as you work, illuminating the scarlet slashed over their forms that you rapidly try to stem.

“Hang on for me, soldier. Keep breathing.” You murmur to the marine under your hands, and then to your new assistant: “Hold down on the gauze. Keep a steady pressure. Let me know the second his breathing changes. Understood?”

“Yes sir- er, ma’am.”

With each new wound, each new injury, you do inventory on your existing supplies- not nearly enough to deal with a situation of this caliber. Gunshot wounds, flash-bang concussions, these were routine for you. This, where the crash constitutes a disaster zone, you feel the weight of your quick decisions sink heavily into your shoulders.

The pilot is the first to go.

Martinez, the man designated to watch over him, quietly signals you over. You feel the pilot’s pulse flutter under your fingers, your other hand quietly holding him as he lets out several long, slow breaths and then goes forever still.

“He saved our lives.” The marine tells you solemnly as you cover his face. “I’ve never seen a pilot come back like that from a tailspin. We...”

He trails off. You know he doesn’t need to finish the thought.

We should all be dead.

A hollowness burrows deep and aching into your chest. You wish you had time to indulge it.

“Take his jacket.” You quietly offer. “See if you can warm up the co-pilot.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You rise to your feet and pace away for a moment, lingering between the soft perimeter of the crash and the injured men contained within it. It takes a few breaths to settle your heartbeat, and you wonder if you should feel more grief than you do- if it is a reflection on yourself that you learned to blunt your inward pain so long ago.

You look up to the sky. There’s still no stars.

In the darkness, you watch the massive, prowling shape of Ghost pace the perimeter like a wolf protecting the corpse of felled prey. Beneath him, lain flat against the sand, the marines keep a silent, steady watch for the smallest indication of enemy movement. You can barely make out the outline of your lieutenant, his figure blurring into shadow like a wraith. When he senses your eyes on him and turns, you can make out the shock of white from his mask.

“We lost one.” You tell him quietly as you approach, careful to keep your voice quiet from the nearby soldiers. Ghost seems to have expected this, for he nods, silent as he considers.

“Dust-off is on standby.” He relays back to you, voice dipping so low it feels like it vibrates the earth beneath your feet. “They’re waiting for the area to clear before they send another chopper.”

You grimace, mouth pressing into a line. Right. Of course the base is waiting to make sure there’s no more RPGs in the zone before they can send a team to your position. Knowing procedure, it could be up to a day before you see help.

Ghosts eyes watch you as you process this information, trying to run the numbers on the supplies in your field kit, trying to prioritize who’s wounded and who may not return home.

“Sorry.” You offer suddenly, and you sense Ghost still, tilt his head at you.

“I jinxed it, I think.” You offer, more to yourself than to him, and you wonder how much of the stress is getting to your head. “With it being a good night for a hunt and all.”

It takes Ghost a moment to digest this, but eventually he huffs and shifts away from you.

“Hunt’s not over yet, Fix.” He tells you simply, and you think in the darkness he somehow sounds bemused. You blink at that, always surprised by how Ghost can take a situation such as this and simply compartmentalize, offer a scant bit of humor with the confidence that he, at least, will survive.

You wonder, quietly in his shadow, if you’ll make it home despite all this.

You shake the thought as soon as it appears. There’s no time to entertain it, and as you snap your gloves off and slide on a fresh pair, returning to your makeshift triage.

A sound.

There’s a current that runs through the remaining members of the team around you as you all seem to catch it at the same time. Distant, a low thrum that sounds for just a moment before the desert goes silent once more.

Then again, louder.

You can’t discern where it is at first, ears straining to track whatever it was- another chopper, a truck, or...something else.

Then, to the east.

“3 o’clock.” Ghost states just loud enough for the circle of marines scattered around the site to hear, and there’s a flurry of movement as the team situates itself to face the oncoming threat. You can hear it now- the distant churning of an engine choked by sand as it draws closer. “NVGs on. Now.”

You follow the order automatically, hearing the whine of your goggles as they come to life and throw the world into a sickly green light.

“Fix.” Ghost snaps as you try and squint in the darkness to make out distant, blurry shapes of the oncoming forces. “On your weapon. Now.”

You don’t hesitate, quickly snatching your weapon from near the row of fallen men and murmuring a few quiet orders to your assistants there. It takes all of five seconds for you to reappear at Ghost’s side, lowering yourself to the ground alongside him as he flattens himself, opening his scope to peer into the horizon.

You see them now, in the distance. Two trucks together, and as they draw closer you see the forms of men with weapons held aloft as they rapidly close in on your position.

“What’s the call, Ghost?” One of the sergeants besides you asks, fingers tapping nervously on his weapon. You feel it, the frenetic, taut energy that courses like an electric current between you all. Holding its breath, starved of air, waiting until the moment the first bullet signals destruction.

“Not yet.” Ghost replies, eerily calm. “Wait until they’re in range. Conserve your ammo, there may be more.”

You shudder to think of that, already finding your stomach wind tighter every moment the trucks grow closer. You can already tell you’re outnumbered. There has to be twenty men at least, and as they near you hear them begin to raise their voices in the darkness in battle cries that pull taut at the low, cold coil of your gut.

You don’t allow yourself to think what may become of this- gazing into the scope of an enemy for a single heartbeat before everything goes dark.

Forever.

“Hold steady, lads.” Ghost murmurs, voice a deathly low roll in his chest.

The group draws closer, unloading from the truck, weapons out. They must not see you in the dark. Maybe they think you all died in the crash, bodies lying prone and scattered in the sand amidst the wreckage of the helicopter.

“Not yet.” Ghost intones quietly as the men from the truck grow closer, cautiously approaching the edge of your perimeter. “Set your targets.”

You choose a man in the middle of the group, both hands on a soviet-era rifle as dust billows at his feet. He’s less than thirty paces away from you, and with each heartbeat he takes another step towards the crosshairs of your trigger.

He’ll kill you, given the chance.

Ghost is silent beside you, body taut, entirely still. He doesn’t even seem to breathe. if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a corpse.

Twenty paces.

Fifteen.

You see it happen in just a moment. A man pauses at the edge of the group as he looks directly at you on the small rise towards the crash. He raises a shout.

He drops dead before he can finish.

Your eardrums ring as the men around you wordlessly unleash a hailstorm of bullets on the group. You watch five men go down in the first few seconds, unable to lift their weapons before they drop. The remaining open fire on your position blindly, bullets burying themselves into the dirt with puffs of dust. Gunfire explodes across your vision like fireworks as you open fire, tracking shapes in the shadows and deftly squeezing the trigger after them.

They’re trying to find you in the dark, and it’s difficult with your group spread apart as it is, perched on a low rise that offers a semblance of cover to shield you. There’s shouts that echo in the darkness, panicked, angry, offering orders that are cut short by the sound of a gunshot.

You watch as a man retreats to the cover of one of the trucks, and moments later the engine starts, and the vehicle begins to roll towards you with increasing speed.

“TAKE OUT THE TRUCK.” Ghost orders over the chaos at you, head not turning for even a moment as he focuses his sights.

You have a momentary pause as to why it isn’t Ghost trying to take the shot. He’s always been a better sniper than you, so how-

You watch him take aim at a man fleeing in the direction of the truck.

and miss.

“FIX!!” Ghost bellows, thunderous, and you lock on to the front wheel swerving in the dirt. You take a breath, and a split second later your shoulder jolts with the impact of your rifle, and you watch the rubber of the tire spin into shreds. Yet the truck continues, swerving erratically in your direction. It raises a burst of panic in the men around you, who open fire on the truck as it closes in, all while its passengers take aim at you all.

You watch a body down the line jolt, then go still.

“Anderson!!” One of the corporals hollers, and before you can scream at him to stay where he is, he foregos his weapon in favor of reaching for his teammate.

He screams as his body jerks, cries as he collapses onto his side.

You have no time to look, unleashing your ammo at the truck’s other front wheel in a desperate bid to slow it down before resorting to firing upon the driver. He jerks before slumping forwards, twisting the heel so the truck goes careening off course and away from your sight range.

“They’re flanking us!”

You don’t move unless it would give away your position, instead trying to track the targets in front of you before turning your attention to your side. That is, until you realize-

“Ghost-” You bark, voice cracking. “The injured-”

The truck disappeared towards the broken tail that shelters your comrades.

“Stay put.” Ghost snarls as a bullet pings off the dirt between you, making you flinch. “If you get up, you’re as good as dead.”

You try not to let your hands shake as you focus through your scope again, tracing the remaining five or six targets that flee back towards the other truck. In the chaos of trying to take down the vehicle headed towards you, they’ve gotten a head start, and rapidly begin to reach the edge of your firing range. You try to lock onto them, catching one by the shoulder as he stumbles, then goes down with your next shot. Yes his comrades manage to reach the truck ahead of him, piling in and backing up away from the range of your weapons.

“They’re retreating!” A voice rises beside you.

“They’re getting away.” Ghost growls back, ceaselessly firing upon the truck in an effort to slow it as it withdraws.

There’s gunfire to your right now, and at last you twist towards it, army-crawling in the direction of your wounded patients.

“They’re hidden behind the truck.” A voice tells you, shielded by the mangled helicopter tail. He ducks, crouching, as a bullet pings off the metal.

The wounded are on the other side.

Yet when you try and jolt forward, around, trying to reach for them, you’re hauled back by the straps of your tac vest.

“I said-” Ghost growls in your ear as you all but fall back into the heavy plane of his broad chest. “Stay. put.”

You didn’t realize you were shaking until you were in his arms. The adrenaline bites hard and sour on the underside of your tongue, chest heaving and brain working into overdrive as you force yourself to freeze, process his words.

“Think.” Ghost tells you, breathless enough that you think you might have imagined it.

You blink, trying to reroute the synapses of your thoughts to listen to him, to obey this order he’s given you. You remind yourself it’s Ghost’s voice that has guided you through darkness, through blood and sin, through your own undoings and towards the light of survival. Now, with souls of others cupped preciously in the palms of your hands, you will yourself once more to listen to his guiding clarion.

With you still sprawled back against him, Ghost reaches one massive arm around you to your front. You think he’s about to secure you, roll you out of the way, only for him to deftly pluck your one grenade from the front of your vest. With hardly any effort, Ghost uncaps it right before your eyes...

and hurls it in the direction of the truck.

There’s a pause as it clatters somewhere into the front seat, followed by a shout-

BOOM-!!

Debris erupts upwards, rains down on you. The world spins, rings around you for a moment, and you scrunch your eyes to try and grimace through it. Eventually it fades, and you feel a body pressed to yours shift, one arm looped around your front slowly retreating as you’re released.

He’s still holding you.

For a moment you feel your brain short-circuit, torn hopelessly between utter bafflement at Ghost’s proximity to you, and the reminder of your task at hand. Awkwardly, you cough and scramble to detangle yourself from Ghost, who eases slowly away from you, giving you space.

“All clear!” One of the marines nearby yells in the silence that follows. You glance back at Ghost, crouched as you are by the wrecked helicopter tail. The white of his skull mask flashes luminescent green under your night vision, shadows dancing from the fire of the truck. He nods at you in a silent affirmation- ensuring he’s covering you as you dart for the wounded.

You keep low as you crawl towards the forms of your fallen comrades, grabbing the first man you can and dragging him backwards until one of the other marines assists you. There’s smoking forms hidden behind the truck not far off, one of them moving and moaning wordlessly in pain.

You manage to get everyone behind cover from the truck, not yet looking to see if they’ve been further injured, focused instead on the perimeter, looking for future threats.

“Sergeant.” A marine quietly offers next to you, and you turn, look into his eyes.

The man you’re still holding- clutching onto his tac vest straps by a death grip. He’s dead.

“It’s Martinez.” He whispers solemnly. The one you’d left to defend his brothers. He’s still holding the IV bag.

It takes a few moments for the thing inside your chest to awaken- that dark beast that howls in anger and sorrow. It draws upwards, clawing viscous and sinister at your inside, and as you stare into the blank eyes of Martinez it growls in low tones words of grief and fury at you’d been unable to save him.

That you’d failed.

You release the body like you’ve been electrocuted- muscles a live wire as you try to control your shallow breathing. Blood rushes in your ears. The world dizzies you with shades of green.

“Fix.”

You turn, eyes wild, almost careening into Ghost behind you. He catches you by your elbow, steadies you silently. The warmth from his gloved hands bleeds through, and somehow you find your balance.

You almost want to shield the fallen soldier behind you, trying to hide the act of failure you’ve committed. Yet when you try, Ghost’s grip on your arm remains tight, as if somehow anticipating your movement.

“Think.” His voice echoes again in your mind.

Your throat is a hard, bitter scrape of air as you swallow, steady yourself.

“Who’s injured?” You ask the survivors gathered around you.

“Anderson is dead.” A voice intones, quiet and grieving. “Smit is gone too.”

Three men including the pilot. Three men you failed to save. Three souls to haunt you.

You stare up at Ghost, trying to make out his expression despite the night vision. You wonder if he still feels grief despite everything. You wonder if you respect him for that.

Over his shoulder, light in the distance.

He blinks, follows your gaze.

More trucks. Distant, but closing in. Hyenas come to pick off the wounded survivors.

“Dig in.” Ghost tells the team, releasing you so abruptly the world spins. “We’ve got enemy reinforcements inbound.”

Yet as you focus in on the convoy headed in your direction, you see just how many reinforcements Ghost speaks of.

Three cars. You’ll be overrun.

“Ghost, we need to retreat.” The marine sergeant tells him roughly. “We can’t hold this position.”

“Retreat to where?” Ghost snaps back, never taking his eyes off the convoy. “We hold here.”

“There’s buildings north of us, they look abandoned-”

“We won’t make it. Not with the trucks.”

He’s right. Even if you didn’t carry the wounded, in which Ghost would have to haul you to withdraw himself, there’s just no way you can make it to a cover without the trucks catching up and encircling you all, cutting off any escape- or chance at survival.

“Reload.” Ghost declares when the sergeant goes quiet of protests. “Inside the chopper, wounded first.”

The men echo a chorus of acknowledgments, moving around you. Yet you remain rooted to where you stand, gazing at Ghost, at the convoy, at the starless sky.

You’ve lost three men. Now more enemies come to reap the souls of those who have lived. You need to retreat, to fight, to protect the men you’ve been tasked with, to ensure your own survival.

Think, he said.

Think, Fix.

Think.

The answer comes before you can second guess yourself.

“We need to blow up the chopper.”

The men around you freeze, turn to look at you. The air feels stale in your lungs, heartbeat stuttering, but under their eyes you force yourself to repeat your words.

“We need to rig the chopper to explode- and retreat.”

Ghost stares at you wordlessly. You expect him to snarl at you, to reprimand you, but instead he simply watches, waits for you to speak.

Listening. Perhaps even trusting.

You swallow hard, settling yourself where you stand before speaking again.

“We have demolition charges for the bunker. We can set them on the chopper, wait until the trucks get close, withdraw and then set them to go off. It’ll give us time to take the wounded and hike to a better position.”

It’s quiet in the moments after you speak.

Then:

“That’s crazy.” The marine sergeant offers in utter disbelief. Then, quieter: “It could work.”

Ghost’s eyes haven’t strayed from you. You lock onto them, quiet. Pleading. Trusting.

“It would take a crack shot to explode the package at that distance in the dark.” Is the only thing he offers. Yet the silent message is clear.

Can you do it?

For a single, suffocating moment doubt threatens to choke the hope from your chest, obfuscating it in a noxious cloud of self loathing and hatred. Instead, you square your shoulders, look at Ghost’s eyes, pupils blown wide and dark under the starless sky.

“I can do it.”

Ghost holds your stare. The trucks in the distance grow closer.

“Pack up.” He barks, turning. “Wounded take priority. Take what you can, leave the rest. I want the charges on the nose of the chopper, and whatever ammunition is left after reloading. Wounded at the front, the rest of you watching our six. MOVE!!”

You fall in line, a flurry of activity as you rapidly check the wounded men, hauling those who can stand to their feet, taking the weapons of the men who carry those who can’t. You watch as the marine sergeant and two more secure charges to the front of the chopper near the fuel tank, working quickly as the rest of you pass them, headed up the rise.

You can hear the engines of the trucks now, roaring with sand choked valves as they close in.

“Move. Move!” You urge the men ahead of you, hanging towards the rear as Ghost takes up the tail of your group. You watch the lights of the trucks near the forms of their fallen comrades as you reach the top of the hill. They swiftly pass them, firing several shots into the sky as they near the crash site.

You plant yourself at the top of the rise, rock and dirt digging into your stomach as you focus through your scope, swinging your sights from the rapidly encroaching convoy towards the exposed charges. Ghost hovers at your back as the men hike past him, encouraged by their sergeant. You know if this doesn’t work, if you shoot too soon or too late, it will be an early grave for you all.

“Not yet.” Ghost tells you, observing as the trucks begin to eclipse the former perimeter where you’d been laying only minutes ago. You steady your breathing, forcing your heartbeat to slow, loosening your hands on your rifle and then slowly tightening it once more. You keep your finger off the trigger.

The trucks pass the perimeter.

Not yet.

The trucks creep up on the helicopter tail.

Not yet.

The trucks pass by the burning wreckage of the other truck.

Your finger lays on the trigger. You focus on the demolition charges.

Deep breath in.

Quietly, from behind you:

“Now.”

You squeeze the trigger just once, and at the exact moment that the trucks come up parallel to the nose of the bird, you watch as the charges explode. It takes a moment for the heat to burn a hole through the fuel tank, but then a second, larger explosion alights and deafens you with the sound of its ignition. The force of it momentarily rocks you backwards, and it's only Ghost that manages to keep you steady as the shockwave briefly rolls over you both.

When you open your eyes, you see the three trucks gone. Engulfed in the inferno.

Clear.

“Bloody fuckin hell.” Ghost breathes beside you, observing the carnage with an expression far from unimpressed. “Bloody good shot, sergeant.”

You’re so stunned by the blast you almost miss the praise, blinking even as Ghost grabs you by your arm and hauls you to your feet beside him.

“Thank you. Sir.” You manage at last, still gazing down at the flames. The rifle in your grip feels too heavy. Then: “Holy shit.”

“Keen observation.” Ghost remarks dryly, but there’s an undercurrent of something else to his voice. Something that sounds almost relieved. Pleased. “Let’s get moving.”

He turns, and you follow in his shadow. Behind you, the blaze of your destruction alights you in fiery warmth.

He hikes higher into the hills.

You follow him.

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