#Simon Ghost Riley Smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 3 days ago

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anatomy of us | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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dmitriene · 2 days ago

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cw: confusing relationship, authority, threesome, hints on rest of the taskforce.

lieutenant simon riley has a pet, a good, sweet girl, you are, made to be a soldier, ending up under a heavy wing of the man higher than you by rank, stoic, brooding, more of a mystery than a human, but nothing out of this things makes you rethink your position, you always come when he calls, trotting behind his back obediently, settling on your knees between his legs should he say so.

that's why you don't try to escape when simon invites someone else, in this sacred place, in your shared secret, while you're being stretched open to the point of your head turning cottony, drool seeping from your mouth, open to whimper out a plea for a little rest, but the only thing you hear is a growled permission for someone to enter, door creaking for only a couple of seconds, scraping over someone's too bigger body, the thud of boots suddenly buzzing in your eardrums.

captain price, a man that got his post not just because, but for his prophecy, for the ability to lead people, to know if something is happening, even if behind his back, and so he found out about you, found out what simon does at night, why someone's bed knocks against the wall, not allowing many to sleep, as a result, ending up here, rings of blue in his eyes thinning at the mere sight, of the sobbing moan you let out, drowned in the wet squelch from between your thighs.

you are your lieutenant's good pup, so when simon says that his captain wants to have a taste of the forbidden, you spread your shiny, puffy folds and present, letting john's bulk bear you heavily against the messy sheets, ramming into your dripping hole with rapid, quick pumps, broad hips and fat, swollen cock working in tandem, your mouth too occupied with another cock to sob weak cries of overstimulation, but price still apologizes, huffing in your ear that he's already close.

simon has a couple more people he can introduce to you, and seeing how john smoothes a palm over the crown of your head while you sleep, fucked out to the point of losing your consciousness, calloused hands wiping off the cum that spills out your gaping, swollen cunt, utterly gentle, he's sure boys would be as good to you too, but for now, you need a good time to rest.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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punkkture · 2 days ago

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when you’re tired and all you wanna do is sleep but for some reason it just won’t happen. simon’s got you covered — he knows you’re hazed out and starting to get cranky.

he knows just the thing to get you all tired and ready for bed. your back up against his chest in the comfy covers. you feel him shift his boxers.

“want me t’help, baby?” he’ll coo to you quietly.

his hips already rutting up into you from behind. you give him a tired nod and he doesn’t waste any time ripping off those panties. they only get halfway down your thighs before his leaking tip is prodding at your unprepared hole.

a gentle whine lets him know that won’t work so he takes two of his large fingers and shoves them into your warm and velvety mouth — getting it all nice and wet, taking them straight back down to your cunt.

your little bit of spit mixed in with his precum was just right. he slides in perfectly. a tired and exhausted whine leaves your mouth. your body moving in the gentle pace of his hips pressing against yours. the fat of your ass kissing his soft abdomen with each thrust.

“ahh you’re always s’ warm ‘n tight for me baby” he groans against your ear and you can practically see his lazy smile.

he’s keeping his pace steady and easy for as long as he can. he knows it’s wearing you out, even if you aren’t doing anything. it takes a lot out of a body to deal with simon’s cock. he feels for you, he really does, poor baby just wants to go to bed.

placid whimpers start leaving your mouth closer together and he knows you’re gonna cum. so he picks it up a little — letting your cunt tighten around him and flutter on his thick cock as you finish. of course, the gentleman he is praises you through it.

“my good baby — my sweet girl . . feel so fuckin’ good” he grunts a little more rough. he empties out into you a few pumps later. the hot ropes of his cum still spurting out against your walls. it’s like your cunt was made to milk him.

feeling so much better now that he knows his baby is tired enough to get some sleep, and that hole is filled up with him. simon doesn’t pull out — he doesn’t even finish taking off your panties that are still roped around your thighs. he put you to sleep, now he’s gotta get some rest too . . . nothing makes him feel more at home than being shoved all the way into your cunt as his eyes drift closed and soft snores start leaving his mouth.

so fucking tired rn wish he would appear and help me out this is bullshit

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postm0rt3m · 15 minutes ago

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all hail the military ball tropes

ALL HAIL THE MILITARY BALL TROPES

Recently found out through my cousins husband whose in the military that once a year there's a military ball?! And no one is talking about this?!?!

Just imagine being Simon's cute little house wife, all dolled up in a fancy gown (that he bought for you) and your hair and nails all done. He could barely keep his hands off of you. Yall almost didn't even make it to the event cause he was about to fuck you ON SITE! then once you guys are there he has his hand on your waist the whole evening. Showing you off to everyone else on the force and just being a proud husband.

He would have to hold everything back to not fuck you over the banquet table when you slip him your red lacy panties when you sat back down after the bathroom. Because how else can you contain yourself seeing him in his fancy decorated military uniform.

Safe to say you guys got no sleep that night and you might come out pregnant in 2 weeks

#mortem reposts ✮⋆˙#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod

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pedropascallme · 8 hours ago

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Set My Mind Free

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: “'Just wanted to…' You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, 'After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.'”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) oral (f receiving), p in v sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk, praise, very mild degradation, canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of wounds, allusions to PTSD, reader experiences a very detailed panic attack, discussion of panic attacks/anxiety, discussion of drug use and addiction (not reader), implied age gap (ages not mentioned), enemies to frenemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, I know little to nothing about how the military works, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Part 1 here!!

By 4:00 AM, you’d stopped crying and told yourself that you would go to sleep.

But by 5:00 AM you were still awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the faint rhythm of your heart.

There was nothing you could do.

There was one thing you could do—but it required a sense of decency, and a level of respect that you worried wouldn’t translate properly from your brain to your mouth.

You didn’t know what you would say, if there was anything to say at all, and yet you still felt the urge to find Simon.

But he was probably asleep, just like everybody else on base, and likely in no mood to see you if he was up.

And you were worried how you’d act, seeing him at his lowest.

After several minutes of going back and forth between your limited options, you slipped out of bed, donning a sweatshirt and making sure you remembered shoes this time around. You grabbed the shirt—maybe he’d take it back now that he knew what it was like.

You puttered inside your room for a moment longer, hesitating, before you found the nerve to open your door and walk down the hall to the infirmary.

It was dark out, but the floods outside forced streaks of light into the barracks. You could hear nothing but your own footsteps, and the fact that nobody else was awake to see you like this; hair stuck to your temples from the tears you’d shed, carrying a blood-soaked shirt to a man who probably didn’t want to see anybody—least of all you—was reassuring.

You braced yourself for the grating sound of the infirmary doors against the floor, pushing them open slowly to keep the unnecessary racket at bay.

He was asleep in the same cot you had been in, and he managed to make it look even more cramped than it had felt when you’d been in it: lying on his back, he’d propped his head up with the single pillow he’d been offered, clearly trying to keep his feet from dangling off the end of the mattress.

It didn’t work, and he still had to bend at the knee to fit in the cot properly.

He’d been stripped from the waist up, and the left side of his abdomen was covered in gauze and bandages that likely concealed stitches over an ugly wound. But he still looked beautiful, and you kicked yourself for even daring to allow the thought to run through your head.

He still had his mask on. Of course he did.

You situated yourself in the same seat Gaz had been sitting in when you’d woken up, setting the shirt to the side and just looking at him.

That’s all you could do. Look.

You wouldn’t wake him up. You had nothing to say. And even if you did wake him, it was unlikely he’d be able to say anything of substance with all the morphine they probably had him on

So you sat quietly, staring at him; his mask, his bandages. Your wounds were in the same place, which meant nothing, but it still filled you with a profound sense of awe, a subtle yanking in your abdomen.

“Figured you’d come by.” Ghost’s voice broke through the silence of the infirmary, and you flinched.

“Fucking—Christ, Simon,” you sighed, gripping your thighs as you collected yourself, “How long have you been awake?”

He stared up at you, ignoring your question. “Pick a new name yet?” When you looked at him quizzically, he elaborated, “Not Berserker anymore?”

“Oh—no,” you had forgotten about wanting to change your callsign—too many things had been plaguing your mind, pushing your concern about a name to the back. “Still Berserker. For now.”

The conversation fizzled out, but you didn’t want it to end. You blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I never thanked you.”

“For?” He seemed oddly relaxed for a man who’d just been shot.

“For?” You mocked him, almost playfully; what else would you possibly have to thank him for? “Saving me from, y’know…bleeding out.”

“My job.” Simon shifted, trying to stretch in the tight confines of the cot.

“No, but…it isn’t, is it?” You found yourself questioning his words aloud, “Your job is…lead, call the shots…”

There may have been nuances in his title that made it his responsibility to show compassion, but there was definitely nothing that said he had to kneel beside you while you bled; use his clothing in place of a bandage; care for you after you had done something so stupid and avoidable.

You bit your tongue, remembering how you’d screamed at him so intensely about how he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the job description.

“Whatever, I’m…” you sighed, furrowing your brows and giving yourself another moment to back out of saying the next words. “I’m glad it’s you I call Lieutenant. Anybody else probably would’ve seen me as a lost cause—back there, and in…in a lot of the situations we end up in.” You couldn’t stop yourself from praising him, not after the events of the night and your self-reflection. “You’re a good Lieutenant.”

He didn’t respond. You were too uncomfortable to deal with any more silence, so you continued.

“You’re a good person, Simon.”

“Why me?” You’d hardly finished saying his name when he bombarded you with the question.

“What?” You didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Gaz is your mate, yeah?” In the low light of the room, you could see his eyes scanning your face, “‘Nd Soap. Both of 'em would’a helped.” He tilted his head back, and you realized what he was talking about.

You tried to push down the way your heart screamed for him.

“I trust you.” You answered with your brain instead.

“You trust them.” It was amazing to you that a man in his condition still had the energy to argue about such superfluous things.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “But it’s…different. I think.” You didn’t care to explain.

Slowly, he nodded, as if trying to deconstruct the meaning of your words.

“And, you know…” You finally found your confidence, “Figured if I was gonna die, I could at least find out what it was like to have your hands on me first.”

You didn’t know why that was the direction you went in, taking a lighthearted approach and praying that it would come off as a joke.

“Could’a jus’ asked,” Simon sighed, and to your relief, he sounded amused. “Always wanted you to give me the go 'head.”

You felt your heart stutter, but you rationalized that all the drugs he was on were probably making him loopy.

“Would’a been nicer wi'out all the blood—better story for the grandkids.” He closed his eyes.

You just hummed, smiling. He must have been drugged to the nines.

He went silent again, and you stayed seated beside him, listening to the way his breathing leveled out as he drifted off to sleep.

If what Gaz said was true, and if Simon really had kept vigil over you while you were out cold, then it was the least you could do now for him. It was funny, in a melodramatic sort of way, thinking about how the two of you had switched places.

When you were certain he was asleep, you dropped your voice to a whisper.

“I brought you your shirt back,” you picked it up from the spot you’d left it when you had first come in, crumpled on the chair next to you. “I know you don’t want it…but…I don’t think I do, either.” You smiled, adding, “Maybe a clean one.”

You paused, half expecting him to respond. When he didn’t, sound asleep, you continued.

“I’ve seen all the shirts you own. Not a lot on rotation.”

You stewed in your thoughts, realizing that having him trapped as an unconscious audience gave you the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth—at least to a degree.

“I just don’t want to have this reminder of my own fuck up. And of what you had to do to…”

To keep me from dying, you didn’t say—couldn’t say, despite the fact that he wouldn’t hear you.

“But if I give it to you now, as a—if we treat it like a gag, like it’s something funnier than it is…” You pulled at the fabric, “At least…let me care, Simon. Even if it’s just this once. Pretend you’re ok with being cared for.”

Let me show you how deeply I care.

You folded the shirt in your lap, putting it on the small table next to the bed and rising from your seat.

You let your gaze rake over him, once again taking note of how oversized he was in the cot. In a way, though, as he lay, contorted and bandaged, he looked so, so small. Like a child that couldn’t bear to separate from their first bed; desperate for comfort that he couldn’t find and wouldn’t admit to craving.

How the mighty fall.

But he’d be out of here in a day. He wouldn’t let himself waste away in the infirmary—he wouldn’t be like you.

You couldn’t help the way you reached out to graze your fingers over the hem of his balaclava. For how often you grumbled about wanting to tear it off his face, you had no intention of doing so now.

You knew better. You just wanted to feel that part of him.

It was soft. You smiled.

Of course it was.

You brushed your thumb over the fabric that covered his cheek, smiling softly. Maybe the emotions you’d experienced over the course of the night were still running high, but you felt like you might tear up.

And you felt like maybe you’d be ok showing him this kind of affection even if he was awake.

You did your best to remain unwavering in the face of yearning.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, LT,” you pulled your hand back from his face, “Won’t do it again.”

~~~

The sun was coming up when you left the infirmary, and the hall glowed with an eerie pre-dawn atmosphere that comforted you in the strangest of ways.

You had time; he would see another sunrise.

You found yourself knocking on Gaz’s door, eager to apologize for snapping at him hours prior during your rampage.

He opened the door, already dressed, and the smile on his face helped you remember that no matter what you did, he understood.

Kyle always understood.

“Up early.” He noted, taking in your disheveled appearance.

“So are you,” you pointed out, and he smirked. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” He swung the door open wider, walking back into his room and silently beckoning you inside.

“Screaming at you last night—this morning,” you kind of laughed, feeling awkward for the storm of feelings you’d lashed him with. “I don’t want you to…I’m not mad at you. Or anything. And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

You walked into his room, closing the door behind you, and he laughed.

“I’m not mad,” he sat at his desk, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because I cursed you out after you saw our Lieutenant get bodied,” you sighed, trying to make the situation seem lighter with your phrasing. “Shitty of me to do.”

“You were upset.” Gaz looked at you in a way that made you feel more at ease; he could see through you, but you didn’t really mind it right now.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I was.”

“You still upset?”

“N—no…” You measured your feelings; you still felt a strange buzzing throughout your body, but you chalked it up to lack of sleep and the rush of adrenaline you'd been dealt. “I’m alright.”

You hesitated, looking around Gaz’s room to avoid having to meet his eyes.

“I went to see him.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaz raised an eyebrow at you.

“Just wanted to…” You rolled your eyes, trying to explain yourself, “After our conversation last week—you and me—I thought it was only fair. I mean, he waited by me, right? So what kind of Sergeant would I be if I didn’t look out for him? Just repaying his...kindness.”

Gaz didn’t say anything, but his lips morphed into a poorly concealed smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Just happy to see you two getting along.”

“Yeah, well—now that we’ve both been brought back from the brink in the span of less than a month, it’s a little easier to empathize with him.”

“Is'at it?” Gaz looked up at you knowingly, and you rolled your eyes again.

“It is.” You lied.

“Right,” he nodded, trying not to come off too pleased. “Good.”

“I’m happy that you’re not mad.” You muttered.

“And I’m happy that you’re feeling better,” he replied, voice tender. “You sleep at all?”

You shrugged, shaking your head.

“Try.” Was all he said.

“I know,” you nodded, heaving a sigh, “I will.”

He stood, patting you on the back and leading you out of his room.

“I’m serious, by the way,” he shook your shoulder playfully, “Happy that you and him have found common ground.”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, turning to face him when you’d stepped over the threshold, “Me too.”

~~~

A full day had passed before there was a knock on your door. When you opened it, you weren’t as surprised as you thought you’d be to see Ghost standing opposite you.

“You’re up.” You stated, rather dumbly. He looked as though he had never been in the infirmary at all, clad in all black, gloves and balaclava on.

“Nothin' to do in ‘ere.” He grumbled, and you smiled.

“I think that’s the point, Simon.”

His eyes darted to the side before his gaze settled back on you, as if he was making only a halfhearted attempt at rolling them.

“Thought I told you to keep this.” Ghost held his hand out, and you recognized the shirt.

You sighed. “I kinda just figured—I dunno. Thought it would be…funny? You were so drugged up. You looked…” You tried to think of an excuse, coming up dry. You shrugged, “Thought you might finally want it back.”

“Wasn’t drugged.” His eyes narrowed a tad, having ignored everything you said to him after you mentioned him being drugged.

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“Wasn’t drugged,” he huffed, “Don’t like 'at shit.”

“It’s morphine.” You smiled, amused by his discontent at the notion of taking painkillers.

Your delight at his distrust of anesthetics almost drowned out the loud thought at the front of your mind as you remembered the words he said to you as he lay in the medical cot.

Always wanted you to give me the go ahead.

You shook it off; you had been joking, and he had been joking back.

“They don’t give it to me. Don’t let ‘em.” His voice became a bit smaller, and you tried to reason with him.

“But it makes you feel better—great, even.” You offered an amused sigh, tilting your head.

“Brother was a druggy.” He stared daggers at you, and you were taken aback.

“Oh—I—”

“Don’t,” he shook his head before you could come up with an appropriate response. “'Eard it all before. Dead, either way.”

You nodded, resigned. Your gaze fell to the floor.

You knew a lot about Simon, but there were certain things he kept closer to his chest. He dropped lore at random moments—usually in an effort to shut people down, but this felt sincere. Vulnerable, even.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You could see his brow furrow, the familiar crease between his eyes appearing.

“Into your room?” He looked at you curiously before just barely nodding, “Sure.”

You stepped to the side, raising an arm to invite him in.

He walked slowly, taking in the look of the space; it was plain, barely decorated—like most of the rooms on base—but there were still pieces of you that lingered.

A blue hairbrush on your nightstand, pens with gnawed-on caps scattered about, half-finished reports on your desk.

He pulled the chair from your desk and sat. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him, as hard as you tried.

He was clearly still uncomfortable, tilting slightly to one side, but you couldn’t help but feel as though he looked right in your room.

You settled on the edge of your bed, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You doin’ a'right?” He cleared his throat, worried that he’d made the situation uncomfortable by mentioning his brother.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking back up at him. “Better.”

“Look, uh…tired.” He was slow to say it.

“Thanks, Simon,” you laughed sardonically, but tried to show him you were only kidding. “Always know what to say.”

“Meant—'ave you not been sleeping?” He tried to save face.

“Not well.” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He nodded, eyes flickering over your form before trailing back to your face.

“Something keepin' you up?”

“Wish it was that simple,” you swallowed, tightening your grip around your legs where they pressed against your chest. “I’m, um…the thought of sleeping is pretty…daunting? Lately.”

“You scared?”

“Putting it lightly.”

There was a long pause, during which he seemed to study you. You didn’t squirm under his gaze like you normally would—something about this was more comfortable.

“'Ad a panic attack my first night in the barracks.” Simon spoke suddenly, but maintained a casual tone.

“What?”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders back slightly.

“Thought I’d made a mistake. Thought I’d…” And here it was, more bits of his lore—but again being shared in a manner that made you feel like it was more than just Ghost offering insight into his brutality.

This was Simon offering insight into his ability to feel.

“Early two-thousands, lots of, uh…propaganda, 'at I fell for, y’know, jus’ like everybody else,” he spread his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs as he recounted his experience.

You searched his eyes, though he didn't bother to look at you. He'd been a soldier for nearly as long as you’d been alive; you wondered what it was like.

“Didn’t know if I’d see the next morning. Didn’t know if I’d made the wrong choice, or what.” He took a deep breath.

For a moment, even in the mask and in his brooding, you saw Simon clearer than ever, without so much as a hint of Ghost.

“It was like 'at for a long time.”

“I’m no rookie, Lieutenant,” you scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “I know how it is.”

He looked at you, almost pleadingly, for a moment, before his gaze settled.

“Point is…” he hesitated, “Don’t know if I 'ave a point, really.” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling before meeting your gaze once more. “Thought I was…valiant for pushin’ it down.” He looked at you pointedly, “I wasn’t.”

You nodded solemnly. He was right.

He wasn’t telling you directly that he thought you were burning yourself out; that he noticed you struggling; that he saw the way you were trying to ignore the mental toll, but he was right. And you both knew it.

“Sure you’ve 'eard it before from people you’d…” he shook his head, his sentence trailing off before he finished the thought. “But, if you need anything…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed, suddenly wishing you could reach out and pull him closer; allow yourself the comfort of falling into him and finding safety curled against his form. But you didn’t act on the urge, responding instead with a curt nod and a weak smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, eyes still focused on your face. He shifted in the seat he’d taken, standing up slowly—too slowly.

“Take an Advil, Simon.” You tried not to make your voice sound too pleading.

He waved you off. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he turned to look down at you. “I know.”

“Won’t kill you.”

“Don’t push it.”

You remained on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, as he walked himself out of your room.

He paused, hand hovering over the knob.

“I like your callsign,” he finally opened the door, throwing his final words back at you as an afterthought, “Glad you 'aven't changed it. Suits you.”

You didn't ask him to explain, didn’t have the energy to call after him. You were too focused on the fact that he'd left the shirt on your desk; once again leaving you with a piece of him that you didn't know how to handle.

~~~

You didn’t want to check the time, fully aware that it was an early hour nobody else would be awake to see.

Your heart was beating too fast, and it traveled to your ears to create an obnoxious, suspenseful thump.

Were you dying? Or did it just feel like you were?

You could feel the sweat on your body, dampening your sheets; making them cling to you in unruly patterns that would surely press into your skin, leaving faint lines to show for your lack of sleep. But even soaked in your own sweat, cold to the touch, you felt like you were burning—like you had been stuck to some kind of pyre and set alight.

You were back in that hazy state. Underwater and out of control.

Every time you slept, you would dream; every dream you had became a nightmare.

In every nightmare, you were back on the ground.

Your breathing had been labored when you woke up, and though you were still panting, the nausea that had lurched within you now subsided into an inconsistent waver that occasionally rolled over your stomach.

You sat up, shoving your head between your knees and counting your breaths.

Five in; hold for five; eight out; hold for two.

Your legs were shaking, and your skin was numb, but you could still feel the press of your knees to your temples as you sat there, counting.

And then as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Maybe not over entirely, but you’d overcome the peak and were now on a steady decline.

You felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and it made you feel weak; a special ops soldier who panicked and cried could hardly be called a soldier at all.

The conversation you’d had with Simon came back to you, remembering his random divulgence of the fear he’d faced when he first joined the military. But you weren’t a rookie, you weren’t new to this—the only part you were unfamiliar with was the genuine fear.

He’d said that trying to get over it on one’s own wasn’t the heroic option he’d thought it was.

And he’d implied that he’d be happy to help.

On shaky legs, feeling practically boneless, you walked to his room, tiptoeing as you tried to keep yourself small.

It wasn’t hard—you already felt meek, crushed by your nerves.

You lifted a hand to his door hesitantly, unsure if he’d even be awake; unsure of what exactly you wanted from him.

But you did knock, and he opened the door, looking at you expectantly.

You swallowed. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything, moving to the side and gesturing vaguely into his room. You hurried in, and Simon closed the door, walking forward to stand in front of you as you puttered around his room.

“What—” He began, but you cut him off.

“I have been pushing it down.”

“Mm?” You saw his eyes contort in confusion.

“The other day. You said you thought you had been valiant to push it down—said I could come to you if I needed anything.” Your words were rushed, and maybe louder than they should’ve been.

“Said ‘if you need anything,’ and then—"

“Simon.”

He held up a hand in concession.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, and it isn’t working. I’m—” You felt a sudden onset of emotion, voice breaking. You tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat to no avail. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” He asked, and his voice came out low, quiet—almost as if he was attempting to sound softer.

“I don’t know.” You admitted.

He nodded, still standing at a distance. His eyes stayed trained on your face.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t—I feel like, I dunno, maybe it’s just because of how…unexpected…it was. But lying out there, on the fucking ground, on the dirt, bleeding, I felt peace, LT,” you had given up on holding back the tears, and they flowed freely down your cheeks. “I could accept what was coming. And now I’m back, I’m here, I’m alive, and I—I’m sore. Like, in my—in my soul, I’m sore, and I’m so, so fucking tired.” You took a shuddered breath. “And I’m scared.”

Ghost was quiet, but he finally moved, situating himself on the edge of his bed and motioning for you to join him.

“Sit.”

You obliged, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you sat next to him.

He sighed, staring at the wall. “Not something you jus' move on from.”

“But I want to get better.” You argued, swallowing another sob.

“Y’will. In time.”

“When?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Need to know basis?” You rolled your eyes, still sour about being left out of the last mission.

“Yeah,” he turned his head to look at you, and for the first time, you recognized the exhaustion in his eyes. “But you’re the one who’ll know." He moved to rest his hand on your knee. "S'not an answer anybody else can give you.”

Ghost didn't do physical affection the way Soap and Gaz did, and a gesture as forward as placing a hand on your leg felt deeply intimate coming from him.

You liked it. Partnered with his words, the weight of his touch made you feel better.

“Some help you are…” You smiled softly, glancing at him in your peripheral as you sniffled.

“Talkin’ about it, aren’t you?” You could see the movement of his brow as he raised it beneath the balaclava.

You sighed, nodding an affirmative.

“Talked to Gaz about it?”

“No…not—not like this,” you turned to face him.

His hand slipped off your leg in a manner that seemed almost reluctant. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his palm.

When he looked down at you in his trademarked silence, you continued.

“I trust you.”

You thought his eyes might’ve creased, giving away a smile under the balaclava, but you didn’t dwell on it.

“Can I ask you something?” The question popped into your head, and you figured now was as good a time as any.

“Wha’s’at?” He shifted on the bed, giving himself more space to look at you without having to crane his neck.

“You weren’t drugged the other day.”

“S'not a question,” he pointed out. “No. I wasn't. Told you ‘at.”

“So, you were just…joking? When you made the, uh…that remark about…grandkids.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, "About me giving you the go ahead?"

This time, you were certain he was smiling.

“D’you think I was joking?”

“I—maybe…” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands.

“You’re tired, Simon.” Unable to get a straight answer from him, you changed the subject.

“Projecting a bit?” He straightened back up, folding his arms, and you frowned at him.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Rarely do.”

“Are you scared?”

“Not th’first time I’ve been shot at, love.” He was deflecting.

“Are you still hurting?”

He hesitated. With a huff, he answered.

“…I guess. Li'l bit, yeah.”

“Can I please just give you something for it?” You weren’t trying to beg, but it certainly came off as if you were, "Just some Advil?"

His gaze shifted around the room, and then back to you.

“Will it make y’feel better?” He tilted his head at you.

“It’ll make you feel better.” You countered.

He heaved a sigh, and you saw his shoulders sag a bit in defeat.

“A'right,” he nodded, “Yeah. Fine.”

You grinned at him through the tears that had dried on your face, rising from his bed and speeding down the hall to your own room. You grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen on your nightstand, then moved just as quickly back to his room.

“Take two.” You fished the pills from the bottle when you situated yourself on the bed again, holding them out to him.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Half of one.”

“Jesus Christ. Simon—”

“Fuckin' with you.” He took the pills from your hand.

You watched a bit too keenly when he pulled the balaclava up over his jaw to place the pills on his tongue. You could see the tip of the scar that brushed over his top lip.

He swallowed the pills dry, tugging his mask back down.

“Happy?”

“Thrilled.” You smiled, and it was genuine.

“Y’smiling at me, sweetheart,” he sighed, “Gone mental from exhaustion?”

“Maybe,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “Maybe I’m just…”

He stared at you, waiting for you to finish your thought.

“I’m glad you’re alive…” You sighed, staring at his chest rather than his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He echoed your words, a bit more decisively.

You could tell he meant it.

There was a silence in the room, one that allowed the tension to really resonate. But it wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, maybe it was necessary.

“Think you’d rather stay ‘ere tonight?”

“Here?” Your brows furrowed, unsure if you’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Could both benefit from some company.” He added, “Up to you.”

You absorbed the question, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. That would…that’d be nice.”

"Go on." He shifted on the mattress, motioning to the head of the bed.

Simon watched you maneuver yourself up the bed, kicking your legs under the covers and pulling them up to your chin. When you'd settled, he worked his way to a more comfortable spot. He lay next to you above the blankets; mask on, arms folded over his chest.

It wasn’t the way you’d imagined getting into bed with him—and you often felt ashamed for thinking about getting into bed with him at all—but it was comforting all the same.

“Let me ask you something.” He looked over at you when you’d made yourself comfortable.

“Okay.”

“You serious? ‘Bout wantin’ t’feel my hands on you?” His voice was low but carried a playful tone, as if he were baiting you into a confession.

“What?” You laughed.

“In the infirmary, ‘fore I said that stuff about givin’ me—”

“Simon?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I was serious?”

You rolled over onto your side, pleased with yourself. If he wouldn’t give you a straight answer, you wouldn’t give him one, either.

~~~

Simon was still in the same position he’d gone to sleep in when you woke up; lying on his back with his mask on, arms folded over his chest.

You had managed to position yourself against him, face pushed into his bicep. You found yourself wishing he had moved; tried to get closer to you, given some indication that he had noticed your shift and embraced it.

But no matter.

You snuck out of Ghost’s room as the sun came up, eager to avoid any prying eyes—if only to save yourself from the embarrassment of having to explain that nothing had actually happened at all.

But it had been a sounder sleep than you’d anticipated; he was warm, solid next to you, and that alone made you feel more at ease than you had in a while.

You found yourself in front of his door for a second night in a row.

“You a'right?” He opened the door on your second knock.

“I—yeah…” you answered, “It’s…I don’t…”

“Don’t want to be alone?” He finished the sentence for you, and you nodded.

He stepped aside, wordlessly, giving you space to walk through the door.

You had been truthful—you didn’t want to be alone. You couldn’t handle the idea of being trapped with your thoughts again in the dark of your room when you knew what was looming just behind your eyelids.

But the whole truth was that you wanted to be with him.

He tugged haphazardly at the blankets in an attempt to make the bed more appealing. Not that he really had to; you were tired, and it didn’t matter whether the bed you crawled into was made or not, as long as he was in it with you.

When he’d made the bed to his liking, you undid his hard work in a split second as you got comfortable under the covers.

You looked up at him. He stood by the edge of the bed, looking back at you.

“Left without sayin' anything this morning.”

“You were asleep,” you pointed out. “Why? Were you gonna make me breakfast?”

“Not with ‘at attitude.” He scoffed, and you laughed quietly.

He situated himself next to you, once again lying above the covers.

“I won’t make this a habit,” you muttered, “I promise.”

“S’a’right,” he shook his head, “Not really a problem, far as I see it.”

“Oh?”

“You ‘eard me.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

He seemed so much more at ease in his own space, which begged the question:

“How come you wear the mask to sleep?” You couldn’t help yourself. “I mean—it’s your room, Simon. Nobody’s gonna see you.”

“You might.” His eyes reopened, and he tilted his head to the side to look at you.

“But I know what you look like,” you smirked, “I know who you are. And you’re not Ghost.”

“S’not true.” He mumbled.

“It is,” you doubled down, “Outside of this room, sure, but in here—in bed, at the very least—you’re all Simon.”

He was quiet for a minute.

“So ‘ow come you don’t wanna be Berserker?”

“Told you—just doesn’t feel like me.”

“But I’m still Ghost.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m also…not.”

You hesitated. “Well, when you make it sound so…complicated…”

“I like your callsign.”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious to know what he thought.

“Thought I said,” he sighed, “Suits you.”

“You never said why.” You pressed him for more.

“You flip on a dime,” he explained with a sigh, “Go into this, uh, wild state. Pretty thing, goin’ completely berserk on the field—always liked it.” He exhaled a quiet, one-breath laugh, “And you’re damn near impossible to kill.”

You digested his words, but only one point stuck with you, and it made your heart flutter.

“You think I’m pretty?” You spoke coyly, covering your excitement with a playful tone.

He tensed his shoulders before letting them drop with a sigh of faux exasperation.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I think you’re pretty.”

You smiled, staring up at him from your spot on the bed—his bed.

“‘Nd you think I am, too—beggin’ me to take my mask off.” There was a smirk in his voice.

“Simon,” you rolled your eyes, turning away from him, “You ruined it.”

~~~

After spending several nights in Simon’s bed, you’d become used to the process of falling asleep to banter that bordered flirtation; of sleeping soundly and without distress; of waking up earlier than you’d like to, and creeping out of his room.

On the morning of the fourth day, you had woken up with his arm draped over your side, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. He had positioned himself so that his arm perched over your hips rather than your waist to avoid brushing the scar that lingered even after your stitches had dissolved.

Maybe it had been an accident, just a subconscious pull to the heat of your body as you lay next to him, but it felt too precise to be coincidental—and that made you feel a sort of smug adoration.

You had stayed a little longer that morning.

You weren’t keeping it a secret, per se, but it felt wrong to put this newfound arrangement on display. Even if it was only something between coworkers—friends?—that benefitted your sleep schedule and made you feel less jumpy, you didn’t like the notion that people in the barracks would suspect it was something more.

Maybe you didn’t care about what other people thought.

Maybe it was more about what Simon thought; what his intentions were; whether or not you’d be overstepping by making it known that you’d been sleeping—and only sleeping—with him.

You strolled into the mess hall feeling well rested and hungry. Your appetite had finally returned, and you were happy to sate it.

“You look better,” Gaz addressed you from across the table, “Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been managing to go the whole night.”

“Good,” he sipped his coffee through a smile, “That’s good.”

You hadn’t told him it was because you’d been finding comfort in the Lieutenant’s bed.

Ghost and Soap approached the table, taking their respective seats.

Soap threw his tray down next to Gaz, grumbling as he sat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gaz nudged Johnny with his shoulder.

“Slept nae a fuckin’ wink last night.” Soap mumbled into his coffee.

“Why?” You questioned.

Soap sighed, shrugging in defeat.

“Bet you could get something from the infirmary,” you suggested, “Something to knock you on your ass. If you keep getting no sleep, I mean.”

“That what you’ve been doing?” Gaz asked you, and your mind went blank.

“Hoping it doesn’t come t’that.” Johnny inadvertently saved you from having to answer Gaz’s question by responding to your initial prompt.

“Tried countin’ sheep, Johnny?” Simon finally piped up from his seat next to you.

“Bile yer heid,” Soap shot a deadpan look at him.

“English.” Ghost huffed.

“Fuck yerself—y’keep it up, I’ll crawl into bed with you, LT.” Soap turned to look at you, smiling as he quirked a brow “If there’s any room.”

“What?” You tried not to let the sudden wave of panic show on your face.

There’s no way he could know.

Was there?

“What?” Johnny laughed, brow furrowed, “Look’t ‘im—be a shock if he alone could fit into one o’the beds.”

You faked a quick laugh, looking over at Simon, who hadn’t reacted at all to Soap’s taunt. He remained completely unfazed, watching his coffee steam; seemingly unaware of your knee-jerk response.

It was like he had not a care in the world.

Suddenly, your appetite was gone.

“I have reports to finish.”

“Still?” Gaz looked at you incredulously.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Been putting them off too long.”

Picking up your tray, you wandered out of the mess hall and towards your room.

~~~

You forced yourself to stay in your own bed that night, and the night after that.

And it felt torturous, and not because of the nightmares or the creeping sense of dread—though that certainly didn’t help your quest to find independence. This discomfort was more about your lack of understanding.

You didn’t know why you were so concerned about other people on the base seeing you with him—nervous at the notion of your own friends knowing about this arrangement.

You didn’t understand why Ghost had become so attuned to your needs or what he meant by not seeing you in his bed as a problem.

He thought you were pretty. At least you knew that much.

Not that it did anything to help quell your doubts.

You had started sleeping in the same shirt that had caused you so much grief; after doing your best to lift the stains, you’d managed to make it seem like the shirt hadn’t been through hell and back.

Now if only you could make yourself feel the same.

You weren’t avoiding Simon on purpose—that’s what you told yourself, anyway. You just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that maybe he was being kind out of pity; that he saw how miserable and tired you were, and was simply relenting.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, get riled up over the nothing that was sharing a bed with him.

Johnny’s offhand remark had, for some reason, made you feel odd. It was the way you’d reacted that made you feel bad, though, and Simon’s lack of reaction that made you feel worse.

His lack of an outward response made you upset. It dredged up the resentment you’d projected onto him. His clear obsession with appearing so stoic and uncaring in front of everybody made you feel unwanted; the fact that he could never, ever, seem to give you a reaction, no matter what you did, made you feel pitiful.

Meanwhile, your immediate panic at the thought of Soap knowing what was going on made you feel pathetic, and served to put into perspective just how deep your feelings actually ran.

The juxtaposition in reactions from yourself and him made you feel dirty.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to find solace in your bed after a day of forcing yourself to finish reports. You hadn’t been lying when you’d walked out of breakfast the other day—they had been piling up, and you had really needed to get them sorted.

You were tired. It wasn’t your best work, but at least they were finally done.

Someone knocked on your door.

“What?” You called out, prepared to hear Gaz on the other side.

“Open the door, sweetheart.”

Simon.

You opened your door a crack, just to peek at him, before finding the courage to open it completely.

“A'right?” He didn’t seem to notice your hesitation—that, or he was just ignoring it.

He was so good at ignoring things.

“Yes.” You lied, immediately turning bitter towards him.

“'Aven’t been comin' to see me.” He wasn’t asking, just stating the obvious, and it made you even more upset.

“Two nights,” you turned your back on him, walking further into your room. “Three tonight.”

You hadn’t really meant your movement as an invitation for him to come in, but Simon took it as one anyway. He followed you inside, shutting the door behind himself.

“D’you want to—”

“Do I want to sleep in your room?” Your words came out snippy as you cut him off, and indignation dripped from your voice.

He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Do you?”

“Did you tell Soap?” You began interrogating him.

“Mm?”

“Did you,” you took a step closer to him, “Tell Soap? About—about this? About…whatever this is. Me sleeping in your bed.”

“No,” Simon tilted his head to the side, “Did y’want me to?”

“Did I—what? What, so you can make a show of how you finally got me to behave for you?” You snapped, “Make sure everybody knows how easy it was to soften me up and get me where you want me?”

His eyes went wide for a moment before he collected himself with a huff.

“What?”

“I said what I said. Is this about you getting a little power trip?”

You felt lightheaded. You’d spent so long building walls around yourself to avoid your want for him, and he’d managed to tear them down in a matter of weeks. And he didn’t even care; he was seemingly ignorant to all of your emotional turmoil, to all the what ifs, and the sinking feeling you always carried of never being good enough for him.

“Making sure everybody knows that you’ve gotten another thing that you deserve?” You continued, irate.

He stared at you, resigned to your verbal onslaught.

“You don’t care what they think.” He spoke as if it was only just dawning on him.

“But I care what you think!” You broke, slumping over yourself slightly. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry, finding a happy medium in giggling so hysterically that your eyes began to water. “I care way too much about what you think, Simon! And I have no idea what you’re thinking, ever! You wanna know why I’ve been so fucking—I don’t know, upset? With you? For god knows how long? Why I'm so confused by this random fucking attentiveness?”

You stormed over to your desk, hastily grabbing the reports and walking back over to Simon to slam them against his chest.

“Be fucking certain they’re in order this time, sweetheart!” You mocked his accent, angry enough that you considered mimicry fair game.

He let the papers drop to the ground by his feet.

“You went from so easy to so, so difficult in the span of twenty-four hours, and I have never for the life of me been able to figure out what set you off!” You wondered if he even remembered the series of events you were talking about, if it stuck out to him the way it did to you. “You’re so complicated! You’re so fucking—and now you’re mad that I’m not running off to bed with you? So—so that you can keep me safe from myself and prove to me that you’re some fucking superhero? Wanna be my personal savior? Make me eat my words about your arrogance?” You scoffed, “Jesus fuck, Simon!”

You swallowed every emotion besides ire. Still, you felt a pang of remorse when you remembered what you’d said to him as he lay sleeping in the infirmary.

Sorry I yelled at you; it won’t happen again.

Now you were making a liar out of yourself, and it wasn’t even his fault—this was you still trying to push it all down, even after everything. The fear of rejection tried to overpower your desire for help from him; comfort from him.

The terseness of your words hung between the two of you, and you remained frozen in place, standing across from him, panting.

“Wasn’t mad.” You could hear the irritation in his voice, finally getting a reaction.

“What?” You huffed.

“I wasn’t mad. Never been mad at you.”

“Then what—”

“You needed a push.”

“And that’s how you thought to do it?”

“'Ow else would I have done it?” He sounded like he did on missions, blunt and loud, and the severity of his tone made you flinch.

“Any other way! You—you refuse to acknowledge the work I put into all of this! Then, now, you’ve always acted like I’m not good enough to be here!”

“I push you because I respect you,” he was practically yelling now as he matched your urgency, raising a hand to point at you for emphasis. “You respond better to assertiveness. You thrive on clarity, always 'ave. Thought I was fuckin' ‘elpin' you.” With narrowed eyes, he searched your face. "And maybe I was rough on you, but ‘ow the fuck was I s'posed to react—you think I knew what to do? When you were showing me such bloody—this gentle fuckin' devotion since day one?"

You thought you'd like getting him to snap, but you didn't. You could feel your cheeks heating up, sinuses stinging slightly as your body readied tears.

You felt stupid, the situation lamentable. It had always been a misunderstanding; a lapse in communication between two people who understood each other but refused to relate. Someone who wanted to adore, and someone who had no idea how to be adored.

He had always been attuned to your needs. He was just godawful at showing it.

You shrunk into yourself a bit, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. You avoided his gaze as you chose your words.

“Are you proud of me?”

“What?” He looked down at you in disbelief.

You doubled down, trying to keep your voice even, “Are you proud of me, Simon?”

He took a long breath, debating his next move, before tugging his mask over his jaw.

In one swift motion, he pulled you into him, not bothering to weave his arms under your own and instead wrapping himself around you with your arms still slack at your sides.

“Fuck are you talking about?” He growled, one hand coming up to cup your face.

And then he was kissing you, passionately, but in an oddly chaste manner.

You gasped, shocked by how forward the action was and by how much you responded to it. You wiggled your arms out of his grasp, one hand finding purchase on his chest while the other flew to the nape of his neck.

He pulled away from you, and you found yourself chasing the slow movement of his lips against yours, already missing the vague taste of him you’d gotten from the gentle kiss.

“You’re fuckin' stubborn,” Simon spoke just above a whisper, deep voice ragged as he caught his breath, “You’re one of the most competent people I’ve ever worked with. You call me on shit people three ranks above you wouldn’t, and you’re right. You stepped on a landmine, and you lived.” His thumb brushed over your cheek as his hand kept up the responsibility of holding your face up, ensuring that your eyes met his. “Who cares ‘f I’m proud of you.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but you answered anyway.

“I do.” You breathed, and you finally felt as though the whole truth had been told.

“Well, I…” He swallowed, “I am.” There was a pause as he collected his thoughts, staring at you with a tender look of hesitation. “I am. And ’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wanted to hear it.

“Everything,” he seemed assured, “Not being—not being the right kind of support, not being clear about…”

When he trailed off, you wanted to push him forward into his feelings; make him say it, clarify how he hadn’t been clear about his true intentions or the nature of his emotions; make him put into perspective what Gaz had been trying to tell you in your room as you smoked through your skepticism.

But that would just make you feel cruel, and if he wasn’t ready to share that sort of vulnerability with you, then so be it.

Instead, you began a new line of questioning.

“Why’d you make that crack about us having grandkids?” You leaned against his palm where it rested on your face.

“Felt right. In th’moment,” he sighed, “Thought it was funny.”

“You were serious.”

“‘F you think I—”

“You were.” You delivered your claim with certainty.

He smiled, and you were thrilled to be able to see the rare presentation on his partially unmasked face.

“I was.”

“I’m not a problem.” You tried not to get distracted by how pretty his lips looked, curled so obviously at the edges.

“Not the way I see it.” He answered in a manner so typically Ghost, but it still served to prove your point.

“And you think I’m pretty.”

You watched his smile turn into something more akin to a smirk.

“'At's right. I do.”

“Gaz said…said you stayed with me. In the infirmary.”

“I did.”

“How come?” You wanted more extensive answers, unsatisfied by his brief responses.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simon countered your question with another.

“You were pissed that I woke up when you weren’t there.” You continued to run through the series of events that had irritated you so greatly.

“Can y’blame me?”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes for a moment upon hearing your reply, perhaps recognizing his own shortcomings in how he was dealing with this conversation; or recognizing that he had, in fact, been in the wrong to get so aggressive while you were still healing up.

He didn’t say anything, so you took it upon yourself to continue, trying to prompt him.

“You were mad.”

“I was upset.” He clarified with a hiss, not out of spite but frustration at his inability to express himself.

“Why?” You urged him on.

“Because—” He heaved a sigh, “Wanted you to know I...cared. Wanted it t’be something 'at registered…”

He was clearly struggling to describe his thought process, and you couldn’t blame him—he was a complicated man in every sense of the word, and you could only imagine what it was like inside his head.

But he was trying.

“'En you woke up while I was gone, 'nd I felt stupid, so I just…took it out on you, and everybody else,” he breathed, “And I shouldn’t ‘ave. And I’m sorry.”

You wondered if you were the first person to ever hear the words I’m sorry come out of his mouth, and you tried not to relish in the notion.

You tugged subconsciously at his shirt collar, and realizing that you both still hand your hands wound around one another made you blush.

“Why did you listen to me?”

“When?” He furrowed his brow enough that you could see his eyes crease.

“You let me lead—you treated me when I asked you to.” You explained.

“Think I’d jus’ let you bleed out?” His lips curled into a subtle smile again.

“Answer the question.” You tugged a bit more harshly on his shirt.

“I respect you,” he muttered, “You’re a good soldier.”

“That doesn’t answer my—”

“It does.” He cut you off, eyes boring holes into your own as if in an effort to telepathically send you the meaning of his words.

And you understood.

“So why did you use your shirt?” You swallowed, smiling softly.

“Y'ask a lot of fuckin’ questions, know 'at?” He huffed playfully.

“Yeah,” you shot back, not bending to his teasing, “Why’d you use your shirt.”

“No bandages.”

“So your first instinct was to just—strip down, middle of a warzone, wrap me up?”

“I need you,” he paused then, perhaps intentionally, as he tightened his grip around your waist, hauling you even closer against him, “Safe.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you parted your lips, but no words came out.

“I need you alive. And I’m glad I did it,” he was trying not to mumble, unsure of how his words would be received despite how you were clinging to him like some sort of life preserver. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, touched by his sincerity and wanting to grip his face, pull him down into another kiss that you could deepen even further.

“Could’ve used a sock…” You opted instead to poke fun at him, hoping it might lighten the mood and ease the tension. You didn’t want to run the risk of kissing him with tears trailing down your face.

“Fuck off.” He chuckled, and you felt instantly soothed.

Simon tilted his face down ever so slightly, eyes leaving your face to take in the way his shirt framed your body.

“Looks good on you.” He seemed pleased.

“Cleaned the blood.”

“I noticed.” He nodded, eyes still scanning the fabric that adorned you. “Suits you.”

“You keep saying that, and I don’t know what you mean.” You tilted your head at him, your bodies close enough that you could hear his heartbeat syncing with yours.

You belonged here.

“'Ow much clearer could I be, sweetheart?” He scoffed in jest.

“Simon.”

“Mm?” He looked back at you.

“Shut up,” you shook your head, amused, “I’m giving you the go ahead.”

You pulled him down by the nape of his neck where your hand still sat, reconnecting your lips to his.

This time, it was different—his movements were hungry, and there was little time wasted as he worked to deepen the kiss. You parted your lips, beckoning him in and whimpering softly when he began to lick into you. The room was silent with the exception of the soft sound of his mouth exploring yours and the quiet hiss of breath.

He finally moved his arm, wrapping it properly around your waist, and you could feel his fingers pressing against your skin as if in an attempt to map you out, to bruise you with his fingerprints and mark you as identifiably his own. His other palm rested heavy on your cheek, sliding back to allow his fingers to brush through your hair leisurely.

Your own hands had also begun to wander, stroking up his chest and his back, grabbing at his shoulders and his arms in a desperate attempt to feel the warmth of him seep into your palm anywhere you could get it through his shirt. You felt delirious with want—every emotion besides lust fizzled out, and you were left with the knowledge that this was all you’d ever really wanted.

And now that you had it, you couldn’t get enough.

You tugged on his shirt. He took the hint, allowing you to walk with him in an awkward dance of intwined limbs until the back of your knees hit the bed.

You finally separated, though he kept his hands on your sides. You stared up at him as you caught your breath.

“Take it off.” Your words came out whined.

“Take what off?” He heaved a breath.

He knew what you were talking about, but he prompted you all the same in an effort to encourage you to take what you wanted.

You reached up hesitantly. With one one hand, you cupped his jaw, while your other hand gripped the fabric that he’d tugged over his mouth, peeling it off of him until his face was fully exposed.

It had only been a month or two since you’d seen his face unobstructed, but he was prettier than you remembered, if that was possible.

The scars that crisscrossed over his left cheek were a flushed pink, rosy against his pale skin; his eyes seemed sharper, keener as you analyzed his features.

His hair had grown longer on top, despite the fact that he had clearly maintained the close cropping on the sides.

Seeing him like this always made him seem human, and the circumstances in which you were seeing him now made it innately more intimate.

You kept your hand on his face, absentmindedly trailing your thumb down his cheek as you considered what you could say in this moment.

“Hair’s not regulation…” You mumbled, swallowing.

“Gonna tell on me?” When he spoke, the faint stubble that dotted his jawline scraped gently against your palm.

“No…” You couldn’t think of anything witty to say, “I like it like this.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes grew softer as he stared down at you. His hands, still on your waist, dipped beneath your shirt and the feeling of his calloused palms running so gently up your bare skin made you suck in a breath.

“Simon…” You suddenly felt that you couldn’t make eye contact with him, lest you embarrass yourself by begging him to fuck you where you stood.

He looked at you expectantly for a moment before his gaze flicked down to where his hands stroked up your body.

“I want—” You tried to find the words that would make you sound the least pathetic, but realized that you didn’t really care as you settled on your phrasing. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” His voice gave away his eagerness.

“Please.” You added.

That was all it took to get him to grab you by the hips and tug you into him, turning the both of you around so that he could sit on the bed. You scrambled to straddle his lap.

He snaked his hands back under your shirt—his shirt—helping you out of it with one hand while the other traced patterns down your spine. When you tossed it to the side, you gazed at him expectantly, searching his face for a reaction.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you got one quickly. “Wanna…”

He never finished his sentence, and you didn’t have time to prompt him; his hands traveled up to your shoulder blades, face dipping down to bury himself in the cavern between your breasts and trail open mouthed kisses over your skin.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips, a response to the action itself and the way he felt against you; hot, wet tongue smoothing over the spots his stubble scratched at.

When he moved to take one of your nipples between his lips, you rolled your hips, arching your back. The action earned you a growl from him, and the small vibrations from his mouth made goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“Christ, don’t—” He grunted against the supple flesh of your breast, clearly struggling to hold back from reciprocating your movements as he bucked his hips gently up into you. “Fuck, c’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs before he stood, flipping you onto your back. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed, and he knelt between your thighs.

“Should we take these off?” His fingers just barely dipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you whined.

“Yes—yeah,” you raised your hips from the bed, “Go for it.”

Simon smirked, tugging your shorts down your legs and leaving you completely exposed to him. He trailed kisses up the inside of your leg, sucking hard on the skin of your thigh as he inched closer to your core.

“Knew you’d be a tease.” You huffed a laugh when he reached the top of your thigh only to move back and trail kisses up your other leg.

“Thought about it a lot?” He smiled against your skin, “Night’s young, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but gasped softly when he reached the top of your thigh again and slowly began to leave kisses over your pubic mound, taking his time, dipping lower until he reached your clit.

You let out a shaky breath. How long had it been since someone touched you like this; since you’d exposed yourself to a hand that wasn’t yours, a mouth that knew how to put in the effort?

How long had you been aching to feel Simon this way?

Your hand flew to his head, fully appreciating the way his hair had grown out to offer you the proper length to pull on.

Simon moaned softly, pressing chaste kisses to your clit, but when you tugged harder, desperate for more, he let out a quiet growl and stared up at you as he finally pressed his tongue to your folds.

You knew he had good aim—snipers tended to—but the way he so expertly circled his tongue over your entrance, pressing into you and lapping up your slick made your back arch. You raised your legs to rest them over his shoulders, aching for him.

You could feel his breath coming out in warm huffs against your slick. He ate you like a man starved, and you bucked your hips into his face when he licked a broad stripe over your slit that culminated in him teasing your clit with the tip of the muscle.

“Greedy thing,” he teased, nipping at your inner thigh, “Taste even better 'an I thought.”

“Thought—thought about it a lot?” You threw his words back at him with a shaky voice, nearing the edge, and he laughed.

“All the time,” he wrapped his arms around your legs, forcing you to still as he pressed another kiss to your dripping cunt. “Hand wrapped 'round my cock, thinking 'bout buryin' my face in you,” he teased your clit, licking another stripe over you before continuing his rambling. “How fuckin' pretty you’d look, starin’ down at me.”

His words made you feel feral, and the knowledge that he had touched himself to thoughts of you, just as you had to thoughts of him, forced a whimper from your throat. You looked down at him with parted lips and lust blown eyes.

“Yeah, ’at’s it,” he nodded, staring back at you from between your thighs, face coated in your slick, “Jus' like 'at, sweetheart. Watch me.”

He dropped his face again, hands moving up your legs to grip the flesh of your ass and pull you firm against him as he sucked on your clit mercilessly.

You found yourself writhing beneath his ministrations, pulling his hair harder as you reached the precipice. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, to go easier on you; or if you wanted him to stay there, lapping at your cunt and overwhelming your senses forever.

Your thighs squeezed around his head, trembling, as your muscles tensed. Your vision went blurry from the pleasure.

“Cum.” He said it like it was an order, licking into you before quickly returning his attention to your clit, sucking down hard around the bud.

What was likely meant to be a scream came out a choked cry as you came, gasping his name and trying to curl into yourself as the stimulation became all too much for you to handle.

With a final kiss to your cunt, Simon removed his mouth from you, stroking his thumb over your hip and watching you shake.

“Good?” He whispered into your thigh, planting soft kisses over your skin as you whimpered through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Yeah—fuck, Simon, yeah. Good,” you panted, “Better than good...Christ.”

He hummed, satisfied by your answer.

You stayed sprawled out with him between your legs for a while longer, appreciating the soft touches of the man who projected such a harsh persona; reminding yourself how to breathe properly.

"Come." You stretched your arms out, staring at him as you encouraged him to crawl into bed with you.

He obliged, standing, and you bit your tongue to keep from taunting him about how easy it was now to get him to follow orders. He pulled you into him, and you pressed your hands to his chest, nuzzling beneath his chin.

“You gonna keep all your clothes on?” You mumbled, teasing.

Simon sat up, supporting himself on his elbow. He tilted his head down as he brought a hand to your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Ask me again.”

“Simon—”

“Nah, c’mon,” he practically cooed, voice saccharine as he teased you. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“You want me to beg for you?” You matched his tone.

“Bet you’d be good at it.” He quirked a brow, smirking.

You sighed, fully willing to give him what he wanted even if it was in jest. Grabbing his collar and pulling him down so that your nose brushed his, you spoke in a whisper.

“Will you please fuck me, Simon?”

He smiled, but the glint in his eyes read almost predatory.

“Good girl.”

He sat up, pulling off his shirt and exposing his chest to you. It wasn’t anything new; you'd seen him in states of undress like this, but when his lips were still wet with your cum, it felt different in the most magnificent of ways.

You watched him stand, sitting up to get a better view; his stitches had already dissolved, but a scar still marred his left side, joining the dozens of other marks he'd collected during his time in combat.

With a smirk, he looked down at you and unzipped his fly, bending down to take his pants off, and you laughed at the showmanship he displayed.

Cocky motherfucker.

But you rubbed your thighs together when he took off his boxers, all the previous teasing production value gone as he straightened up and kicked them to the side with a huff.

You’d long wondered—rather immaturely—whether his size and stature translated to all of him. You felt your cheeks flush when you saw that you had been correct in suspecting that his cock lived up to the rest of him; thick and long, it tilted slightly to the right, and one solid vein trailed up the underside. His tip was pink and leaking, already smeared with precum, and when you realized that it was likely because he had found pleasure in going down on you, you swallowed a moan.

He rolled his shoulders back, and you thought you might be drooling.

He stood at the edge of the bed, looming over you as he always did, but now with a level of hesitation. He bent down to brush his lips against yours, and you eagerly accepted the kiss.

“Tell me what you want.” His breath was hot against your mouth.

“Told you…” You whispered, bringing a hand up to trace the tattoos on his arm.

He shook his head. “Tell me how you want it.”

You were thrown off guard by his prompting; you had been excited to let him do whatever it was he wanted.

And so that’s what you voiced.

“Any…however,” you swallowed, “Just want it to be you.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but you couldn’t admire him for long as he quickly embraced you in another kiss, pushing you onto your back again and moving clumsily to kneel on the bed beside you.

Simon’s hands ran down the length of your body, thumbs hooking between your thighs to admire the soaking mess at your core. He situated himself between your legs, encouraging you to hook your knees over his hips.

You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe, the once callous Lieutenant who you swallowed your feelings for, now touching you with such care and admiration—and he looked good doing it.

He moved one hand from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek and staring down at you. The iciness in his eyes was back, but it was in a sense of concern rather than ire.

“You tell me if it 'urts.” He traced your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Knew you could be arrogant, but Jesus, Simon,” you barked a laugh, “That’s just—”

“Meant your ribs, love,” he smirked down at you, and you grinned back at him. “But I 'preciate the vote o'confidence.”

“Freudian slip…” You mumbled, not even embarrassed at your mistake, finding the humor in it and relishing that he, too, was comfortable enough to laugh about it with you.

“Right.” He nodded, smug. He maneuvered himself so that his cock could rest against your stomach.

You tilted your head, looking down to admire the image. He was justified in his pride, despite the way he came off so pompous; seeing his cock against you like this made your breath hitch, the comparison it drew to your size versus his was unavoidable and absolutely delicious.

“You gonna fuck me, or just show off?” You wiggled your hips.

“Nice to know you’re still mouthy even on your back.” Simon huffed, amused, as he pulled back to line himself up with you.

When he notched his tip to your entrance, you bucked your hips gently, unable to conceal your excitement. He pressed a hand to your stomach.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he grunted, “Patient.”

You whined, frustrated and needy, but you didn’t have to put up too much of a fuss before he sunk into you. He watched intently as your cunt swallowed him inch by inch, lowering himself to hover over you on his forearms, pressing his hips to yours.

You squeaked a moan, filled to the brim, and grazed your nails down his back, feeling the occasional indentation of a scar beneath your fingers. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed and breath coming out broken.

It was the most unshielded you had ever seen him, and you felt a sense of pride in the fact that it was you who had caused such a response.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, pulling his hips back an inch only to thrust shallowly back into you. You whimpered at the feeling, the way he had your walls stretched so taut around him. “Oh, fu—ckin’ hell…”

“Fuck me,” you whined, grabbing him by the shoulder blades. You pressed sloppy kisses to his mouth and chin, “Fuck me, fuck me—” It was a chant, a desperate repetition of your needs.

Maybe he captured you in another kiss to shut you up, but you didn’t mind. When his tongue parted your lips just as he began to rock forward, you nearly bit down on it, letting out a broken cry that he swallowed happily.

“Don’t want everybody 'earin’ you.” He shushed you, smirking into the kiss.

“Don’t—don’t care,” and you didn’t; if this was how everybody in the barracks discovered your situation with Ghost, you’d be proud. “Feels—you’re so deep.”

“I know,” he was typically smug, but you could tell he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. “Lift your hips, sweetheart.”

You did as he said, lifting your hips enough so that he had room to reach beneath your body and grope your ass, tugging you into every stroke.

“Yeah, ‘at’s it—fuckin’ take it,” the pace of his thrusts increased. With his hands beneath your body, he straightened up, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper, rougher. “Fuckin’—fuck, take it, take it, sweetheart.” His head fell back as he moved, and you felt hypnotized by the way his chest heaved.

“Jesus fucking—Simon, please—” You bit your lip, really and truly attempting to keep the volume of your cries for him down, but he wasn’t making it easy. “So good—feel so good, please, just like that.”

His jaw was clenched but his lips were parted, and he looked over you with an intense focus, training himself to identify every little bodily response from you, and every little thing he could do to earn those reactions.

“Christ, look't you, love—” His lips curled into a fucked-out smirk, “Droolin’ jus' like your cunt.”

Dazed, you watched as he brought his hand down to your face, swiping the drool you hadn’t even realized you’d produced from the side of your mouth with his thumb. He pressed the digit against your lips, and you opened, eagerly sucking his thumb while he continued his bruising pace.

He watched on as you moaned around him, filling you at both ends.

His words spilled out of him, the vulgar vice grip your cunt had on his cock working him to peak vulnerability.

“You know ‘ow long I wanted this?” He bent down, slowing his pace to offer long, deep strokes that were just as overwhelming as the previous, faster pace. “‘Ow long I wanted t’see you droolin’ f'my cock? Would’a fucked you every night you slept with me—f’you said that’s what you wanted, would’a fucked you with ‘at bullet in my ribs.”

You could feel his cock punching against your cervix, the sharp, brief pain in your abdomen immediately fading to make room for the pleasure. And even so, with him encroaching on you like this, forcing you to take him as deep as you physically could, you still wanted more.

You moaned, irrepressibly needy as your hands wandered over his body above you.

Straightening up again, Simon pulled his thumb from your mouth. He took it between his own lips, tasting your spit and saturating the digit further before lowering it to your clit and rubbing circles over you.

“So fuckin’ stubborn—you’re a brat, ‘nd even when you make me pull my fuckin’ 'air out, I’d still let you do anythin' you want,” he couldn’t stop talking, and you were fine with it. His rambling on about his desire for you, paired with the motion of his hips, had you hurtling towards your second high. “Fuck, you feel good—fuck.”

You thought maybe when he tilted his head down, eyes closing as he dropped his chin to his chest, that he was done talking. For a moment, it seemed that way, his attention refocusing completely on your body, as he collected himself and moved lower to hover over you again; nipping at the skin of your chest and licking stripes over your tits, moving his hand from your clit and kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts.

But he moved to look down at you directly, nose brushing your own, and there was a flash of something in his eyes—soft and completely exposed.

“I love you.” He said it like a secret, the quietest cadence you’d ever heard him take on.

For a moment you thought maybe you were dreaming again—the nightmares morphing into something more akin to psychological warfare that you would wake up from and miss as if it were a nostalgic memory.

But then he said your name.

“I—fuck—I love you.” His breath hitched, and he was clearly attempting to distract himself from your silence by burying his cock into you deeper.

It made you moan wantonly—both his actions and his words hitting you somewhere deep, and you let out a gasp, reaching up to cup his cheek and letting your thumb trace one of the longer scars.

“I love you.” You echoed, meaning it more sincerely than anything you’d ever said to him, and though his brow furrowed slightly, he smiled.

“Again,” he panted above you, “Shit, say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated, hand trailing behind his head and fingers combing through his hair, “I love you, Simon. I love you.” It was the second time in the span of a few hours that you’d found yourself chanting for him, and you were quite pleased.

“Fuckin’—” he sped up again, thrusting into you enough that the bedframe knocked against the wall. You almost felt sorry for whichever poor soul bunked next door. “’At’s it, sweetheart, let me ’ear you.”

He was delirious with lust, overwhelmed by his affection for you. And while it wasn’t something he was used to in any respect, he was certainly enjoying it.

“You fuckin’ tell me—you cum on my cock and you fuckin’ tell me ‘ow much you love it.”

He brought his hand back down to your clit, and your back arched off the mattress when he pressed down onto the bud, massaging over it in time with his thrusts.

“Let me see my pretty girl cum again.” He cooed over you.

His phrasing made you moan. His pretty girl; it rattled around in your brain and you let out a breathy sigh of approval.

“Your pretty girl…”

“’At’s what I said, sweetheart,” he nodded, and he would've been smiling if his focus wasn't entirely taken up on warding off his high. “One more, love. C’mon and gimme what I want.” He growled his words, briefly removing his fingers from your clit to pull your ankles over his shoulders so that he could wrap an arm around your thighs and hold you against him. “Fu—uck, tight little cunt…”

He kissed your ankle, replacing his fingers on your clit once more and watching your face contort in pleasure.

“Simon, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop,” you stuttered through your whimpers, feeling the familiar heat build in your abdomen, “I’m gonna cum—please—like that, I’m gonna cum.”

He groaned, applying more pressure to your clit as he massaged it to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Go on, sweetheart, gimme another one. Be a good girl, let me see your pretty face while you cum on my cock.”

You let yourself go completely.

“I—I love you,” you mustered the strength to follow his previous orders as the tug that built somewhere in your stomach finally culminated in a pleasant heat coating your skin. Your muscles tensed, your eyes rolling back enough that you could see colors distantly behind your eyelids.

“Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ do. You fuckin’ love it. You love me, sweetheart.” Simon groaned, “’Ere you go—squeeze me tight like ‘at,” his hips stuttered as he fucked you through your high. “Fuckin’ soak me. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh, trying to stave off his climax, if only for a moment longer, so that he could continue to enjoy the warm squeeze of your cunt.

When your moans became weaker, battling exhaustion to prolong the delicious overstimulation he offered you, Simon slid out of you with a grunt. He kept your legs up, keeping your thighs pressed together so that he could slip his cock between them and chase his own release.

“Fuck—” you yelped when the underside of his cock swiped over your clit, craning your neck to watch him fuck himself with your thighs.

You could see his abs tighten, desperate moans falling from his lips, and he looked so utterly beautiful as he struggled to control himself against the pleasure.

“Gonna fuckin’ stain you with my cum,” he heaved, rocking against you fervently, “Wanna smell it on you. Mark you up nice, let everybody know who you belong to—show ‘em 'ow good you are to your Lieutenant.”

“Please,” you mumbled your plea, pressing your palm to the back of his hand where it rested on your thigh, “Please…”

With his mouth agape, Simon’s brow furrowed, pushing his hips flush against the back of your thighs; he came with a low groan, bucking against you as he painted your stomach with his spend.

He panted, closing his mouth to swallow and staring down at you in a haze. He tilted his head back, heaving a satisfied sigh, before finding the motivation to move from the bed.

You felt a tug of melancholy, a sudden discomfort in being parted from him, but you watched on as he found what he was looking for and returned to your side.

He wiped you clean with the same goddamn shirt that, as far as you were concerned, started all this.

You fell into a fit of laughter, the adrenaline morphing from physical pleasure to pure amusement.

Simon stared at you like you had two heads.

“After everything that poor fucking shirt has been through, you’re gonna use it as a cum rag?” You tried to explain, and you watched his lips curl into a smile.

“Better a cum towel ‘an a tourniquet.” He quipped, quirking a brow at you.

“Just got the blood out…” You grumbled playfully, and he tossed the shirt off to the side somewhere.

“You’ll live.” He sighed, pressing his palm into your now clean, if not a bit sticky, stomach and appreciating your warmth.

After he had taken a moment to admire you where you lay on your back, he stood, walking around the bed to situate himself next to you. When he’d made himself comfortable, he wrapped an arm around your hips, pushing you onto your right side before tugging you into him.

“Never thought I’d be spooning with Simon Riley.” You sighed, placing your hand over his where it rested on your stomach.

“Consider y’self lucky.” He chuckled.

You fell into a peaceful lull, wrapped up in each other and silent.

“You love me.” You weren’t asking, more so reassuring yourself with a quick statement to ensure that what he’d said in the heat of the moment was true.

“I do,” he nosed your neck, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You whispered it, bringing his hand up from your stomach to kiss his knuckles.

He hummed quietly, and you continued to plant soft kisses over his hand until you were satisfied.

“You still mad at me?” He questioned, and you laughed.

“You really have to ask?”

“Good to be certain.” He sighed, and you shook your head, grinning.

“I don’t want to sleep in your room tonight.” You muttered.

“Don’t ‘ave to,” he responded in a similarly soft tone, “Won’t make you. Say the word, I’ll leave. You can get some sleep.”

“No,” you smiled at his lack of awareness, “Don’t want to sleep in your room—want you to sleep here.”

He was quiet for a moment. You looked over your shoulder, uncertain, and he was already looking back at you with a smug grin.

“’At’s what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. S’what I want, too.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing your back to his chest.

“Gonna sleep without your mask on?” You teased, eyeing the balaclava where it lay on the floor amongst the rest of your discarded clothes.

“Might as well,” he huffed a laugh, “Cock’s out—nobody’ll notice my face if they come in.”

“I will.”

“I want you to.” He sighed, pressing himself against you so that your head rested beneath his chin.

“Good,” you yawned, “That’s what I want, too.”

Simon chuckled softly, leaning back to reach for the lamp on the nightstand and clicking it off. There was another stretch of comfortable silence, and you felt the soft edges of sleep begin to take hold.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Simon whispered into the darkness of your room.

“I know,” you were just awake enough to respond, “I love you, too, Simon.”

You fell asleep with his arm draped over you, perched over your hips rather than your waist, his hand pressed lightly against your stomach. But this time, you were both under the covers.

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itsstrange · 1 day ago

Text

A Little Bit Warmer

Fandom: MW, MW2, MW3

Relationship: Zombie Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A/N: I’ve Had This Idea Since Zombie Ghost Was First Introduced But Never Got Around To Officially Write It Down, But Now, IT’S OFFICIALLY HERE!! Had So Much Fun Writing This One.

Also, This Will Definitely Be A Mini Series! Another Thing, This Was Also Semi Inspired By Warm Bodies. 🤗

{ANY WARNING TRIGGERS WILL BE POSTED IN THE BEGINNING IF THE STORY!}

Summary: Is It Possible That There Is Such Things As Miracles? Or Does A Cold Heart Eventually Finds Its Warmth?

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: (Yes) Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Murder, Slightly Graphic Content, Guns, Knifes, etc, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Zombie Protective Ghost, Jealous Zombie Ghost, Eventual Smut,

Call Sign: Kali

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ENJOY! 💀🫶

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October 18, 2026

S.C.H.Q

23:00 pm

“How low are we?”

“Low. A lot of children and families are getting sick with this damn weather,”

“What about the emergency vault? I thought we did a big score not too long ago? Filled it up with supplies?”

“Like I said Lieutenant, a lot of children and families are getting sick. It’s spreading like wildfire. And fast. The medical ward is getting overwhelmed with people that they’re down to their last case of supplies,”

“Any casualties?”

The older man sighs, rubbing at his eyebrow, “One so far,”

Fucking great.

You sigh heavily. Leaning your exhausted body against the desk. It had been such a long couple days that the moment you finally arrived at base all you wanted to do was fall asleep for a week straight. You had gone out of the safe zone with a group to try and clear more sections of the city to keep it safe, to expand your community, to make more shelter considering it kept growing as the days went by. So after 8 days of being out of the safe zone, sleeping in uncomfortable conditions, killing herds of flesh eating Zeds, killing looters, you had successfully came back to base with great news. You and your team were able to successfully recover another hot zone, another great victory where everyone in your group made it back with no injuries. No bite marks.

Yet, despite the great news you had for your leader, bad news was landed on your shoulders once again. Fucking typical with this goddamn unit. You had barely gotten off the humvee when a soldier walked towards you with a message that you were needed in the Generals office. Which resulted in you standing near General Shepherds desk as you listened with exhausted eyes that threatened to close on you.

Your long term friend, teammate, partner in crime Phillip Graves stood beside you. His own exhaustion lingering on his stubble jaw.

“When are we heading out?” You ask after a heavy exhale, hands resting on your vest as you stare at the man in front of you,

“Tomorrow. 0500,” Well there goes my beauty sleep. “You and Graves along with the rest of your squad will head up North.”

You nod at the man. Taking in all the information given. It was nothing you’ve never done before, practically done it your entire life. First stop was to head over to Lincoln Grove, where a small downtown with multiple stores stood. You’ve raided most of the stores, but some still remained untouched so it was worth checking out. Main mission was to head further down, passing the barricades of the safe zone towards Red Lines where a hospital stood somewhere in the section.

Easy enough.

Only it wasn’t. Red Lines was known for its activeness of Zeds, Lurkers, runners and Ghouls. Ghouls were rare to be seen out in the city, they mostly hid where it’s dark so they can ambush anyone who pumps warm blood. But still, even they make random appearances during the day.

Red Lines was one of the most uncontrolled sections of the city, it wasn’t where the pandemic first hit, but it was where most of the population lost their lives. It remained untouched. Every time a group went through in hopes to control it, they never came back. Not a single soul in the group would make it back.

Unfortunately, Shepherd was a stubborn old dog and continued in trying to push out every infected there is to officially claim Red Lines. Why? Because he knew by owning Red Lines he’ll have higher authority when it came to medicine. His main goal was to claim that hot section just to control what comes in and out of the hospital.

And you knew he’d do anything to own it.

“Any questions?” Shepherd asks, eyes averting from you to the man beside you, when neither spoke up he nods his head before dismissing you both,

Without another word, just another exhausted sigh falling from your lips you walk out of the man’s office then down the hallways to get out of the building to get to your private quarters. Which really was a rundown apartment complex that was right across from the business building where Shepherd stood hid.

Fifth floor to be precise. Inside the biggest office there was.

Almost every soldier from Shadow Company lived in your apartment complex. Shepherds orders. Claimed his soldiers needed to be ready and alert for anything and everything. The actual truth you knew that he just didn’t want to admit to anyone or the civilians was, he simply wanted his soldiers closer to him for better and faster protection from anyone and anything that tries to threaten him.

The thought alone makes a loud scoff leave your lips as you walk down the stairs to the first floor. Graves, who was walking beside you and speaking to you the entire time—which you obviously weren’t paying attention to— sends you a look. Brows knitted together as you both make your way out the building.

“Somethin’ funny?”

You look over to him, eyes locking for a second before you avert them back in front of you as you push through the semi broken glass doors.

“Yeah. Funny how I thought I was gonna get a good nights sleep today,” You throw in a lie. Well.. not really,

Graves snickers at your words, placing an arm around your shoulders to tug you closer to his side as you both make your way to the apartments.

“Come on up to my room and I’ll give you a good nights sleep,” Graves purrs into your ear, a scoff leaving your lips as you shove him off you,

“In your wildest dreams Philip,” After so many years of working alongside the Texan man you’ve grown use to his flirtatious comments,

Philip Graves was a man known for his words. Especially when it came to luring woman into his bedsheets, something that personally makes an acid-like taste in your tongue at the thought of it. No matter how much you need to unwind or just forget about this shitty ass world for a few minutes, you will never accept his offer. You saw Graves as a close friend, a teammate, and surprisingly a brother. And you knew he knew that too, mostly because you have rejected him multiple times, but Graves was such a stubborn man that he didn’t take no as answer. Obviously he’ll never push it, once rejected always rejected, but that didn’t mean he’d try again every so often.

No matter how many disappointments you gave him after each rejection, he never once gave up.

You knew the man was a man-whore, never one to take a relationship serious, which is why you also declined his offer. Not that you’d ever want a relationship with him. Hell, the thought of possible being in a relationship with him only made you scrunch your face in disgust. He was a friend to you, nothing else.

“Oh (Y/n) (L/n) you fill my soul just a little more each day,” Says Graves, hand planted on his chest as he pouts his bottom lip at you,

“Good. Because one of us has to be the brightness in this friendship,” You give him a smile as you walk through the black gates of the apartment complex,

Other Shadow men and woman can be found passed the gates. Some spoke to one another in the lobby, sitting on the beaten down couch, smoking, drinking, eating, cracking jokes. The apartment was everyone’s safe space. Where they can unwind, relax after completing their tasks, sleep in their proper quarters before having to get up before or at crack of dawn to start their rounds once again. Although, since civilians keep joining the team and the apartments had limited rooms, some soldiers unfortunately had to bunk with other soldiers.

Thankfully, the higher the rank one was, the privilege they had in having their own rooms. Hence, you and Graves.

You both slept on the 7th floor. Overlooking the entire safe zone. Getting a perfect view of the once beautiful city of Chicago. Yet, despite the view and the single apartment you had, you still hated the fact that you had to climb seven flights of stairs to get to your door. It was times like these that you loathed living on the highest floor.

Your legs shook as you climbed the stairs, even considered asking Graves to piggyback you to your floor but you knew that man would you haunt with that memory till the day he dies. And you knew he wouldn’t stop there. As stubborn as that man is he’ll find you in the afterlife and torment you for existence.

So, with an annoyed huff you climbed the rest of the stairs till you made it to your door.

“See you in a few hours,” You hear Graves as he walks further down the hallway, not sparing him a glance you simply wave at him as you push open your door,

Your apartment was decent. Well.. decent as it’ll ever be in times like these. Once entering the small living space, a small hallway greets you with cracked walls, the paint chipping off on either side with smudges of dirt or mud. Once walking further into the home it looked… more decent. A broken tv hung on the wall next to some windows, which some were boarded up as they didn’t have a window— which you were in the process of fixing them somehow— next, there was a single beaten down brown love seat against the wall towards the entrance. A medium coffee table stood in front of the loveseat with your AR-15 leaning against it. Then a medium size generator leaning against the opposite wall where you hung a metal bat on the wall as some sort of prize.

As mentioned, the living room seemed a little more decent, the kitchen however was just a mess with your armory. Guns and cases of bullets engulfed the kitchen. You never made or ate your food in your apartment, you mostly ate at Taz’s Diner where everyone ate together. So it was pointless to have a kitchen when it was never used for cooking, so you made it into your armory instead.

Now going towards your room where you can rest was slightly in better shape. In the center of the room laid your king size bed— something that Graves personally found for you one day while out on patrol, the ever so kind man he was. Grey and orange bedsheets laid on top of the comforter, a brick wall stood behind the bed that had a couple shelves with multiple books. It was another way to destress yourself, minus the working out or going to kill some loitering Zeds, books has always been helpful. So you’d collect as many you can find, causing you to have a mess of stacked books on your shelves.

It surprises you how they’ve managed to hold on for this long or how they haven’t collapsed on you as you slept.

A few more trinkets can be found in your room that you’ve either found or was gifted by some close friends, close civilians or Graves.

You tried to limit your collections, only wanting to keep things that seemed important or useful, yet, books were the only exception.

A metal desk leaned against the wall across the bed. Maps, bullets, a couple parts from guns, dirty rags, tape, tools and markers were scattered on the desk. Then right next to it was your window to the view of the overrun city of Chicago. Some buildings and sections of the safe zone was brought back to life, small dimmed string lights can be seen from your room, then passed the safe zone remained the cold, dark side of Chicago. Every so often you sit on your window sill, cigarette in your mouth as you scan the view, the expanding life just a few floors down, then back to the destroyed city where your mind would often get trapped in the past. Remembering nightmares you wish would vanish from your mind, including the good memories.

They were nothing but pain. It was never good to remember the past, because it reminded you what you once had, what you lost. And those were the nightmares you tried avoiding.

So, shaking the thoughts away, you shrug off your tactical vest, your heavy boots, holsters, jacket, and your tactical belt before falling face first on your mattress. Causing the poor comforter to make a loud noise from the force fall, something you could care less at the moment, all you cared for was sleep.

Nightmares or not, you were getting your sleep.

****

October 19, 2026

S. C. H. Q

0430 am

“You seen Graves?” You ask a soldier, Portman, was his name, as he sat inside a humvee. He simply points in the direction of a tent,

“The General asked to speak to him,” The young soldier says,

With knitted brows you sip your warm, very warm coffee as you make your way towards the tent. Why would he ask for him? Is he changing the plans last minute? If so why weren’t I involved in the conversation? Question after question popped in your head as you make your way through other soldiers to get to the tent. However, just as you rounded the corner of other parked vehicles you hear faint, but loud enough whispers to know people were talking to one another. Your brows knit tighter once more, trying to figure out what was being said but before you can even walk inside, Troy— one of Graves’ idiotic friends who you loathed— steps outside. His face expression showing distaste when he meets your gaze. Yet, not a moment later Graves steps outside with an oddly distant look. Brows knitted together almost in a frown, however once his eyes land on you they instantly change. As if nothing happened.

Why the fuck was Troy apart of the conversation?

“There you are! Beginning to think I had to drag your ass out of bed,” He claims as he fixes his vest,

You give both men a wary look. Your eyes averting from them to the tent behind his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Graves shakes his head with an annoyed look,

“Busting my balls it’s all,”

“Regarding?” You ask, brow slightly raised,

“None of your concern,” Troy comments, causing you to glare at him, yet before you can argue back Graves is pulling you away from him by wrapping an arm around your shoulders,

However, you still throw the piece of shit a raised finger as you’re forced to walk away.

As Graves lead you towards the trucks you asked again if everything was alright. You knew the General was a miserable old dog at times and would give shit to anyone he decided to target, so you knew what Graves felt at the moment. However, you couldn’t wrap your head around anything Graves has done wrong in the past few days or weeks. So it just seemed off.

“Don’t worry bout’ it sugar. It’s handled,” The man smirks down at you when he sees the way a mask of annoyance hovers over your face at his pet name,

Oh how he knew how much you loathed that pet name and oh how much he loved using it to simply get a rise out of you.

“You’re lucky I’m sleep deprived otherwise I’d toss this whole cup of coffee on you,” Your comment earns a loud chuckle from him,

“Thank god to your lack of sleep then,” He claims as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you both towards the humvee’s where soldiers were loading in,

After another 5 to 10 minutes of briefing the soldiers of the mission, loading the trucks of empty duffle bags for medical supplies, checking and counting ammunition for every rifle, everyone began climbing into the trucks.

Once you checked your vest multiple times, checked each component, your extra magazines, your holsters, your combat knives that you had tucked behind your back, drank your cup of coffee before pouring another one, you finally climb into the passenger seat while Graves took the drivers side.

Once signaling the man you were ready, he shifts the gear before feeling the truck moving down the road. You stare out the window, watching kids wave goodbye as their parents stood right behind them, a small smile tugs on your lips as you notice their proud, wide smiles as they wave goodbye. Yet, your heart also gets pulled on by sadness at the fact they are living in a world with such cruel conditions, instead of the happy, semi-safe world it use to be. Now, they had to fight to survive. They had to become soldiers to survive and help protect their new home.

“ETA to Red Lines is approximately an hour ladies and gentlemen. Keep your eyes pealed for any movement, safeties off once out of the safe zone,” Your thoughts are interrupted by Graves speaking into the radio,

‘Rog,’

‘Copy,’

‘Copy that sir,’

Multiple voices can be heard through the radio as they announce their confirmation.

“Get some shut eye Kali. I’ll wake you up for whatever reason,” Graves calls you by your callsign before voicing his offer, his eyes focused down the road,

No matter how heavenly that sounded, you knew it wasn’t a good idea. He needed an extra pair of eyes looking after him, after the team. Plus, if you were the last to survive Shepherd would have your head if he found out his team got killed because you wanted to get some extra sleep on the road.

“No I’m good,” You respond, slowly sipping on your coffee,

Graves turns to look at you, observing your sleep deprived frame before looking back towards the road. Just staring at you alone made him exhausted. You needed sleep and he’d forcefully put you to sleep if that’s what it took to make you catch some extra hours.

“(Y/n) seriously, gets some sleep. I’ll wake you when I need you,” He tries again, voice calm and comforting as his baby blues look into yours,

You softly chuckle, appreciating his concern, “I’m okay. M’not that tired anymore,”

That was a total lie.

Because after 10 minutes of driving down the dark, destroyed, abandoned roads of Chicago you swiftly dozed off. Empty coffee cup nearly falling out of your hands if it wasn’t for Graves’ quick reflexes.

The man slightly chuckles at you as he observes your sleeping frame before focusing his eyes back on the road. He knew you trusted him enough to be vulnerable around him, to have faith in him in keeping you both alive when one was resting. He hoped it’d remained that way. But deep down, he knew it won’t, not after today. He knew it was going to be a difficult decision if you don’t come around the new regulations that Shepherd will have back at base.

The rules made sense. But he just knew you’d be against it. And that alone brought an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

*****

Red Lines

0800

“Alright, Eagle 3 stays out here. Keep watch for any movement. Eagle 1 you’ll take care of building A. Find anything valuable that we need. Eagle 2 you’re with me and Lieutenant Kali. We’ll scope the bottom before making our way to the pharmacy unit,” Graves lays down the orders, looking at every soldier who simply nods back at him,

You on the other hand couldn’t help the annoyed look on your face when Troy would be tagging along with you and Graves. You’d rather much get chased by a group of Zeds than walk beside him. That man was not to be trusted by any means.

“If things get too complicated you retreat. Whatever you find is whatever we’ll take. Got it?” You join on the orders, receiving more nods from the soldiers,

“Remember. Safeties off. If anything moves you shoot to kill,” Graves says once again before sending everyone to their positions,

Meeting Graves’ gaze you send him a nod before following him up the stairs that lead to the hospital building. Once inside the lobby, Eagle 1 slowly and quietly parts away to checkout their side of the building. Guns raised and ready to fire. From the corner of your eye you watch them walk past the doors before disappearing from your sight. Once the lobby was clear to move forward, you and Graves lead the rest of the soldiers down the hallway.

As you made your way down the hospital you kept your gun tight to your shoulder, finger off the trigger but close enough to be used in case of anything. You and the group slowly and quietly searched each room. Your eyes cautiously scanned every inch of the place, noticing just how rough this hospital had gone through after the outbreak.

Hospital beds, equipment, papers, wheel chairs, broken windows, everything you can possibly think of was scattered across the floor, the hallways. The ceiling tiles were broken, wires hung from above, vines somehow made their way inside the hospital and have overtook the walls, the entire hospital was out of power but emergency lights still flashed, casting a red bright glow throughout the building.

However, the further your group walked into the building the worst everything got. Blood stains coated the floors, the walls, bodies that have been dead for months maybe years were left on the ground. Yet, what made everyone on edge and more cautious of their surroundings was how fresh some blood stains were. Everyone kept close watch on everything, every corner and every room.

Luckily, no living dead was seen, yet, causing you to reach the pharmacy wing with no issue. Although, it still didn’t mean everyone was safe, they still had to stay cautious.

Yet despite scanning the pharmacy for any danger, no one noticed a pair of white frosty eyes watching them in a dark corner the whole time. Watching a specific person in the group.

While two soldiers kept watch on the entrance of the door, the rest of you tossed as much medicine as you can into black duffel bags.

“Bronx start piling these bags on something with wheels,” You call out to the soldier who kept watch as you start on your second duffle, throwing variety of medical supplies inside,

From alcohol wipes, rubbing alcohol bottles, medical bandages, band-aides, any working thermometers, stethoscopes as a request from some doctors back at base, anything you saw that was of use you’d toss it in the bag. As you helped Graves carry another loaded bag onto a medical trolley that Bronx has brought from somewhere in the room, a faint noise coming from outside the double doors has everyone stopping.

“Anyone hear that?” Silo, another soldier that was placing pill bottles inside her duffle calls out,

“I did. We should bail Graves,” Troy claims, eyes directed at the doors,

“Negative, we’ve got orders,” You demand the soldier. Ignoring his words you continue tossing items inside the duffle,

With a grunt the man goes to place the duffle bag on the trolley, mumbling words underneath his breath which was most likely directed towards you but you continue to ignore him like any other day. As Troy placed his bag amongst the other filled bags, another noise that sounded like glass being stepped on comes from outside the doors, catching everyone’s attention again.

“I’m telling you something’s out there,” Silo repeats again, taking a step away from the doors, weapon slightly raised,

The sound of a shot gun being pumped rings in the air, “Graves, let’s bail!” Troy harshly growls as he points his gun towards the door,

Your own ears heard the noise, causing your blood to run cold. But you knew the base was running low on everything. You were already here, at least three bags worth of medical supplies, you couldn’t just leave them. Not when people, families, kids are slowly suffering and possibly dying. You had to take it back with you.

The stores that you’ve checked before coming to Red Lines were no use. Everything had been cleared, leaving every shelve empty. So you had to go back to base with something.

“We have orders Troy!” You remind the man as Graves slowly walks towards the double doors, rifle of his own pointing upwards, finger ready on the trigger for anything,

Troy only throws a scoff at you, “Fuck the orders!”

Jesus he’s more of a fucking pussy than I thought. You think to yourself as you turn to face the man, who still had his shot gun up in the air. Signs of sweat lingered on his temple.

“Fuck you! Families are at stake they need medicine!”

“That’s my point! None of this matters anymore they’re all gonna die anyways!”

Now that raised a flag.

“What?”

“Troy shut up that’s enough!” The look of panic and anger on Graves face raised more flags, what the hell were they hiding?

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Graves looks at you, that same odd look in his eyes from earlier was back, but he simply shakes his head with closed eyes,

“Nothing! Look, there’s nothing out there alright everyone just needs to stop being fucking paranoi—,”

“Phil!” You scream just as you see a large herd of Lurkers and Runners pushing through the doors,

Graves was able to slam the butt of his rifle towards the first Zed reaching towards him, sending him on the ground as he’s quick to shoot the rest.

“Aim for their heads!” You hear him scream as bullets begin flying in the small pharmaceutical,

In less than a second mayhem irrupted. Snarls, growls, screams, pained screams, bullets, windows, glass shattering can be heard in the building. Whatever medical supplies were left had been pushed off the counters or damaged by bullets as the living dead attacked. You had unloaded a whole magazine on the dead causing you to reach for your belt to grab another mag when you glance around the horrific sight unfolding in front of you. Multiple soldiers had been pinned in the corners by herds, pained screams surrounded the pharmaceutical as each soldier got mauled by the living dead.

You watched with wide eyes as you see one young soldier being dragged towards the back of the building by a herd, you go to reach for his wailing hands but before you can grab ahold of them you’re being slammed against the counter. A grunt rumbles in your throat when something digs into your hip, causing pain to travel up your side.

Turning, your met with the most gruesome face inches away from your own.

A runner in the process of forming into a Ghoul. His skin grey and rotten. Patches of skin missing or peeling from its face, blood either fresh and dry stained his entire torso. His mouth. Eyes wild and wide as it tries to latch its teeth onto you. Which you’d like to point out, most of his mouth was completely missing. Only bits and pieces of skin held it upright, giving you a disgusting and traumatic view of his teeth as he growled and snarled.

You groaned out loud as you try pushing the runner off of you. Doing your best in forcing his face away from you by placing your hand under his neck, forcing it away from you, your legs struggling to also kick him away from you. But it was no use because he was ravenous for you, causing him to use all his strength to mark you, eat you. Although, noticing how you’ll probably get bit by this piece of shit if you don’t fight hard enough, adrenaline rises in your veins, giving you enough strength to push him backwards till you slam it against the other counter. Bottles of pills, liquids of you don’t know what the fuck fall from the top shelve, some of it landing around you both or on you as you both struggle with each other.

But as you fought with the runner you somehow lose your balance, causing you to fall backwards, bringing the dead with you.

Another pained groan rumbles in your throat as the weight that falls on top of you nearly takes out all the air from your lungs, but with the little strength you had, you held the runner above you. Away from your skin. But your arms were quickly growing tired, causing an angered, frustrated, slightly fearful yell to fall from your lips. You cannot die this way.

However, before the dead can get a taste of your throat you feel him being pushed off you. Confusion settles on your face at the sudden moment, but is soon replaced with another feeling. Fear and worry as you see a tall, very tall being nearly hovering above you. The bright glowing red light illuminates his features, giving you a glimpse of a skull mask. From where you were on the ground you noticed military gear covered his entire frame, however fear—panic overtakes your body when you noticed this military man was not in fact alive. No. He was infected. The blood and slightly rotten skin was enough proof for you.

As the dead inches closer towards you, you instinctively crawl away from him. Trying to get away from him, away from his ravenous state. You even managed to throw your knife at him while crawling away, causing it to latch onto his right shoulder, yet he only pulls it off with no care in the world as he continues inching closer to you. Crawling away quickly turns into you curling into a ball when he suddenly launches at you. As you waited for the end in a tight ball, your eyes are quick to shoot open when you never see it. In fact, you turn around when you see the tall infected military man fighting off a Ghoul that was apparently fighting him to grab onto you.

Not thinking much about the odd situation you quickly rise to your feet before running to grab your rifle from the floor.

Just as you grip the gun, a pair of strong arms clasping around your shoulders brings a shriek along with a jolt from you. You go to punch the infected, but Graves quickly spins you around to look directly in your eyes.

“We gotta go!” He yells over the ongoing commotion and without any hesitation he drags you by the arm to leave the death trap,

You quickly follow him, but just as you jump over the fallen trolley you stop to quickly pick up a duffle bag that had medical supplies before continuing in following him out the building. Graves yells at you to fucking run for your life, literally, as more horrific shrieks and snarls echo throughout the hospital as you, Graves and of course Troy run down the hallways.

More bullets fly in the air as the three of you shoot any oncoming herds. Felt like a never ending nightmare, but the three of you eventually make it outside. Where Eagle 3 had been mauled to death.

“Fucking Zeds!” Graves curses underneath his breath at the horrific sight,

Blood, lots of blood coated the pavement. Limbs, ripped intestines were scattered throughout the floor, turning your stomach as you scan the gruesome scene. If you had the time you’d definitely puke your coffee and protein bars, but your life was literally at stake. No time to puke your guts.

No pun intended.

“Fucking bastards! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you! Come on!” The sound of Troy yelling like a complete maniac brings you out of your thoughts,

“Troy get your ass in the truck!” Graves yells from inside the humvee, already igniting the ignition and placing the gear in drive,

Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you grab ahold of Troy’s tactical vest before dragging him towards the truck. Who was still yelling harmless profanities to the infected, who by the way were rapidly forcing themselves out of the building, causing you to push the idiot inside the humvee before quickly climbing inside yourself. The moment the door shuts Graves all but burns rubber on the pavement, leaving the herd of dead running after the truck.

*******

S.C.H.Q

1000 am

“I’m telling you sir, everything turned into a shit show,” Graves explains once again, exhaustion written on his face as he rests his hands on either side of his hips, “There was nothing we could’ve done. Sons of bitches ambushed us,”

“Goddamn it Graves,” Shepherd growls under his breath as he massages his forehead,

“With all do respect sir, you knew what we were walking into. That place is just damn near impossible to get through. We’re lucky enough to even stand here and tell you it was a failed mission,” You go to defend the Texan, earning a small glare from the old dog,

“Not lucky enough. Not everyone made it back,” You hear Troy behind you, feeling irritation rise in your chest. He’s been such a fucking Parrot since you’ve arrived at base,

But like usual, you ignore him, not even sparing him a glance. Yet, he still kept going. You hear him push off the wall as he walks closer to the group huddled around the Generals’ desk.

“My men would still be here if you’d just listen to me. But no! You just had to keep fucking grabbing medicine did ya!”

“Well excuse me for wanting to fucking save lives! For doing my goddamn job!” You yell back, facing the man to stare directly into those dark, coward, brown eyes of his,

“Yeah? Well look what that got us! One duffle bag filled with medical supplies that’ll not even last a week and the lives of soldiers lost because you wanted to save people who aren’t worth saving anymore!!” The moment those words left his mouth, your fist was quick to make contact with his left cheek. He stumbles backwards against some chairs.

Everything you were feeling; exhaustion, hunger, rage, adrenaline, annoyance, irritation, all of it had combined. Causing you to lash out. Physically. Besides, he’s had coming.

“That’s enough! Both of you!!” Graves once again is pulling you away from the man storming at you,

Although, Troy wasn’t close to reach or touch you because Graves had placed a firm hand on his chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Now you listen here Lieutenants!” Shepherd announces with a dark tone, rising from his chair he fixes his uniform before walking around the desk, “I understand this is a tough situation on both your parts, but killing each other won’t bring anyone justice!”

“But what I do need is both of you to be on the same page! I’m already dealin’ with a herd of sick, panicked folks out there demanding for any sort of help! The last thing I need is to deal with both of your childlike behavior!”

You send a small glare to Shepherd from the corner of your eye before bringing your fuming orbs to the idiotic dirty blonde head. Who now sported a small gash on his bottom lip, bringing some sort of satisfaction knowing it was you who caused the small gash.

“Now I know we’re all frustrated and stressed about all this mess. But we gotta keep our heads on straight! So with that being said, Lieutenant Lennon go on and catch a breather. Lieutenant (L/N) you’re dismissed. Get some shut eye, I know you need it,” Shepherd orders with a cold, firm tone, eyes challenging you, “You’re dismissed Lieutenant. We’ll spell you later on in the night,”

You don’t argue. Mostly because Graves gives your arm a slight shove with his elbow, a message to just let it go and follow orders. So you do just that. Not sparing either men a glance you storm out the office, the door slamming shut, rattling the windows with its force. Not stopping, you head down towards the steps of the building, ignoring other soldiers standing on guard or the looks directed your way, you just kept walking till you eventually reached outside. The fresh air hitting your heated skin.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath through your nose. Holding it for a few seconds before exhaling deeply through your mouth.

This whole morning was a fucking shit-show and you blamed no one else other than Shepherd. If he wasn’t so obsessed in overtaking Red Lines, everyone from your squad would have been alive. If he’d just send your troop to another location that hadn’t been touched before, none of this mess would have happened.

More time is being wasted, more lives are being taken by a goddamn flu that this base has no medical care for, especially now since the mission was a failure and whatever was inside the duffle was not going to be enough. If you were feeling stressed before then this only made your shoulders heavier at the thought of multiple families slowly dying for the lack of medical care.

“I’m assuming the mission didn’t go as planned?” A soft voice coming from your left has you opening your eyes,

Sandy. One of your closest friends’ girlfriend stood beside you. Her blonde hair held in a messy bun as she wore a grey coat, light brown long sleeve underneath with some old brown timberland boots on her feet. You observed her features, trying to see any signs of sickness and immediately feeling relief when she looked completely fine. Your eyes then fall down to the little boy by her side, bright green eyes looking up at you with a wide smile. You smile down at him, ruffling his short dirty blonde locks.

“Was a fucking disaster,” You mumble under your breath, locking eyes with the woman,

She gives you a small saddened smile, one hand reaching out to your arm to give you reassurance while the other cradled her growing bump.

“All that matters now is that you’re back. That you’re alive,” Sandy states with the same warm smile,

You give her a small smile as you look down at her hand rubbing soft circles on her stomach, “How’s the nugget?”

Sandy’s smile widens, “He’s good. Kickin’ and punchin’ in there. Think he wants out already,”

You chuckle at her response, “Just like his father. Stubborn as hell,”

Sandy softly chuckles. A glimpse of sorrow hovering over her eyes at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. But you knew she was strong, stronger than you that’s for sure because she pushed down the growing ball in her throat and continued smiling at you.

“Listen.. whatever we brought it’s.. it’s not enough. So regardless if you both aren’t sick.. just go to medic. Better safe than sorry,” You tell her with a small smile, which she returns, appreciation written on her face for your constant help,

She truly did appreciate everything you’ve done for both of them after Billy had passed away. At first she didn’t need your pity, but once she saw you were determined in keeping Billy’s promise, she slowly began opening to you. A bond was soon formed between you three, and you absolutely cherished it.

After kindly declining her offer in grabbing some breakfast with them—considering that’s where they were heading in the first place before running into you— you wave them goodbye before heading towards the Shadow Company’s apartments. Looks from multiple soldiers were sent your way, word had traveled fast about the failed mission which you weren’t surprised about, but still grew annoyed for this squads loud mouth. Nothing is ever kept a secret. Yet, you held your head high, giving dark threatening glares at soldiers who dared look your way, making them look the other way with a panicked expression in their eyes.

It felt like an eternity when you finally made it to your private quarters. Once the door was shut and locked behind you. You toss your keys somewhere on a nearby couch, placed your rifle against the coffee table, start to shrug off your boots and vest before making your way towards the bedroom. Where you fall face first on the mattress, slightly rattling your shelves from the rough impact, although at that moment you could care less if they decide to give its last breath and have it crumble on top of you.

You just needed sleep.

And that’s exactly what you got. Within five or so minutes you start to drift away, the sound of heavy rain beginning to pour just outside your window helps your exhaustion take over your body, helps the stress from yours shoulders to disperse for the time being and sending you into another deep, dreamless sleep.

++++

1900

BANG!

The loud, extremely loud noise has you bolting from your bed. Your breath uneven as you scan your surroundings. Your bedroom remained still, only the sounds of rain hitting against your window can be heard, but before you can calm yourself, convince yourself it was just another nightmare you hear it once again. Only difference it has you jumping from bed when those loud sounds were familiar sounds of gunfire. With quick movements you slip on your boots before darting outside the bedroom, you quickly grip your rifle before running out the door.

The hallways were empty, but as you hurried down the steps, it was then you began hearing muffled screams, which then grew much louder and clearer that sent a dark shiver down your spine the moment you stepped outside into the pouring rain. It was absolute chaos outside. People were desperately running from something, someone, while others sought for safety. You tried asking a civilian for answers but they only pleaded with you with a frightening look as they ran away from you

“What the fuck?” You whisper as you watch them bolt down the road, but your eyes wildly turn at the sound of more horrific screams,

Your eyes grow wide as you catch a Shadow dragging a woman by her hair as she screams and pleads with them. Immediately, you ran towards the commotion where you roughly shove the soldier away, causing him to lose his balance. “What the hell are you doing?!”

His eyes stare at you with confusion, determination, yet they also had uncertainty and fear in them, “Following orders!”

“What?!” You yell the same time when more frightful pleads and screams are heard before hearing another round of gunfire echoing down the street,

The loud, piercing noise has you flinching, but nonetheless run towards the rapid fire. Your feet come to a complete stop when you see the horrific sight in front of you. Inside a gate we’re at least five Shadows with rifles, but your stomach turns when your eyes land on the pile of bodies that were stacked upon each other. The sight alone has a gasp falling from your lips, never in a million years did you think your team would be slaughtering civilians. Civilians and..kids.

The moment you see soldiers lining another group of people, along with kids, you run towards the gated area.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You demand out loud as you shove the soldier that was about to raise his rifle,

Taken aback by your sudden presence and sudden shove, his eyes were just as wide and frantic as yours. Even with a mask covering most of his face you can see the horror in his face. “G-General Shepherd, Lieutenant. He’s ordered a sweep of the community,”

“A what?!” You question with genuine confusion and horror,

You should have seen it coming, of course the old man would do something like this to keep himself safe and away from any sort of danger. But killing innocent lives? You knew Shepherd was crazy with his risky motives, but now, you were convinced he had finally lost it.

Yet, before you can demand him to put the rifle away and free the civilians, a loud voice is calling after you. Turning around, your met with another soldier jogging after you.

“Lieutenant (L/N), General Shepherd wants you in his office. It’s urgent,”

“Damn right it’s fucking urgent!” You growl at him then turn back to the man who still had his rifle in his hand, “I don’t know what kind of shit ass order he gave you, but that’s enough! Let these people go,”

Just as you turn to walk with the other man, a voice is calling after you, “But Lieutenant.. General Shep—,”

“General Sheperd has lost his goddamn mind!!” You yell over the pouring rain, your eyes firm and angry, “Now I’ve ordered you, to stand. Down!”

The soldier hesitates to lower his weapon, even spares a glance to the other soldiers who stood by with the same hesitance, but they all eventually lower their weapons and allow the civilians to leave from the gate. All of them sprint away with frightened screams, once you knew not a single soul was apprehended you followed the soldier to the building where the piece of shit was. Although, you couldn’t deny the uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of your stomach, you knew something bad was soon to come.

As you made your way through the streets, the streets that were once filled with certainty, safety, and joy, were now filled with absolute darkness and silence. Only the sound of the pouring rain surrounding you can be heard, along with faint screams coming here and there. You eventually make it to the top of the building where you shove open the door to his office, causing it to roughly collide with the glass window.

“Wanna explain to me why we’re killing half the fucking community?!” You yell as you march towards the desk where the old dog sat with a grim look,

Other soldiers who were nearby took a step closer towards you, indicating they’d hold you down if you’d tried anything.

Troy stood right beside Shepherd, his hands clasped behind his back as he glared at your storming frame. You also didn’t miss the way he takes a step forward in a protective manner, which makes you tighten your hold on your rifle. Your eyes then turn to the left of the office where Graves leaned against a stack of piled cases, his own rifle hung around his neck, dangling in front of his body, but it was his eyes that had a unfamiliar dark look in them.

“Lieutenant, I need you to calm down,” Shepard orders, his voice horsed as he spoke to you,

“Calm?— calm down?! You just ordered to kill innocent lives! How the fuck do you expect me to calm down!” You scream, your voice bouncing off the walls as you step closer to the desk, but hands gripping on your elbows has you halting your steps,

“Because Lieutenant, what I’m about to tell you is something I need you to understand!” Shepherd sternly states as he slowly rises from his chair, his eyes looking at you as you shrug off the soldiers,

“Understand what?! That we’re becoming mercenaries?!”

“Understand that this goddamn flu we got going on is only becoming more of a problem!” The old man starts, he remains behind his desk as he continues, “More lives are being infected with this flu every god forsaking minute and we don’t have the medical equipment to cure it!”

You shrug your shoulders from frustration and rage, “So what?! So that means you have to start killing people for it?! What happened to isolation?! Or quarantining the sick?!”

“Quarantine won’t do any justice here!” Troy joins in, his gaze firm as he continues standing by the General’s side, “Like General Shepherd said, everyone is being infected by the second. We need to kill the sick to kill the flu!”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You couldn’t believe Graves was allowing this! All he did was stay quiet throughout the whole argument, just switching his gaze from you to Shepherd to Troy then back to you. After everything you’ve all been through, every near death experience, this was how your relationship would end? He wouldn’t try and attempt to back you on this? How can he agree with them? How can he kill in cold blood? What happed to him?

“Does that also include children?! Innocent children?!” You yell at every man in the room, but your eyes land on Shepherd when he inhales deeply through his nose, his shoulders straightening as he looks directly in your eyes,

“Whatever it takes. Lieutenant,” Your blood boiled in your veins at his words,

Your anger, hatred, frustration, exhaustion, everything you were feeling at the moment, you let it take over. Your vision immediately gets clouded with pure white hot rage, your heart pounded in your ears, the hair on your arms raised as your hands shook.

End him. Fucking kill him! He’ll never get away this.

“You crazy old fuck!!” You yell as you raise your rifle in the air, the barrel directed towards Shepherd, his eyes wide as he stares at you,

The situation had escalated rather fast. Your finger pressed the trigger with no hesitation, igniting the chamber to go off, but just as you had raised the gun towards the man and just as you pressed it, someone is knocking the rifle out of your hands. Because of this, the bullet only clipped Shepherd on his left shoulder. Which still had him stumbling backwards against the wall as he clutched onto his injured shoulder.

Almost immediately as the rifle fell to the ground, you feel large hands grasping your arms, but you quickly fight them off by twisting from their hold and snapping one of their arms, bringing an agony scream from them. It was then you realized it was another Shadow.

Yet, just as you hurt one soldier, more pair of hands are grabbing ahold of you, forcing you to the ground but your body was filled with adrenaline, rage that you used it to push against them. You roughly knock your shoulder against another Shadow’s firm chest, sending him tumbling back towards the other that had held onto you.

The moment both of them had fell to the ground, Troy was next in grabbing onto you. He gripped your hair as he pulled your head backwards, earning a pained scream from you. He threatened you disgustingly close in your ear that only seemed to intensified your rage, so with your free arm, you let your fist connect with his face once again where you hear a cracking sound before seeing him tumbling backwards against the wall. His hands reached up to his bloody nose as he groaned in pain.

“(Y/n)! Stop!” You hear Graves’ scream, your eyes avert to the Texan, noticing then he had his rifle pointing at you but held out a hand as his blue eyes pleaded with you,

It was at his moment that you knew, he’d shoot you if ordered too.

You stared at him with hurt, angered, betrayed eyes. How can he possibly allow this to happen? Why would he allow this to happen? You knew Graves would often do so some shady stuff or risk his life in order to get the job done, but this?! This was beyond not okay. This was not the Philip Graves you knew.

“Troy don’t!” Graves yells, his eyes wide as he watches the man behind your shoulder,

The moment the words leave his mouth you quickly turn to bolt out the office just as bullets start to fly. A bullet still manages to get lodged in your right upper arm as you ran out the door, but it wasn’t enough to halt your steps, instead it only heightened your adrenaline to run faster down the hallway. That was until you see more soldier running down your way, causing you to push through a random door just as their own rifles start sending live rounds your way. It felt like an eternity of you running through the building, dodging numerous bullets with your name on it, fighting Shadows who only ended up getting their life ripped from them by your own hands, but you eventually make it out the building. Except it wasn’t in a nice way.

Just as you had gotten to the second floor of the building and were focused on running down the hallway, one of Shepherds soldiers had caught you by surprise. He had emerged from a dark corner and had tackled you against the window, shattering it on impact. You fought him for a few minutes before you see him lunge at you in frustration, sending you both flying out the window. The both of you tumble down the second floors rooftop before landing roughly on the street. You groaned heavily as you laid under the pouring rain, your entire body flared with pain as you laid on the ground gathering your breath. But a voice in your head screams at you to get up. It took some strength, but you eventually pull yourself up and off the ground.

It was then as you slowly got to your feet that you noticed the man you were fighting with didn’t have the same luck as you. He had landed on nearby humvee, where you had landed on a tent filled with crates and cardboard boxes. Still wasn’t a painless fall, but at least you survived it.

With a hand clutching onto your aching abdomen, you limp away from the building, but the moment you had gotten a few feet away from said building, more shots are being fired in the air, forcing you to run through your pain.

You ran through crowds of people who were also running scared in different directions as those sons of bitches fired away. Not caring if they shot an innocent life, not caring if they shot innocent children, they didn’t care what was in front of them just as long as they got their job done. And their job was capturing you. Alive. Alongside “sweeping” the community.

But from the looks of it they had excuses ready to share to Shepherd on why they wouldn’t be able to bring you in alive.

Fearful screams are heard all around you as you ran through terrified crowds. Slightly being shoved or tripped by the civilians as they ran anywhere to find safety, fearing for their lives. You didn’t blame them. This was supposed to be a community where it should have felt safe for them, where they can rebuilt themselves, where they can depend on to stay alive, now they tried finding any escape to survive from those murdering cunts.

You ran as fast as you can to a dark alley where it led to a barricaded tunnel, the tunnel that led outside the headquarters. A tunnel that nobody knew about. A tunnel you had created as an emergency escape, no matter the situation. Whether it was an attack from Looters, from other rival groups, from Zeds, or in your case at the moment. Being captured and killed by your very own team who you thought was your family.

With quick movements you pull apart the gate from the floor, causing a small opening to get to the other side. The muddy floor covered your tactical gear as you forced your way into the small opening, huffing and puffing as you used whatever energy you had left to escape. Just as a flashlight points down towards the alley you were already on your feet running down the tunnel. Looking behind your shoulder you see more lights running your way, which only caused you to run faster. Once out the tunnel you turn to your left to head further away from the base, careful to stick to the shadows as you see more soldiers outside the base in guard. Pointing their lights to see if they find anything, anyone.

After what seemed like eons of dodging their spotlights, you quickly run further down the streets, however, just as you thought you were at a safe distance, before you can even process it somebody had tackled you down. A loud groan falls from your lips as you land painfully on your ribs, again. The captor who had tackled you fought with you, forcing you to turn around as he tried his best in zip tying your hands together, but of course you fought back. With irritation of not being able to control your squirming frame, the soldier forces you to turn forward right before letting the butt of his rifle land a heavy strike on your face. Causing your world to spin for a hot second.

“Eagle to base, I’ve got her. I repeat, I’ve apprehended Lieutenant Kali,” You hear him say into the cold night air, your mind slightly still dazed from the brutal blow to the head,

You didn’t know what the other person in the radio orders him to do, but knew it was nothing good because you see him nod before slowly making his way towards you. You tried crawling away from him, despite the blood trickling down the side of your temple and dizziness clouding your mind, you tried your best in moving away from him. But it was no use because he was quick to grip you from your ankles before roughly dragging you against the floor till he hovered above you, however, before he can do you any more harm he’s suddenly being tackled to the ground by a dark figure.

A brutal scream is being irrupted into the dark sky as the dark figure eats away at the soldier. Fuck. Holy shit. You think to yourself as you remain frozen on the floor, watching the gory scene unfold right in front of you. It didn’t take long for the screams to die out. Just when they did, the dark figure rises from the floor and slowly turns to you. It was then you noticed it was the same Zed from earlier. The one from the hospital. Your brows knit together in confusion, not quite understanding how he was standing right in front of you, just a few feet away. Did he follow us? You think once again, but before the Zed can try and pounce at you too the sound of more Shadow Company’s soldiers come running down the street, catching both yours and the Zeds attention. Using the opportunity of him looking down at the group of soldiers running your way, you quickly rise to your feet before bolting further down the street. Away from the soldiers, away from the flesh eating zombie.

Because if it wasn’t bullets that would kill you, it would be in the cold hands of the Zed.

You ran without looking back. Not really caring where you were heading, you just knew you had to get somewhere safe. So you ran down the darken streets of Chicago, the streets that were once filled with noise and joy, now they stood in cold frozen silence as the fungus eats away at the buildings and streets. Vines overtaking numerous houses, buildings, burnt cars, making it look indeed out of a horror movie.

After running aimlessly down the roads and cutting through multiple buildings without looking behind your shoulder, you squeeze through a broken down garage door that led to the other side of the home. However, just as you managed to fit through and turned to run once again, your feet come to an abrupt stop when your eyes land on a large herd of zombies.

Neither of them had noticed you yet. But it wouldn’t be long for them to pick up your scent and started chasing you, so to avoid that at all costs, you slowly begin to backtrack your steps as quietly as possible. But just as you moved a leg you see a creeper coming from the corner, noticing how he desperately begins sniffing the air, causing his dead buddies to do the same as they try following your scent.

Panic rises in your chest as you watch them slowly turn in your direction, but before they can get a visual of you a large cold hand covers your mouth, earning a muffled scream as you feel a firm arm wrap around your shoulders and hauling you out of their sight. Fear and adrenaline rushes in your veins as you try fighting the Zed, mentally preparing that this is how you die, this is how you’ll get infected. Despite you still trying to wiggle yourself out of the strong arms, you knew this was the end. After so many years of fighting to stay alive, so many bullets you’ve caught, so many lives you took, this was your end. None of it mattered anymore.

As you continued to fight your way out of his hold, you feel the way his hand tightens around your mouth the same time he pins you closer towards his chest. Noticing the way the heard of Zeds and Creepers slowly walk past the little alleyway you both hid from. The darkness helped hide you two, but your heart hammered in your chest as you watch with wide eyes, seeing them desperately follow your scent, seeing them pick up their pace when it must be fading into the night sky. After what seemed like centuries, the Zed that held you against his chest eventually lets you go, which you are quick to take a large step away from him.

Your breath came out of your mouth in quick panicked pants. Eyes still wide as you avert them from the tall figure to the walking dead. You weighed your options. Either stay and fight off the tall one or run and risk getting chased by the rest of the herd who seemed to be in good distance, but still. You don’t know how many more of them are out there.

So, you settled on fighting the tall one. Would you win? That’s highly unlikely. But hey. You’ve survived worse situations.

Slowly backing away from the military Zed, your eyes held his white, frosty, gaze. Then, from the corner of your eye you spotted an old, rusty iron crowbar, which you quickly grip onto it. Still holding his gaze, your hands tighten their hold on the bar when you see the Zed now walking towards you, a loud, threatening growl rumbling from it. You continue taking slow steps away from it, but just as you did you hear another loud, deep, gurgling growl, only except this time it didn’t come from the dead in front of you. This time it came from behind you.

Fuck sake give me a break. You mentally curse as you slowly, oh so slowly turn around. Only to be met with a large, very, very large obese zombie. Your eyes grow wide as your mouth falls open at the monstrosity standing just a few inches from you. This night was seriously determined in ending your life one way or another.

Yet, before your life can officially come to an end, you’re suddenly being tossed backwards against the cold concrete. A pained groan vibrates in your throat as you land awkwardly, but just as you fell you see the dead soldier once again launching at the large zombie.

“The fuck?” This time you voice out your thoughts as you remain watching the way the tall soldier fights off the other zombie, as if it was preventing it from reaching you,

There’s no way. That’s clearly not happening right now. There’s no way this very dead soldier is fighting off another zombie to get it away from me. I’m just going bat-shit crazy. That’s what’s actually happening right now. You think to yourself as you continue staring at the sight in front of you, eventually, you slowly crawled away then finally jolt to your feet before once again running out of the alley. As you ran, growls echo right behind you, but you never stopped. You once again continued running till you knew it was safe to stop.

You honestly don’t know how far you got, but you eventually come to a stop when you get to a suburban area that was deserted. Your lungs burned while your ribs stabbed at your sides. The rain never ceased, in fact it only seemed to intensify as the night went on, which you then realized you had to find shelter to gather yourself, deal with your throbbing arm and dry yourself before you die of hyperthermia. That’s how much luck you had.

As you panted heavily under the pouring rain, eyes observing your surroundings to catch a glimpse of any movement, any danger, you had missed the way a dark figure blended well in the shadows of the suburban area, as well as blending his heavy footsteps with the rain. That was until you turned around to check if no one or anything was indeed following you, but the moment you turn around your entire body is jolting from fright as the tall tactical Zed stood inches away from you.

“Fuck!” You curse as you fall backwards again. Which you’d like to point out that you’ll be waking up with some serious bruises on your lower backside from the repetitive falls,

You slowly crawl away from the dead, but the more you try distancing yourself, the more it walked towards you with a faint growl. Little did you know he— it was completely irritated with you and your lack of mobility. As you remained frozen on the soaked, cold ground, while your eyes stared upwards to him, you didn’t expect him to let out a grunt before walking past you. You watch his dark figure walk towards a house behind you, he climbs up the steps with a slight limp before ramming the door open with his shoulder and walking inside. Something you definitely, definitely were not expecting. In fact, you were so confused, speechless and shocked that you remained sprawled on the floor, the heavy rain still pouring down on you.

This was beyond a fucking weird and odd night for you. However, after a long minute, you get to your feet, but you stand your ground. Your eyes darting from the opened door of the home, to down the dark, cold, pouring street, then down the street you came from. You contemplated whether you should just run, again, or… No!! That’s a terrible idea!! It’s a trap! The moment you step foot into that house he’ll just launch at you!!

The voice argues in your head as you stay standing outside in the rain. You had such wild options right now that neither of them sounded safe or great. However, the option was made for you when you hear a loud shrieking noise echoing down the dark street. Can this night get any worse? Instantly your feet are moving to the house. Yet, just as you stand on the front porch of the rundown home, your eyes squint to get a glimpse of inside the death trap, but sigh heavily when darkness is all you can see. Your eyes then scan outside, trying to see if you can find anything of use to protect yourself with, but only thing you find are pieces of rotten planks of wood that looked like they’d snap on the first hit.

So with no other option, you slowly step inside the home. Your eyes trying to see through the darkness, luckily, the moon was bright enough to cast some sort of light through the broken down windows, but it still didn’t calm your nerves. Upon entering the home, the first thing that welcomes you is the stench of dusty, murky old walls, then a flight of stairs that lead upstairs. On your left, laid a destroyed den with rotten couches that have been flipped upside down, books, glass littered the ground, then to your right you assumed was the living room since you got a glimpse of some more couches. You weren’t able to fully get a view since the sound of heavy footsteps climbing down the stairs jolts your body to action mode.

Your hands curl as you prepare yourself for what’s to come. Your eyes never leaving the dark, tall figure slowly coming down the steps. Thick silence surrounds the both of you when he finally stops at the end of the stairs, your gazes locked on each other, that’s until the dead gives a grunt before slowly turning to walk to the right, entering the living room. Again, just like outside you watch him leave with tightly knitted brows, confusion once clouding your mind. This is definitely the most weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. You stood there, not sure of what you should do next. Your eyes then look up the steps, a debate running in your head. It was simple, either go up, lock yourself in a room and try to catch some sleep— if that ever happens— or remain downstairs to keep a close eye on his.. intentions. Although, you were convinced on what exactly his intentions were.

Eventually, after what seemed like minutes passing, a cold, uncomfortable shiver runs down your spine, making you decide in heading upstairs. You slowly walk up the steps, keeping your gaze locked behind you in case he decides to attack you from the back. Your priority wasn’t on checking upstairs for any other of his brain eating friends, you had assumed upstairs was clear since you didn’t hear any commotion upon entering the home and had seen him coming from upstairs. With a ridiculous thought, you assumed he had checked the whole house before you had stepped inside.

It was such a dumb thought that it even caused a scoff out of you as you continue making your way up the home. Your steps causing the old staircase to groan under your weight. Once up the second floor, you scan your surroundings until they settle on a door on the far end of the floor. You quickly make your way inside the room and shut the door behind you. It didn’t have a lock. Fucking perfect, but you did see a desk near the window, so with quick steps you walk towards it before dragging it towards the door with heavy grunts. You make sure to jam it right under the doorknob, it wasn’t much but you knew it’d keep him from entering while you slept. Or at least tried to get some sleep.

More time had passed by. After getting a better look of the room you chose, you realized it must’ve belonged to a male in his mid twenties, possibly in his thirties. Old playboy, alternative rock band posters hung on the walls, a mess of papers, old shoes, clothes, books, CD cases, was displayed on the wooden floor. Once discarding your wet clothes and managing to find dry clothes that shockingly fit you, which was another pair of dark jeans and a faded grey AC/DC t-shirt, you checked your injured arm. The bullet was lodged between your flesh, making it a bitch to pull out you eventually remove the piece of metal with some old scissors you found.

Definitely wasn’t sanitary nor was it not painful but what other choice did you have? After semi bandaging your arm with some shirts you finally settled under the covers.

You didn’t exactly fall asleep right away, your mind was on high alert to even let your eyes close. Every little noise you’d hear it’d sent a wave of paranoia, causing you to grip onto the wooden baseball bat you had found somewhere in the room. The paranoia never ceased, especially when you’d hear movement coming from downstairs, reminding you that you were in fact not alone.

Sleep and exhaustion does eventually force you into sleep. Little noise would often wake you, but those eventually drifted away in the air as sleep overtook you. You just prayed to god, if there is a god, that you’d wake up in the morning.

And if you did. You’d gladly escape with the first chance you’d get.

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-> Aahhhhhhhh After 3 Long Months!!!! It’s Finally Here!!!!! I Have Been Working On This One Back & Forth!!

-> Like I Said, This Is By Far The Longest Fic I’ve Ever Written. I think I Usually Always Stop Around 9k Words But This Is Definitely My Longest Yet! 😭

-> I Really Do Hope Y’all Liked This One Because… I’ve Worked On It For So Long 🙃

-> But Anyways, It’s Finally Yours To Read! Give It Some Love, Share Your Thoughts Much Love To Ya’ll & Expect More Chapters To This Mini Series! 🫶🫶

-> Turn On Post Notifications!! For More Updates!!! 🔔

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