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inkbybambi · 1 year ago

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⚜️ pornstar!ghost who's so, so in love with you —

words: 3.8k tags: smut, creampie, pet names (good girl, love, darling, etc), throat holding, no use of y/n, fem!reader, ghost and reader are so in love with each other, biting/marking, mentions of sex work. notes: inspired by @ghosts-cyphera 's pornstar!ghost. thank you so, so much for creating him and for letting me bite him and chew him like a squeaky toy. please read the original here and give it lots of love! here is the playlist i made while writing — a mixture of soft and sweet and filthy and everything in between. minors dni, my blog is 18+.

in the muffled quiet of the bathroom, you take a deep breath. your heart beats in time with the rhythmic thumping of the bass that reverberates throughout the flat. that same steady beat of edm songs has been on repeat since you arrived at the party, and your blood hums with the vibrations. you love parties; the drinks, the snacks, the absolute unhinged bullshit that can only be achieved by those in front and behind the camera.

you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint.

you slip from the bathroom, perhaps just a little tipsy, the warmth of the drinks and the atmosphere thread through your blood like fire, the colored flashing lights casting everything in a multi-colored glow. you move through the crowd to find the one person who means more than the entire world and —

he’s sitting on the couch, pretending to listen to one of the newer talents; she’s a touch too close, fingers reaching out to graze his forearm. he doesn’t even blink twice before he’s pulling his arm away, pretending to adjust his watch as his eyes sweep the room.

as soon as his gaze lands on you, he straightens up, leaning forward in anticipation. the other girl looks put off but neither of you pay her any mind as you make your way to him, crawling onto the couch where he’s (been) waiting for you.

you nestle into his side, taking the red, plastic cup you trusted him with when you went to the bathroom. you take a small sip.

“this isn’t my drink,” you tell him.

“you’re right.”

you pout at him, eyes glittering with the lights.

he looks at you expectedly, pointedly looking at the cup and giving you that look. the one he gives you whenever he wants you to do something, and you always listen.

you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out at him, before dutifully drinking the water that he’s so graciously filled your cup with instead of whatever fruity and far-too-strong cocktail the host had conjured up. he snorts, rolling his eyes fondly as he slings an arm across the back of the couch.

when half the cup is gone, you look back at him, doe-eyes big and glassy, the need for praise and approval simmering under the surface. even in the low light of the room, you see how his eyes soften as he takes you in. his hand comes up to cup your face, cradling it. you close your eyes, nuzzling into his palm as you enjoy the moment of calm. as his thumb gently wipes under your eye, your eyes flutter back open to focus on him, and he tilts his head as he assesses you.

this moment is just for you two. even in a room full of people, you’re unable to focus on anything but him.

he glances at his wrist to check his watch — the one you gave him for his birthday last year and the one that’s been on his wrist ever since, not even taking it off to film unless absolutely necessary.

(and if he got you a bracelet that matched his watch as close as possible for your birthday? neither of you mention it, but you know.)

ghost’s never been one for social niceties —preferring to keep to himself — and you know you haven’t been here too terribly long, only one drink deep, but both of you have a rare day off together and he’d rather be alone with you for as long as possible than at this last minute thrown together “party” by a few colleagues.

he leans in close to graze his covered mouth against your jaw — he never takes off the skull mask, except when he’s alone with you.

("it's part of my charm," he claims, grin stretching across his lips, getting ready for his first shoot of the day. you bite back an amused smile, sitting in front of him and fussing until he sits still so you can paint on his eye black.)

“i think it’s time i took you home, princess.”

and christ, his voice.

it's well known you’re closer than most, so it’s not terribly surprising when you arrive and leave together and generally stick to each other like glue.

you press your lips right against the sensitive skin behind his ear, brushing against the fabric, voice masked by the music but still keeping it low enough so only he hears.

“then take me home, simon.”

his eyes flash dangerously, taking your cup and abandoning it on the coffee table. his large hand dwarfs your own as he drags you off the couch.

you didn’t say hello to anyone in particular when you arrived and you don’t stop to let anyone know you're leaving. you’re too focused on his thumb running across the ridge of your knuckles, the way he laces your fingers together, how you two fit so well together.

if there was a red string tied to your pinky, you know it would lead you right to him.

the ride back to your flat is spent with his hand on your thigh, hot and possessive like a brand.

there's something different about tonight. ghost's touch lingers, as if he doesn't want to be without you for even a second, and you're drawn to him like a moth to flame, helpless to do anything but get as close as you can, hoping you won't burn and turn to ash.

you know exactly where the night is leading when he pulls you to your bedroom, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting everything in a halo of warm, dim light.

ghost turns to you, hands on your hips, pulling you closer. you fingers tease the edge of his mask, hooking under the familiar fabric and starting to drag up. you pause as his lips come to view, watching him carefully.

glassy eyes meet yours and you forget to breathe for a moment. you want to capture the warmth swirling in his eyes, keep it close on the days that are dark and dreary, on the days that only he makes better.

you pull the rest of the covering off, his hair slightly ruffled, haloed by the light.

a delicate smile graces your lips, reaching a hand up to run your fingers along his jaw — a motion so familiar, a motion repeated in front of cameras and bright lights and others watching. he's sharp lines and features carved from marble but he's so soft, a comfort you can't name when you're with him.

he looks like an angel, heaven-sent.

"whatcha you thinkin', pretty girl?" he asks, voice low, accent thick, capturing your wandering fingers and pressing a kiss to your inner wrist, right beneath your bracelet.

you don't say anything, continuing to admire him, biting your lip. you're afraid to speak. afraid to give a name to these emotions that have settled into your bones and blood, seared into you.

for now, you keep those words locked in your heart, protected by ribs and flesh and walls that he so carefully picks apart with his teeth and tongue and fingers.

you shake your head instead of answering him, a gentle smile gracing your lips, threading your fingers through his hair. it's fluffy and a bit on the long side. he showered as soon as he was off work. he never wants others lingering on his skin.

you tip up on your toes enough to capture his lips with yours, biting at his bottom lip.

he presses you up against the wall, mouth hot and wet on yours. he licks deep into your mouth, fingers lacing in your hair. you grip the front of his shirt, mewling into his mouth as he kisses you like he'll never get to again.

some of your lipstick is smeared on his lips when he pulls away, eyes black. you shiver under his stare.

you press a tantalizing kiss to his jaw, teeth nipping.

"want to film it?" a mischievous smile paints your lips, hands raking lower to hook into the hem of his shirt.

both you and ghost have quite a collection of videos and pictures of you two, hidden behind locked albums and passwords. it's a testament of trust — one that's been carefully built and protected, tucked away where only you two know.

"not this time," he replies, voice soft, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. he cups your jaw gently, wiping away smudged mascara. "this is just for you n' me."

you swallow thickly, choking down words threatening to spill from you. the temptation to say something lingers on your tongue, pressing behind your teeth, daring you to take a bite.

the kiss you press to his lips is far softer than anything, heat just below the surface.

ghost doesn't make a habit of kissing those he's filming with. a bite or two, something more vicious and rough — but with you? sometimes he'll kiss you like you're glass, afraid of marring you, breaking you. other times, it's all heat and liquid fire, consuming you and all you think about for days after.

he'd wake up every day kissing you if he could.

your clothes are a mess on the floor, not that you particularly care right now.

not with the way ghost is pressing his weight down on you so deliciously, hot and heavy, devouring you. he cages you between his thick forearms, barely giving you room to breathe, biting and nipping and licking deep into your mouth until your lips are shiny and swollen, pupils blown so wide, they're practically black.

"wish i could be the only one to see you like this," he pants against the hinge of your jaw, dragging teeth and tongue down your body.

the urge to bite and bruise and mark clouds his mind, wanting nothing more than to bury his teeth into the supple flesh of your thigh, until the imprint of his teeth lasts for days.

surprisingly soft hands part your thighs, baring your glistening desire to his burning gaze.

but that's not what he's looking at.

he's unable to look away from the temporary tattoo that's fading on your skin. it's been washed away from your time on set — spit and water and release coating your skin — but it's unmistakable.

a ghost.

"what's this?" he asks, thumb stroking over the faded lines of the tattoo, breathless.

you rise up on your elbows, desire thick through your veins. you don't have to look to know what he's asking about. but you look anyways, mesmerized by his thumb grazing over your skin.

"the girls and i had some on set," you begin, voice soft. "we were filming in a bath so we figured why not, y'know?"

he looks up from between your legs, predatory and possessive.

you lick your bottom lip, feeling bold.

"thought it might be cute to have you with me," you say, a whispered confession.

ghost looks like he's repenting for his sins, kneeling between you legs. you thread your fingers through his hair, arching your hips up, failing to bite back the whine rising in your throat, needing him impossibly closer.

“oh, love.” his voice is rough, wrecked, dragging his lips over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing right along the edge of where the ghost fades. “let’s give you something a little more permanent, hm?”

he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t — but the urge, the need to mark you is overwhelming. it overrides every other rational thought.

he sees the way others look at you. he'll watch your videos — out of curiosity and not jealousy, he tells himself — and see the way your co-stars have this star-struck, pussydrunk look about them. he never brings himself to finish watching the videos.

his teeth sink into your skin, a sharp shock of electricity and want flooding your senses. your nails dig into his scalp, hissing out a breath between your teeth. his teeth are deep, and you can't find yourself to care. arousal leaks from your cunt, begging to be touched and filled and claimed.

ghost eventually withdraws his teeth. you sink down into the mattress, tension seeping from your body. the sting of the mark he left becomes a focal point of your attention, body buzzing and thrumming with arousal as ghost licks thick stripes to soothe the deep impression, admiring his work .

"laswell's gonna kill you," you mumble, moving to cradle the back of his head, trying to pull him up.

he goes willingly.

his eyes sparkle, a cocky smirk painted on his lips as he drags them from your cheek to your lips, indulging in a slow kiss, tongue pushing in your mouth and licking along the edges of your teeth, grazing the roof of your mouth.

"good thing i don't care what laswell thinks," he says against your lips when he pulls away, continuing the path of his kisses down your jaw to your throat, pressing delicate kisses to your pulse.

his cock lays against your hip, thick and pulsing and dripping pre-cum. you lace your legs up around his waist, heels of your feet resting delicately at his sides.

one arm cages you in while he uses his other hand to push your hair back from your face, lips tracing a path from your forehead down your temple, right above your ear.

"and me?" you ask against his jaw, wrapping around your arms around broad shoulders, enticing him to lay more of his weight down on you.

"and you what, sweet thing?" his reply comes so quick, so fluid, like he was waiting for you to ask.

"do you care what i think?"

he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek before pulling back to look at you in a way only he can. you've seen — felt — the stares of your coworkers when you're filming.

it never compares to how ghost — simon — looks at you. like you were made only for him (and maybe you were, you think, from time to time); like you were the moon and he was so desperately trying to be the stars to be close to you; like his every breath began and ended with you.

he doesn't answer you with words. he's never been a man of many words, anyway.

he cups your jaw so softly, thumb brushing along your cheek. his eyes are so bright, his touch is always so gentle.

you can't remember life before he came into it, a blur of memories and moments lost to time. all you know now is that you can't — won't — go through life without him by your side, so deeply entwined in your blood and bones and soul.

his mouth is warm and tender against yours, and it's so easy to lose yourself to the comfort and the haven he has become. he kisses you like his life depends on it, like he'll stop breathing if he lets you go.

his fingers skim along your sides, down your spine and to your hip, tilting you up against him until your ass is resting against his thighs, cock hot and heavy and leaking right above your clit.

he carefully guides himself down your cunt, slipping himself between your folds, gathering your slick, before notching the fat head at your entrance and you ache.

he's so big — bigger than any of your coworkers, anyone you've slept with outside work — but he pushes himself so easily into your soaking pussy, walls fluttering around each inch that sinks into you. you feel so fucking full of him, the stretch a pleasant burn that ignites in your belly, lighting up your nerves like a wildfire.

always a little delirious when he pushes into you, consumed by the tight, wet heat of your cunt, he pants against your cheek, cradling you against his chest.

you fold yourself into him, legs hitching higher, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. you lick at the sweat clinging to his skin, cologne sticking to your tongue.

without any words, he knows when you're ready. you always need a moment to adjust to his size, feeling the deep, steadying breaths you take. he pulls out slowly, carefully, until the tip rests at your entrance, before snapping his hips back against yours. his lips fall to the column of your throat, feeling each moan he pulls from you, each whimper and whine.

you love the way he fucks you for work. it doesn’t feel like it’s work, not with him, never with him. you try not to dream too much about being able to keep him all for yourself.

this feels different. this is different. deep, slow thrusts, lingering kisses, noses brushing, breathing in each other.

your name sounds like a prayer on his lips, as he takes your fingers to kiss them before lacing them together, pressing your joined hands above you on the pillow.

your vision is hazy, clouded over with pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes open with each deep, steady thrust, his cock kissing the tip of your cervix.

"look at me, sweetheart," he begs, accent slurred and thick, eyes so dark and inviting. you want to lose yourself entirely to him.

maybe you already have.

"you don't even know what you do to me," he whispers against your lips, keeping his confession sacred between you. your breath stutters in your throat, unable to choke down the thoughts drowning you, a tear slipping down the side of your cheek.

he chases it with his lips, placing softer kisses to your eyelids, and then above your brow, moving down your nose to the bow of your lips. your nails dig into his sides, trying to convey each muddled thought through your touch, marking and marring him and staking your claim.

a sharp inhale follows a deeper thrust, choking out his name as pleasure floods your veins like venom, overtaking you.

"there?" he breathes, nails digging into your hip to keep you steady. voice lost, all you do is nod and mewl, pressing your breasts up against his chest, always needing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know," he says, almost laughing, arm lacing around your waist to press you flush against him, his other hand tangling in the sheets beside your head.

with anyone else, you'd roll your eyes and scoff at the arrogance. but with ghost? you're so pliant and loose in his grip, letting him do whatever he wants with you, so submissive and obedient, only for him.

"oh, you've needed this ever since we got to the party, hm?" his teeth graze your neck, down to your collar, right above the curve of your breast. "bet you would've let me fuck you in the bathroom, hm? let my cum leak out of you for everyone to see, let them know that you're mine?"

his thrusts are sharper, meaner. it's everything you want, eyes rolling in the back of your head as the pleasure burns hotter and hotter, the precipice of release right there. the sound of your cunt drawing him in deeper with each smack of his hips against yours fills the room, each moan accented with your pussy gushing around him, his cock coated in your desire.

"gonna be my good girl and cum for me?" his voice is so rough, a hand around your throat forcing you to look at him, mouth open as you pant out each breath, unable to think of anything but his name.

unable to think of anything but your first name with his last, a contract with your names, a band around your finger.

you can only whine out a yes, please, fuck please, want to cum for you. the fingers around your throat tighten, the edges of your vision seeping black.

a sharp bite to your shoulder is the catalyst for your orgasm. thighs shaking, a moan of his name weak in your throat, your cum coating the tantalizing line of hair from his bellybutton to his cock, dripping down your thighs.

"fuckin' hell," he growls against your skin, snapping his hips hard, grazing your clit twice, three times, before you feel his spend paint your insides. thick, hot spurts of his cum pulse from his cock, drawing out your own orgasm and making your brain static with pleasure.

a mixture of his cum and yours spill out from the edges of where he's buried inside you. his cock pulses a few more times as he comes down from his high, skin slick with sweat that's rapidly cooling.

he presses his entire weight down onto you, burying his face into your neck as your nose buries into his hair. sex and release and the last dregs of your perfume permeate the air.

you card your fingers gently through his hair, a comfortable silence lingering as you both fight to catch your breath. he needs a haircut, fingers tangling in the length. maybe he'll let you give him one tomorrow.

his body sinks deeper into yours, his breath even and steady to the point where you think he might've fallen asleep inside you. you're not about to wake him.

“have you ever thought about leaving?” you ask, hesitant, letting your question linger in the air.

“the industry?” comes his reply a moment later.

you hum in acknowledgement.

he takes another moment more to think, before his answer comes, muffled against your throat. “sometimes, yeah."

“if i left, would you leave with me?”

his reply comes not even a second later, without any hesitation.

“my love, i go where you go."

you're glad he's tucked into your neck, arms wrapping around him protectively, possessively, throat clicking as you swallow. more tears slip down your cheeks, burning a path down your cheeks and settling in his hair. your eyes close as the emotions threaten to burst from your chest, a weak attempt to maintain your composure.

you can only hold back so much.

“do you believe in soulmates?” you ask, significantly softer. you only ask when you're confident your voice won't betray you. the crack gives you away.

ghost is silent, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat and you.

"'m not sure," he replies. he sounds worried, unsure. your heart beats painfully.

he's scared you're going to leave.

you'll never leave him.

“maybe they’re not in this world," you say, fingers tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. "maybe in another, another life, another place."

he shivers under your gentle touch.

"i think you’re mine," you say, heart beating and aching and tearing at the seams; so, so scared of your confession. "i can’t imagine going through this life without you.”

his voice, so much stronger, more confident and brazen and sure comes after a heartbeat.

“good thing you’ll never have to, darling.”

#ink by bambi #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley/reader #simon riley/you #ghost/reader #ghost/you #simon riley smut #modern warfare smut #simon riley imagine #modern warfare imagine

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live-love-internet · 2 years ago

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Alone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female!Reader

Summary: Graves turns on you and your troop. Soap gets shot outside the compound and Ghost orders you to go with him, talking the two of you through the Shadow infested city to his designated rendezvous.

Readers callsign is “Dust.”

Essentially a walkthrough of the mission "Alone" from MW2, except now reader is there.

My Ghost blog @adustyghost

Can also be found on AO3 under azs_azz.

Warnings: Blood, gore, war, smut, swearing, injury.

Word Count: 15,654 😳

Notes: If you only want to read the smut skip to the third break.

ALONE

LAS ALMAS, MEXICO

03 NOV 2022 000

_____

You’re about to nod off in the backseat of the blacked out car you’re riding in with your team.

Heavy rain rolls down the window you’re resting your head against, and your eyes droop shut as they follow a drop sliding down the glass and out of sight. The soothing patter of the water hitting the roof of the vehicle is a lullaby and the gentle rocking of the car as Ghost drives only relaxes you further. The presence of your team – Colonel Vargas, Sergeant Soap, and Lieutenant Ghost – is a comforting presence, much like the gun cradled in your grasp.

That is, until the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop.

You jolt upright in confusion, blinking a few times to gather your bearings. There’s men in all black tactical gear gesturing for you and the two cars in front of yours to halt. Shadows, you recognize immediately. You share a glance with Soap, who’s sat next to you in the back seat. Your brows are furrowed and you don’t understand why you’re stopping, what’s going on. He shrugs slightly, looks just as tired and stumped as you are, following Vargas’ lead as he pushes himself out of the passenger door.

You meet Ghosts' dark eyes through the rearview mirror for a moment that feels much longer than it actually is. His stare is blank but you know him better than that, had seen that look directed at you more times than you could count. It's one that reads be careful and stay alert.

“What’s this?” Vargas questions before you’ve even had a chance to slam the car door shut behind you. He gestures to the Shadows around, flanking you and your team from all sides as he advances on Commander Graves, who slides easily out of the vehicle in front of yours.

“This is the immediate future. Step away from the gate,” Graves replies as you pause behind Ghost, peeking around his shoulder to watch. You note the soldier that shuffles behind you and your stomach twists in a knot. You already have a bad feeling about whatever is about to transpire. You clutch the weapon tighter to your chest, noticing as Ghost assesses the same man from the corner of his eye as well, stepping slightly to the side so you can squeeze in front of him for a better view.

He’d rather have you where he can see you, anyway.

“What?” Soap asks what you’re all thinking, his heavy lilt ringing roughly through the night.

“You heard me,” Graves responds dismissively, not even sparing the sergeant a look.

Vargas’ retort comes quickly, fuelled with fire as he gestures to the buildings around, “You’re crazy, this is my base!”

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility and I admire it–” the commander takes it all in, admiring the view of Vargas’ compound. You don’t like his tone one bit, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention as he continues, “So, I’m taking it.”

His words slice through the sound of falling rain like one of Ghosts throwing knives.

“You’ve all been relieved. Thank you for your service.”

“No, no, no. I don’t take orders from you,” Colonel Vargas states gruffly. Factually.

“Didn’t Valeria say that?” Graves bites back, and the twang of his accent makes you itch. You shift on your feet, finger twitching towards the trigger of your gun. The Colonel tosses a look over his shoulder to Soap that says, ‘Can you fucking believe this guy?’ before turning back to Graves with a dark chuckle. “Now that makes me wonder what else I don’t know about your affiliation with a drug-lord.”

You watch as Vargas steps forward, a determined look on his face. Soap is quick to react, striding with him and grabbing the Colonel’s shoulder in warning. You yield a pace closer before realizing that it must look like a threat.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo…”

“You’re out of line, Graves.”

“Don’t do that,” The commander waves a finger at the both of them like he’s scolding petulant children. “Don’t do that. No one needs to get hurt here.”

It sounds like a clear warning if you’ve ever heard one.

Apparently Ghost is thinking the same.

“Are you threatening us?” The low rumble of his vocals sends shivers up your spine.

His presence behind you is both looming and reassuring, always looking out for you. You wish you could step back into his warmth, his towering figure would surely shield you from the rain. You could picture it now, just as you had so many times before things became real between the two of you, knowing just how comfortable he is, the perfect place to sleep.

“Soldier, I don’t make threats,” Graves is quick to reply to the massive man looking down at him over your shoulder. The commander’s gaze drifts back to the two members of your team before him, chests puffed out and looking for a fight. “I make guarantees. So let’s not do this.”

“I’m calling Shepherd.” Soap twists on his heel, putting space between him and the man he very well wishes he could slam his fists into right now.

“General Shepherd sends his regards,” Graves calls after him, voice filled with mirth. “He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well.”

Ghost responds for Soap, rain trickling down the front of his mask. It doesn’t affect his eye black in the slightest. “He knows about this?”

“He’s put me in command of this operation from here on out, so y’all need to stand down. It’s time to let the pros finish this,” Graves explains in that irksome accent of his.

You share a look with Soap, then Ghost as he speaks. You can read them like the back of your hand with the amount of time you’ve all spent together, and it’s clear that none of you trust where this is leading.

You inhale, hold, and exhale slowly, preparing yourself for whatever’s about to come.

“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s not. I’ve got my orders and now you have yours.” None of your teammates like the way that he’s pointing his finger at the Colonel.

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?” Vargas spits, chestnut eyes blazing as he continues yelling, “My men are inside!”

“I’m afraid not. Your men have been…” Graves trails off, licking his teeth as he thinks of the best word to describe what he’s done to the rest of his team, “Detained.”

Colonel Vargas lunges for the commander but the man expects it, side-stepping him with ease, shoving him into the vehicle at his side. One of the soldiers standing poised behind him is quick to jump into the action, catching Vargas’ hands in his own and zip tying them together tightly while he’s still off balance.

“Graves, what the fuck?!” Soap shouts, moving forward only to be met with the commander and remaining shadow raising their weapons at him.

Sergeant MacTavish backtracks swiftly, grabbing the pongo directly behind him with ease. It catches the Shadow by surprise; he's manhandled by the Scot into a human shield. You raise your own weapon as one of the officers behind Graves fires a few shots at your comrade.

Ghost doesn’t hesitate, elbowing the guard behind him. He reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh with ease, shoving the blade into the exposed neck of another, all the way down to the hilt.

How such a large man moves with the stealth of a predator you haven’t any idea, but now certainly isn’t the time to wonder as Ghost pivots on his heel, throwing the knife with skilled precision at the man he’d just shoved off of his feet with his elbow. The blade finds home in the enemy’s chest and you finish him off with a bullet to the head.

You crouch low, sliding behind the vehicle you’d gotten out of for more space and better cover.

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You hear Vargas struggling to escape his captors, trying his damndest to choke out the officer with his tied wrists.

Peering around the back of the van you watch with wide eyes as Graves slams the butt of his gun into the side of Vargas’ skull. The colonel falls limp at his feet but the traitor wastes no time, pivoting on his heel to shoot just as Soap opens fire.

His bullet hits its mark and you hear Soaps shout of pain as he falls backwards, the officer dead weight on top of him.

“Soap,” you call, jumping out from your spot, taking a rogue shot at Graves. You miss, as he’s already ducking between the two cars, looking for Ghost.

Like his namesake, he appears out of nowhere, falling to his hands and knees to avoid being seen by the enemy. The thought of the six foot four man on his knees would be arousing if you were in a different situation, but here and now, in danger like this, it’s worrisome. The bright tail lights of the car flush his mask crimson, just like the blood you’re trying to stop from seeping out of Soap's wounded shoulder.

“Go you two, get out of there!” The lieutenant orders, dark eyes filled with what you think is concern. You open your mouth to respond, the urge to tell him to come with you is breaking, but you don’t get the chance because he’s shouting again, “Go!”

A bullet whizzes straight past your head and you duck as Soap shoves the body off of him in a burst of adrenaline, following through on his orders. There’s more Shadows spilling out of the buildings into the active war zone, the rapid fire of rounds being shot stings your ears as the sergeant grabs you by the shoulders of your vest, hauling you over the barricade on the side of the road and down the muddied hill.

“Get them, now,” you hear Graves yell after you, and through your tumble you see two shadows step into the light from the compound, guns raised and aimed directly at you.

You land on top of Soap with a grunt as you slide down the slick hill together, his hands wrapped firmly around your waist as you shoot somewhat sporadically. Your fall is anything but smooth, but at least you’re not the one on the bottom. One of your shots lands, the Shadow dropping quickly.

You miss the soldier next to him, heart thundering in your chest as he fires back at you.

“Fuck,” you roll off of Soap once you’ve come to a slippery stop at the bottom of the hill, still trying to gun down the officer at the top. It’s too dark to see him, the moon is nowhere in sight with all of the cloud coverage from the rain and you wonder for a fleeting moment if he’ll follow.

Soap takes a shot in the dark, climbing to his feet and pulling you up by your vest again. You lose your footing immediately, the mud thick and slimy under your boots, coating your drenched clothes. The sergeant grunts as he straightens you, then shoves you forward into the looming trees beyond.

You take no chances, holding your pistol tightly in your hands, raised and at the ready as Soap follows hot on your tail, weaving in and out the trees. You hear Graves’ voice getting quieter as you move, presumably looking for Ghost, whom you know can take care of himself but still it leaves a sick feeling in your stomach to know he’s out there alone now with soldiers looking to kill him.

“Find ‘em!” Commander Graves’ shout is startling, even though you know you and Soap are moving getting further away. With the thick rain your tracks will be covered well, and you hear the tires of the vans screeching as the Shadows pull away in search of you and the rest of your team.

You shove a low hanging branch out of your way.

You sure as hell won’t make it easy for them.

_____

You and Soap have been trekking through the forest for who knows how long, switching between jogging and walking when his breathing starts to labor, gritting his teeth against the pain flaring in his shoulder.

He’d kept quiet for the most part, answering your questions with grunts or groans through his clenched jaw, and shooting you a sharp glare when you kept checking on him over your shoulder.

“‘M fine,” he tried to reassure you, and you might’ve believed him if it weren’t for the red blood soaking his gray shirt.

He hadn’t allowed you to pause even for a moment to help with his injury. Stubborn Scot. The Shadows could be anywhere and there isn’t any time, the two of you need to get as far away as possible, as fast as you can.

Finding Ghost along the way wouldn’t be too bad of an idea either.

Something stings in your chest when you think of him. Your Lieutenant, who you’ve been secretly having relations with, telling you so easily to leave him. He was that stubborn? Thought he was better off on his own, did he?

The screams of women and children have your heart clenching tightly in your chest as you and Sopa hide against the side of a dirty building to catch your breath. You’d made it to the city without much trouble, but Graves and his army of Shadows had beaten you here, littering the streets like wild beasts, waiting for you to come out and play. You can hear the calls of them as they work, orders to scout every building in sight, forcing themselves into homes and stores, killing anything and everything that gets in their way.

You try to catch a glimpse of Soap's wounded shoulder while his eyes are squeezed shut, head resting against the dirty brick of the building behind you. You’re on the wrong side of him, the bullet had struck his right shoulder. If you lean out too far you’d most likely be spotted by a Shadow.

The rain’s still dropping down in sheets, washing away the dark blood, a constant trickle from his injury. You aren’t sure how much blood he might've lost by now, but by the way he wobbles on his feet even with the support of the wall behind him, he needs care immediately.

Opening your mouth to speak, your breath catches in your throat just as Soap raises a finger to his own pale lips, silently telling you to keep quiet. A gunshot echoes through the streets and the cries of a nearby civilian cease completely.

You follow his lead, flicking on your radio. You jolt as the loud voices of Shadows filter through the static in your ear, stating their whereabouts and where they’re requesting reinforcements.

Switching to your team's channel, Soap’s strained voice echoes in your receiver as he speaks, “This is Bravo 7–1, in the blind. How copy?”

Utter dread coils in your stomach when you receive no response and you continue for him, a tinge of desperation in your voice.

“Ghost, this is 7–1, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“Fuck…Where are you Ghost?” Soap grunts, squeezing his eyes shut as another flash of pain shoots up his aching arm. Fucker got him good, that’s for sure.

His head lolls towards you. You watch him swallow harshly against the agony of his injury, nodding to you once, signaling that he’s ready to move.

The sergeant pushes up from the wall, stumbling slightly before he catches himself against the bricks, shoving your help off lightly. His steps falter as he moves from the cover of the building out into the street, and his head is spinning, doesn’t know which way is up or down, left or right. You curse as he collapses in the middle of the bloody street.

“Fucking hell, Soap,” you groan, shoving your arms below his armpits to heave him up to his feet, or at the very least drag him to back cover. He’s fallen into a pool of maroon and you spot the two bodies propped up against the wall nearby. The persistent drizzle has washed their blood into the open road, and you can’t tell which was from the man in your arms or if it was already there.

He’s heavy, and you curse Ghost again for sending the two of you off, knowing that Soap is injured. He’d have no problem lifting him, could probably toss him over his shoulder and get the three of you out of this very predicament with ease, with how skilled he is.

Finally, your missing comrades' voice rumbles through the radios and you breathe a slight sigh of relief at the familiar voice, “Soap, Dust–This is Ghost. How copy?”

You don’t respond right away, still helping MacTavish get his bearings as his eyes flutter open, slurring a confused ‘what?’

Ghost calls through again, “Johnny? Dust?”

You ignore the slight burn in your chest when he mentions Soap’s real name but not yours. He knows it too. Had used it on multiple occasions, only ever when you were being intimate with one another, a gruff whisper against your skin, when he’d been moaning beneath you or when his cock was deep down your throat and he was praising you for a job well done.

Your cheeks burn as you release Soap, ready to catch him should his legs give out. He’s looking a bit like Bambi but he’s standing upright and that’s a start.

“Johnny. How copy?” Ghost calls for a third time, and your comrade finally has his footing right. You clutch the handle of your pistol tightly.

“Solid,” you reply for him, watching intently as he takes a few deep breaths, blinking hard to straighten the spinning streets.

“Thought we lost you.”

It’s as monotonous as ever, Ghost. Not even a slight difference to his tone to note if he’s even relieved to hear the both of you are okay.

You and Soap share a glance at the sounds of Shadows approaching, immediately moving down the street on high alert. The bastards could be anywhere, you knew, keeping a sharp eye on the streets while praying that the sergeant next to you doesn’t collapse again.

“You injured?”

“I’m not a medic,” Soap pants, voice a bit shaky as he let you take the lead in directions. You stalk down the street as quickly as you think he can go, eyes flicking up and down and around the corners with trained precision, weapons at the ready.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You halt in your tracks at the sound of Graves’ voice creeping down your spine. Soap nearly runs into you, a teardrop rolling down into the crease between his eyebrows as you listen intently, the commander spouting orders to his troops.

“Where are you?” Soap’s voice goes hard as he catches sight of a group of Shadows just down the street. You’ll have to go a different way, and he nudges you to get moving again.

“There’s a church,” Ghost says, and you wrack your brain for the building he’s speaking of, “I’m heading to it. Let’s RV there.”

You scramble backwards as an enemy van turns up the street, its blaring headlights nearly blinding you. Following Soap, you quickly retreat, turning down the next nearest alley.

“You’ll need to improvise to survive,” Ghost continues, and there’s a part of you that thinks he might actually like all of this, being hunted down by compromised soldiers, and in the rain no less. You just wished he liked you as much as you like him, you think bitterly.

No, you’re not letting it go just yet.

“Line him up next to his amigos,” you hear Graves’ annoying voice above the pattering rain.

“Graves and Shadow are on a killing spree,” you grit, ducking around another building. You catch sight of a group of Shadows, threatening someone over something that’s stifled by a rumble of thunder.

But the gunshot that follows is clear as day.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Soap whispers, and you nod as he motions you to follow. You have to bite your tongue to refrain from screaming out to him how stupid he’s being right now, as he creeps behind the yellow taxi sitting in the middle of the road, Shadows looming about as he works his way towards the open doors of the building across the street.

Apparently Soap knows the way to the church.

You curse him in your head instead, making sure that none of the Shadows are paying any attention as you follow silently.

Your clothes stick to your skin, heavy and sodden with rain. You’re freezing too, fingers stiff in your gloves where they’re glued on your weapon, arms nearly shaking from the chill.

You wonder how Soap is holding up with all of this and the wound in his shoulder.

You refrain from asking, trailing him into the building.

“No joy,” Soap grunts into the comms as he grabs the handle to head inside. It doesn’t budge. You share a glance before breaking off, immediately searching for another way out. “Door’s locked.”

He tails you throughout the garage, scanning over the abandoned room with precision. Pots upon pots of plants sit against the wall, some sporting cherry red flowers that you might’ve once thought would look nice in a bouquet should you ever get married.

That dream had burnt out quickly.

You find another door as you round the lone car. A sleek, white, expensive looking thing that you wished had a full tank of gas and the keys in the ignition, raring to go. Too bad your life was never quite that simple.

“Look for supplies, things you can make tools with. Welcome to guerrilla warfare…” Ghost trails off and you can’t help the soft snort that escapes your throat at his words.

Comforting.

“Creepin’ Jesus,” Soap breathes as you push through the door. The sight you're met with makes you grimace and avert your eyes. The walls are splattered with an array of bullet holes and blood, the man on the floor tied up and unmoving.

“Poor bastard,” you comment, making sure the room is clear as Soap steals the binding from the body.

“Found a rope.”

“That’s a start. Keep looking,” your lieutenant encourages.

The two of you don’t find much and you cringe as Soap rips off a fan blade from a rusty floor unit. The squeals of the metal grating against each other as he pulls are loud and you hiss at him to quiet down.

He reports his findings to your teammate somewhere across the city who responds easily, “Tie off the blade with the rope and pry open a door.”

You’re thankful Ghost is at least on the comms, like he hadn’t abandoned the both of you completely. His extensive knowledge of the irregular helps tremendously in situations like these, but this isn’t a teaching moment, it’s survival. His voice is as reassuring as it is commanding, each sentence an unspoken order not to let your guard down and not to get hurt.

“Sounds like you’ve done this before,” you muse, watching as Soap does exactly as Ghost instructed.

“Years of practice,” he purrs back, and you wonder if he’s smirking beneath his mask.

Soap wraps the bottom of the fanblade with ease, grunting as he shoves it between the door, pulling at the wound in his shoulder.

You’re about to offer a helping hand when the wood splits and the door swings open.

“Busted the fan blade,” he curses, tossing it to the ground. It’s a hallway, bathed in the soft light emitting from the lone lamp on the entryway table. You spot a pair of well used sneakers lying beneath the surface, keeping your curious eyes away from the abandoned mug and framed photos.

“Get you through the door?” Ghost asks, and you let it wash away the intruding thought creeping to the forefront of your mind as you accompany Soap deeper into the house.

“Affirmative.”

“Good. Stay on the hunt…There’ll be more where that came from.”

Right. Stay focused, stay on task, and you’ll make it back to Ghost.

It’s hard to ignore the screams of women and children, the menacing shouts and threats coming from the mouths of those who are searching to kill, the sharp gunshots ripping through the stormy streets.

You thought you’d get used to it when you were a rookie, all of the noise, but after years in the service you know that you never will.

Soap finds a shard of metal in the bathroom and you nod encouragingly when he shows it to you.

The pair of you creep through the house as quietly as possible. Your rain filled boots squelch against the floors, causing you to cringe. When you push through another doorway that leads you to the kitchen, the voices become louder.

The front door has been busted in, and the dim light from the streetlamps shines through the gaping hole. You pull Soap into a crouch behind the table, shuffling your way to the edge to try and catch sight of what's happening in the streets right outside of the home.

It’s Graves and his soldiers again. They’re goddamned everywhere. There’s a man bound and kneeling in the wet street in front of them as the commander speaks.

“Cops helpin’ cartels. Let’s show ‘em how we handle corruption, yeah?”

The man on the ground protests, threatens the Shadows because he knows he’s going to die either way. He promises that El Sin Nombre will kill them for this but Graves only replies in that way of his, taunting the man before he kicks him to the ground in amusement. The Shadow by his side immediately hauls him back to his knees.

Graves pulls out a flare, strikes it and you quint against the bright red for a moment, eyes adjusting right as the Shadow tosses it into the building across the street.

The structure erupts in flames.

The man in the street screams, cursing Graves out, who commands his soldier to take the hostile where the rest of them are being held. You exchange a look with Soap, noting that piece of information much like you have.

Neither of you understand it and your comrade points towards the lit staircase, a sign telling you to start moving.

You hear Graves call out while you ascend the carpeted stairs.

“Alright, these narcos are warlords…and the people here will do anything to help them. So no pussying around, okay? If they’re harboring Hassan, I want him killed and flushed out! And keep your head on a swivel for these Brits…Take ‘em dead or alive…you know my preference.”

You swallow harshly at his words though he’d made it clear he wanted you and the rest of your troop dead back at the compound.

“Creepin bloody Jesus,” Soap whispers to you as you reach the landing.

Another dead body.

Soap finds a headlamp in the laundry room and you catch sight of a roll of duct tape, passing it over to him as he clicks his radio back on to speak.

“Found a headlamp. Not too far from its…” his gaze flashes towards the body leant up against an overturned piece of furniture, “Previous owner.”

“Good,” Ghost praises through the comms. You block out the rest of his sentence, zoning in on that one word, wishing he was kissing that comment into your skin right about now instead of halfway across town. Alone.

Hopefully soon enough.

“Careful with it,” your lieutenant warns, and the warm feeling drains from your chest. “Can light your way but attract attention.”

Soap only grunts in agreement as the two of you search the rest of the floor, taking anything that could be turned into a weapon.

“What’s the latest?”

“Mercs are killing everything in their path,” you answer, finding another roll of tape in a tiny blue cabinet. You stuff it into your vest.

“War crimes,” Ghost replies.

“Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of my own,” Soap comments, tossing you a wry grin that looks more like a grimace. His shirt is stained red with blood and you hope that he’ll make it to the rendezvous before collapsing again, knowing that he’ll refuse your help should you try and offer again.

“Tyranny. It won’t stand.”

“Think we’ll get the green light to go after these guys?” the sergeant asks, a bloodthirsty lilt to his thick accent.

“No more green lights, Johnny, Dust. We’re on our own.”

Soaps hand stills on the doorknob leading to the next room, looking down at you. His gray eyes are filled with questions, a glimmer of betrayal lines his iris’.

“What about Alejandro?”

“Alejandro you can trust. But he’s in Graves’ custody. If he’s even alive…”

You break the stare first, shuddering at the thought. You reach for the spare fan blade and rope when the door doesn’t budge. You make quick work of it, knowing that Soap deserves a break from using his injured arm. You need to get him to the church quickly and quietly.

The door swings open on creaky hinges and the two of you spill inside, scanning the room for Shadows.

You can’t see a thing, and you leave the searching to Soap, who has his headlight on. He points at the things he thinks can be used for weaponry and you scoop them up for later.

“After this shitshow, Alejandro won’t trust us,” you murmur into your mic after mulling it over for a moment.

Hopefully you can trust Ghost.

“We’ll see. Just make sure you can trust yourself. Start there.”

“Good advice, Lt.,” Soap says as you pry open another cabinet. Nothing. “I wanna be like you when I grow up.”

You roll your eyes, continuing the search.

“You want to be better than me, Johnny,” Ghost tells the both of you and it chips away at your heart a little.

You all had your hardships, but coming from the man who never takes off the mask seemed to mean something more. You couldn’t help but wonder what was beneath it, as he’d hadn’t taken it off for you, no matter how badly you wanted him to.

“Got my work cut out then,” Soap grunts, taking the lead.

“That you do.”

A loud crash nearly gives you a heart attack. You jump, flinching away from the noise but end up stumbling into Soap’s injured arm.

“Hell’s fucking bells,” he hisses and you apologize profusely, the head lamp swiveling towards the sound.

There’s a dog in a cage, snarling and growling as it stares you down.

Movement from downstairs draws your attention. A Shadow says, “What’s going on up there?”

And another. “I’m going to go check it out.”

You and Soap hide quickly, tucking down behind the bed. He flips off the head lamp, submerging the two of you in total darkness.

Through the void you hear, “It’s just the dog from the bedroom.”

“I don’t see anything. I’ll stick around just in case,” another responds.

Just your luck.

You can feel Soap shifting next to you and follow, fingers brushing against his pant leg as he crawls towards the open door.

Glancing over your shoulder you see a flashlight sweeping through the room you were just in and your heart pounds even louder in your chest at the sight of how close the Shadow is to finding the both of you.

You pray that he can’t hear the beating drum in your chest.

You make it without being followed and Soap is immediately on the radio again, updating Ghost of your whereabouts.

“Did you see the caged dog?”

“Big geezer,” the lieutenant is quick to respond. You huff a laugh at the detail, then comparing him to the animal. He’d be like your very own guard dog, should your relationship go any deeper than only the sex you’ve been having. The amusement turns to ash in your mouth as he continues. “If he barks, shoot him and repo quickly. Don’t get compromised.”

“You are stone cold, Simon,” you say, voice flat in a way that he knows you’re unamused by the situation at hand.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” he ignores you in favor of posing a joke.

You’d heard Soap and him plenty of times on the comms before, telling each other lousy jokes to distract from the heaviness of your duty. It didn’t help much, all of their jokes are utterly horrible.

“Don’t tell us,” Soap answers, leading you out to a small balcony.

Peering over the edge, you make sure that the street is clear before assessing the fall. It’s not a terribly high jump down to the street below, but you both know that this is the only way to get out of the house undetected.

“Half a dog,” Riley replies as you swing a leg over the side of the railing. It does nothing to help you prepare for the fall.

“I asked you not to tell us,” Soap grunts, shimmying down as far as he can before letting go and slipping to the cobblestone streets below.

You wince at his landing but proceed to follow once he’s shuffled out of the way, covering you. You can hear him struggling to take air into his lungs.

The rails are slick with rain and the ground comes quicker than expected. You land on your feet, hard, shins stinging with pain.

Soap is panting like the dog upstairs as you work your way down the street. You grumble to yourself as he leads you to yet another set of stairs. Is he ready for another fall like that already?

Half of you is convinced he doesn’t even know which way the church is after all.

“Give me a sit rep,” Ghost asks, wanting the whereabouts of your location.

“Outside. Gated alley,” you note.

“Church is on the north side of the city,” he explains.

You snag the candle you pass, tucking it away safely for future use as you follow Soap through the slick streets, still trickling with rain.

“I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there and you just might make it.”

How reassuring.

There’s Shadows yelling in the street again and it’s growing louder with every step you take. You’re getting closer, and you slow to a crawling pace, listening intently.

There’s more soldiers than the two of you can handle, shouting at another cop. It isn’t hard to figure out who the gunshots you hear are made for.

“Graves is rounding up cops,” Soap says to you and Ghost on the radio.

“He’s judge, jury, and executioner now,” comes the lieutenant's gruff response.

You follow Soap through the open streets, a hunting ground for the Shadows. For now, it seems like you were exactly that, keeping silent and to the darkened corners of the buildings, headed in the direction of the church.

“A bottle,” the sergeant whispers to you, handing it over when you catch sight of the Shadow nearby.

“Good for a distraction,” you reply with a smirk.

The soldier is on his own comms, speaking with his troop. You throw the bottle as far as you can and it shatters in the distance, drawing the Shadow’s attention further away from where you and Soap are crouched behind a bench.

To your luck the soldier follows, leaving the two of you to sneak into a nearby store.

There’s a few more items that can be used as makeshift weapons inside; more wax and a single mousetrap.

“There’s got to be a way to use this,” Soap says as he holds it up, examining the trap that's dwarfed in his large hand. You shrug in response.

“Surprisingly useful as a trigger,” Ghost offers the idea as you make to leave through the backdoor.

It seems to click in Soap’s mind while you keep your eyes peeled on the streets around.

“To set something off.”

“Exactly, Johnny. Not an airstrike, but it’ll do.”

The next building provides even more gifts for the two of you. Even more wax, and upon entering a room off of the front entry you find chemicals, reporting it to Ghost.

“Tie them up with some wax and you’ve got a smoke bomb,” he sounds proud almost. “A toxic distraction.”

“Sick,” Soap responds, doing as instructed, “I like it.”

“Guarantee you they won’t,” you mutter, following him up the street.

There’s three Shadows arguing about the Irish and kilts as you creep closer. The ignorant sons of bitches don’t even see the smoke bomb coming as it slams on the ground before them. It sprays with effectiveness, the soldiers choking on the fumes as you and Soap slither by undetected.

“Enemies here,” one of them shouts into their comm, but you and your comrade are already moving on.

Another fucking balcony.

Goddamnit Soap, you curse, sliding over the railing first this time. The streets are flooded with water, breaking your fall, and you check your surroundings as Soap follows, grunting softly as he lands behind you.

“It’s pishin’ it doon out here,” he comments, rain sleeting down his face. His mohawk is flat now, dark hair plastered to the sides of his shaved head. You’d make fun of him if you weren’t fearing for your life right now.

“Speak English,” Ghost's voice comes through the static, always one to be entertained.

“It’s raining fucking hard!”

“Then say so.”

“I did,” Soap grumbles as he trails your six.

The streets are slick as you climb uphill and you nearly lose your footing a few times as you make your way to what seems to be another house with a pretty painted green door. It’s something you could imagine yourself doing to your home, if you had one, a vibrantly colored front entry. Could be welcoming.

“Rain’s good, it’ll cover your tracks.”

“Covers theirs too,” you tack on, ever the realist. It’s an effort to unclench your jaw to speak, and your teeth chitter together loudly from the cold that’s settled deep into your bones.

“Let’s worry about you two, Dust.”

“So you do like us?” Soap tries to joke, tossing you a crooked smile.

“I like you alive,” Ghost says as you push the painted door open slowly.

You back off of the steps immediately when you catch sight of the rope tied low at the door, bumping Soap off of the porch.

“Oh shit,” he exclaims when he peers around you and sees the tripwire.

He beckons you to follow as he rounds the side of the house, then to the back. He looks up and down the street and then to you before you both squint through the window. With a small nod you let him know you’ve got his back and he smashes the window open with the butt of his gun, climbing inside for the weapon sitting on its own stand, rigged up to shoot at anyone who enters.

“Moving inside,” he confirms into the radio.

Ghosts’ response is immediate, “Check. Take what you need to keep them off of you.”

You place your hands on the windowsill and push yourself up. Your arms nearly fail, leaden with exhaustion, betrayal, and the heavy weight of your rain-soaked gear. Soap offers you a helping hand and you feel bad for a moment because he’s injured and you’re supposed to be looking out for him, not the other way around.

“Sweet,” he admires the weapon for a moment before he disarms the trap.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Now we’re in business. Ghost,” Soap calls through the comms.

“Soap.”

“Found a tripwire rigged to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun.”

Maybe it’s for his own peace of mind, walking himself through everything he does with Ghost. He’s injured and the two of you are alone in a Shadow infested city, trying your damnedest to keep quiet as you make your way to the rendezvous.

Maybe he feels as hurt about the situation as you do, you think, but it’s Soap, so you doubt it.

You look about the room, scanning the shelves for anything useful, nearly a second nature by now.

“Ghost,” something shiny catches your eye and you pick it up. It’s a blade, “You missing a knife?”

“Several.”

“I think I found one,” you inspect the weapon, shoving it into your pocket as you quickly follow Soap who’s already halfway up the staircase.

“Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork.”

“You came through here?” Soap asks, gray eyes meeting yours for a second before he continues clearing each room.

“On my way to the church,” Ghost explains, voice like gravel across the radio.

“And you left us?” You grit, picking up the chemicals Soap points at with the barrel of the gun.

“I’m used to working alone.”

Your mouth turns sour at his words. Of course the infamous Ghost works alone, doesn’t care that his injured team is left surrounded by Shadows. Was that why he pushed you to go with Soap back at the compound? Were you that much of a liability to him?

Soap places a hand on your shoulder and your head snaps up to look at him. His eyes are soft like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and he shakes his head softly, telling you not to worry about it right now.

“So much for no man left behind,” he says in your defense.

“Just get yourselves to the church. Trying to keep you two alive and get you here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tale.”

And that’s that.

You shove the intruding thoughts from your mind, focusing on searching through the disheveled rooms. Your fingers itch to switch off your radio but you can’t. Instead, you find some metal that could be useful and you play with it for something to do.

“Taken a shine to us then?” Soap pushes into another room.

“Not in the slightest,” Ghost replies drily, then, “Still got a lot of ground to cover. Open hearts and minds with it, Johnny.”

Open hearts my ass. You snort at the sentiment.

The lieutenant continues, “Johnny, Dust…Graves is burning the midnight oil trying to find us. Why?”

“Graves is following orders,” Soap says as he tosses over some binding he’s found before plucking another mousetrap up from the cabinet he’s digging around in. You all know it’s not that simple.

“No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of fuckery,” you comment. The venom dripping from your voice is obvious. “We need to get to the bottom of it.”

“Accurate and deadly fire tends to resolve these things. Right now we’re not safe here.”

“Right now we’re not safe anywhere, Lt.,” Soap’s response nearly runs right over the end of Ghosts. You’re quick to reach for your lieutenant's abandoned blade when you catch sight of two uniformed men-shaped silhouettes on the wall. You grab Soap by the arm, pointing to the sight. He raises his weapon, ready to shoot as he rounds the corner.

It’s only a game. Light shines from a fallen lamp, washing over the figures of the kids wrestling toy, elongating their shadows on the wall to make it look like real men.

You sigh a breath of relief as Soap huffs a laugh.

It’s cut off abruptly as you hear Shadows outside again, loud and obnoxious.

“Son of a goddamn devil,” you groan quietly, following Soap as he retreats back through the house.

Something crashes against the door just as he reaches to open it and you flinch at the loud sound.

You and Soap share a glance and you shake your head no, you’ll have to find another way. But there isn’t one, you realize. The Shadows are littering the streets outside and if they find you…well, you know exactly how Graves would prefer you be delivered to him.

Soap takes a steadying breath before he pulls open the door.

There’s an injured man on the other side who falls through, directly into your path. He’s gasping for air, blood all over his body, reaching out to you for help. You and Soap stare, frozen in place in the hall as he starts dragging himself closer to you before falling limp at your feet.

Soap steps over him carefully when he doesn’t move again. You don’t hesitate to follow, though you do take a single look back over your shoulder to make sure he’s dead.

You could pass it off as trying to see what weapons the man has on him, but it’s clear that there are none and you follow your partner into the mudroom.

There’s stacks of hard–shelled cases but upon further investigation you find that they’re locked. When you mention it to Soap he passes you the gun, reaching for the fan blade and rope that’s seemed to prove the both of you well so far.

He pries the lock off and you cringe as the metal falls to the ground with a loud clang. You stand facing away from him, weapon up and pointed at the door, prepared should you need to use it.

“Seek and you shall find,” he compliments himself and you peer over his shoulder to see what he’s talking about. Explosives. Nice. Soap pockets them up with glee, a shit–eating grin on his face and a wink your way. You’ll definitely be using those later.

“Whatchya got?” Ghost asks, curious himself.

“Black powder,” you praise the man next to you, ducking through the door into an abandoned restaurant.

“Nice. This could get interesting,” he says, and you wonder if he’s sad he’s missing out on all of this fun.

“We’re in the coffee shop,” Soap notes, looking around.

“Get us a tea,” Ghost says and you do snort in laughter this time.

“Fucking Brits,” Soap curses. Instead of taking the stairs this time he opts for jumping down through the broken railing to the floor below.

You roll your eyes but follow suit anyway.

When you look up you see Soap rushing to turn his head lamp off. There’s a group of Shadows directly outside the door. You can see the light from their guns shining through the slats of the cage pulled down between you.

“They’ve got no one, they won’t get far,” a male voice replies after the other orders a soldier to check out the warehouse.

“They’re 141…still dangerous,” you hear one of the Shadows say, and you smile softly.

“Picked up some tea,” Soap says to Ghost, spotting a box of the drink abandoned on the counter.

He stuffs it in his gear and your smile widens.

“Very useful.”

“If I have to wrap a gift?” Soap asks him and you know he’s not actually talking about a gift.

“So to speak, hold on to it,” Ghost orders. “Dust, Johnny, town’s full of tunnels. One leads out across from the church. Be advised, the tunnel is flooded. Prepare for a cold swim.”

Fuck, you grind your teeth together, as if I’m not already frozen enough.

“Can’t wait,” Soap responds thoughtlessly, gathering a few more things he deems useful on your way out the door, muttering, “I can work with that.”

Light shines through the window and you duck immediately, hiding behind the wall. You’re on one side of the busted window with your gun raised while Soap sits on the other, staring at you with wide eyes. He digs around for the other bottle he’d strapped in the side pocket of his vest and scans the room, searching for other signs of exit.

There’s an opening at the far edge of the room but you can’t get there without walking past the window the Shadow is standing right in front of. Soap tosses the glass bottle that way instead and you hear it shatter on the street.

It draws the attention of the Shadow immediately, the two of you slinking out the backdoor into the rainy streets once more.

You stick close to the spots of the road that aren’t bathed in light, quickly maneuvering your way across the cobblestones, an open hunting ground for you and your team.

You snag a few glass bottles you find on a table you pass. They’re as good of distractions as you’re going to get and they’ve proven useful thus far, so you hand one to Soap and tuck the other away.

Rounding the corner, he’s quick to grab you, hauling you behind a dumpster. He nods up the alley and a light immediately shines your way as a dog starts howling up the road.

You can see the heavy rise and fall of Soap's chest as his mind reels for solutions, thinking the both of you are completely done for. You pass him the gun as the soldier nears, remembering that you have one of Ghosts knives.

When the enemy moves into your line of vision you pounce, shoving up from your spot with the force of a bull, lodging the blade into the soft flesh of his throat. He gurgles as he falls to the ground, blood filling his airway before going limp.

You take his gun, nodding to Soap to keep moving.

You make it to the bar with no run-ins. The streets grow darker as the two of you maneuver throughout the city to your destination, the lights burnt or shot out all around.

“Lt., we’re at the bar,” Soap says over the radio.

“Do you like tequila?”

“Could use one right about now,” you mutter, collecting a roll of duct tape left on the table. There seems to be quite a few throughout your search, used to detain the cops and civilians no doubt.

You shudder at the thought.

Ghost’s response is breathy. He sounds thirsty. “I’d murder for a whiskey.”

“You mean Scotch?” Soap responds, voice muffled from inside of the cleaning closet, but audible over the static in your ear.

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good ol’ boy,” You know Soap’s grin is wolfish.

“I love Kentucky,” Ghost admits. You know he does, remembering very clearly all of the times he’s kissed across your skin, mask halfway pulled up his face to reveal his perfect pink lips, the taste of heady alcohol on his tongue.

“You’re out of your mind, Lt.” you tack on, wondering if he’s reminiscing along with you.

“That’s for sure.”

His warm growl goes straight to your core.

You and Soap keep on moving through the city as stealthily as you can. There’s Shadows everywhere, it’s like they’re multiplying and you nearly get caught more than once. You use the bottles you’d picked up as distractions and when you’re out Soap makes another smoke bomb, tossing it towards the enemy while the both of you sprint past, aiming towards the rushing water of the flooded tunnels Ghost had told you about.

You don’t waste a single second, flinging yourself over the rail as a shot rings out and plunging into the freezing waters below. It’s a shock to your system, but Soap is grabbing you and you help, kicking your way through the dirty, icy water.

You try not to choke on the liquid that’s trying to force its way into your lungs, and it’s difficult to keep your breathing quiet once you break the surface, slapping a hand over your nose and mouth to stifle the sound of you gasping.

“Ghost, we found the tunnel,” Soap alerts your superior. He notices a Shadow down the way, stood on top of a half–drowned car, looking like he’s fishing for something. “Ghost. We’ve got Shadows wearing body armor.”

“You’ll have to get in close and find the gaps,” Ghost instructs like it’s the easiest thing ever.

This is just another walk in the park for him, isn’t it?

“Stay here, I’ll take him down,” Soap turns to you, whispering as the Shadow jumps into the water. “No matter what, don't shoot. And make it to the church if you can, Dust.”

He doesn’t leave you time to protest, submerging himself in the murky water as he swims away from you and towards the enemy. You press back into the wall as the red laser from the Shadow’s gun sweeps the tunnels.

He doesn’t even see Soap coming. There’s a grunt that echoes through the cavern and a splash of a body being thrown away, his voice comes ringing down to you, “Dust, let’s go.”

You wade through the water behind him. It weighs heavy on your gear and the current makes it difficult to keep your footing but somehow you manage.

Someone must’ve heard the struggle because you hear a soldier point you out. You and Soap duck under the water as a shot is fired, swimming as fast as you can towards the Shadow.

Your eyes sting as the dirty water flushes over them but you force yourself to keep moving, following the bright red light leading you directly to the enemy.

Using the knife still clutched in your hand you creep up on him, sticking it into his leg. The man yelps and you knock him off balance, he goes splashing into the water with you. One more quick jab to the man’s throat and he goes limp in your grasp.

When you come up for air you see Soap release the body of an enemy he’d drowned himself.

“Let’s keep moving,” you tell him, taking the lead.

Soap keeps his gun loaded and ready while you take down another enemy with your amazing knife skills.

It’s a miracle when you spot the staircase, wading through the water faster with your partner hot on your heels. You swing your gun around from where it’s nestled at your back, making sure it’s ready for its inevitable use.

It takes more effort than you’re willing to admit as you climb the stairs, but you release a sigh of relief when you spot the glowing lights of the church not far off in the distance.

It’s about fucking time.

You wonder if Ghost can see the both of you or if he’s telepathic because his voice cuts through the comms, “Can you see the church?”

“Aye,” Soap responds, climbing up on top of an abandoned car. You pray it doesn’t have an alarm.

He swings a leg over the fence nearby, looking back at you. “You comin’ or what, Dust?”

Grumbling, you clamber behind him, letting him help you over the wrought iron fence and into the alley. You feel slightly bad when he tries to bite back the grunt of pain he so desperately wants to let out as his muscles pull at his wound, but it’s slightly numb from the icy waters and he’s thankful for now. Won’t be when it’s time to disinfect it.

“Think we found a way through, Lt.”

“Shadows are everywhere,” Ghost’s response is gruff, a clear warning for you both to stay focused and pay attention. “I’ll hold them off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil.”

You send a silent thank you as Soap picks something else up.

“I found some oil.” The smiles you share are wicked.

“Oil, bottle, and some rope for a wick. Time for a cocktail,” Ghost praises.

“Roger that,” you confirm.

“Give them hell, you two. We’re almost there.”

Soap wastes no time prying open the locked door keeping you from the street you need to be on and the building you’re currently in. It’s a struggle for a moment, but when it gives way there’s a Shadow on the other side, ready to strike.

You curse as he shoves the butt of his gun into Soap’s head. It’s all happening too quick for you to react. Your comrade stumbles under the harsh impact, tripping backwards and taking you down with him.

You struggle to get your gun out from where it’s pinned between the two of you but you can’t. Your heart races as the Shadow jumps on the comms to request backup.

“Kill em,” you hear Graves’ shouting over the radio. His order echoes through the streets, he must be close.

The Shadow stares down at the both of you, Soap desperately trying to get his bearings while you still struggle for your gun. You abandon it, reaching around the man on top or your for his own, when a single shot brings the enemy before you to the ground.

You shoot him with Soap’s gun when he tries to sit up and you’re quick to notice two more Shadows sprinting your way.

Before you even get the chance they’re shot dead in the street.

Ghost.

“Holy hell, Ghost, was that you?” Soap asks, shoving himself to his feet with a quick apology and a hand held out to you. You nod in response, hunching down as a bullet embeds into the wall nearby.

They know you’re here now, no need to be quiet about it.

You raise your gun, aiming for a Shadow up the street.

“Who else? Now go,” Ghost orders.

“Gimme a bloody break,” Soap groans, shooting down another enemy soldier. You hide behind a car as you reload quickly.

“Ghost, how copy?”

“Johnny, Dust, got company in the church,” you hear struggling over the comm as you follow Soap back out into the street, covering him, “And they’re not here for forgiveness. Get to the steps. I’ll be there.”

“Copy Lt.,” you pant, racing up the wet streets and weaving through buildings, keeping a watchful eye out for Shadows.

You’re so close, can see the empty road leading up to the church, but you also hear the Shadows speaking to each other, calling out over their radios about you and the rest of your companions. You follow Soap stealthily up the pathway. Once you’ve rounded the fountain, you both make a break for the church.

The gate’s locked.

You look around nervously. Standing at the top of the stairs puts you in an open position. If the Shadows have any snipers of their own you’re good as dead.

Ghost better hurry.

Soap takes a shot, a Shadow falling away as you spot him emerging from the building in a flat out run.

“Ghost,” Soap calls and you turn just in time to see your superior launching himself up and over the gate with the skill of a trained gymnast.

You knew he was quite dexterous but damn, if that didn’t make your insides tingle.

“We need a vehicle, on me!” Ghost orders, racing down the steps. You and Soap flank his sides, following obediently.

“Stay sharp, they know we’re here and they know it’s us. They’ll send more.”

“Contact! Dead ahead,” Soap calls, letting loose a shot up the street.

“I see ‘em. Watch the alley!”

You immediately turn towards the alley, fully trusting that your two comrades will cover you.

You shoot the Shadow down with ease but two more seem to take his place.

“Dust, Johnny, stay close,” Ghost commands, ducking out from behind the car the three of you are taking cover behind. “Heads up for a vehicle we can take.”

It’s a warz one. Shots soar past your head from all angles and it’s hard to keep up when there’s so many Shadows around and only three of you. Even with your training, Soap is still injured and Ghost moves like a man who doesn’t have two of his sergeants tailing him.

“Soap, Dust,” Ghost calls from up the street, “Pickup truck ahead. Lights on.”

“See it,” you confirm, making your way towards the vehicle.

“I’ll drive, get in.”

Soap rips open the passenger door, the second he makes it to the vehicle. You’re right behind him, sliding into the middle of the bench with ease. It’s tight, Ghost pressed up next to you while Soap squeezes himself inside on your right.

“Alright you two, you made it,” your lieutenant praises.

Soap leans forward, a half–smile lifting his pink lips.

“We made it, Lt.”

Gunshots bust the back window open. Ghost’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, shoving you down in front of him so you don’t get hit as he and Soap turn in their seats.

Soap shoots as Ghost throws the van into reverse. You have your own gun at the ready now, his touch still burns at the nape of your neck as he tosses an arm over the back of the seat, hitting the gas.

“Hold fast,” he calls, as the car jolts backwards.

The two shadows barely have time to react, their bodies rolling beneath the tires with a sick crunch.

“That’s one way of doing it,” Soap comments, and the two men stare at each other over the top of your head before Ghost shoves the car into drive.

“Get back,” you shout, raising your gun, pulling the trigger as soon as Ghost has leaned back enough for you to get a clear shot at the enemy outside his window.

“Thanks,” Ghost says, dark eyes glittering in the night, drinking you in.

“Drive, we’ll cover us,” Soap grits, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as fires off another round.

_____

You must’ve fallen asleep sometime after you’d exited the city, the dark, open road ahead of you and nothing but the steady breathing of the men you were sandwiched between lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

Ghost strokes your cheek lightly from where your head is resting on his shoulder, but it’s Soap who wakes you, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

He glares at Soap through the only window that hadn’t been shot out but the sergeant is already stepping away from the vehicle, gun raised as he checks the surroundings of the place Ghost had brought you.

And he loves the way you look up at him, all doe eyed and docile, blinking the exhaustion away.

Until your gaze hardens when you realize that you’re still upset with him.

You tear your eyes away from his, cheeks going hot as you realize you’d fallen asleep. Ghost watches as you slide across the worn leather seat Soap had just abandoned to the passenger side and slip out into the night.

He sighs gruffly, shutting the van off.

It’s going to be a long night.

Soap smirks at him when he exits, pushing off from where was leaning against the hood of the vehicle. Ghost tries to catch your eye but you’re kicking at the rocks beneath your boots, hands tucked comfortably around your weapon.

“Where are we?” Soap asks, walking alongside his comrade towards the barn in front of you.

“Alejandro’s safehouse. He gave me the location just in case.”

You share a look with the sergeant that Ghost doesn’t miss. A silent question asking if you knew about this. The slight shake of your head and the firm set of your lips tells him that you didn’t.

You let Johnny take this one as you trail behind them tiredly. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“It was need to know.”

“What if I needed to know?”

“Shh.”

The steps leading up to the barn are trapped, Ghost finds out.

“Pressure plate,” Soap admires the handiwork of the Colonel and Ghost confirms with a nod.

“Alejandro rigged it.”

“Smart bastard.”

You look around for another way of entry, gaze locking on an open window nearby.

“There,” you point, not waiting for them as you make your way over.

They give you a boost and you’re quick with your weapon, dropping to the floor and scanning the room for signs of life.

A red light appears in the middle of your chest and your heart goes still.

“Don’t move,” Ghost is next to climb through, throwing a knife with aimed precision. It sticks in the decaying post as the person makes a hasty retreat. Soap enters quickly, pulling himself inside, gun raised with the intent to kill.

“Who’s there?” A familiar voice calls.

“Rodolfo?” Soap questions, lowering his weapon and you follow suit.

“Soap? Dust? Ghost? You’re alive,” you see the man’s head peek around from his hiding spot, surprise written clearly on his face.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, plucking his knife from the wall.

“Good to see you, amigos.”

“Same, friend.”

“Nice throw,” Rodolfo compliments, “Where were you guys?”

“On the run,” Ghost speaks for all of you. The moonlight filters in through the open window, making him look even more menacing as he towers over the rest of you, his skull mask dirty and dull, would be absolutely terrifying if you didn’t know him.

“We were on the run,” Soap gestures to the both of you, “Ghost waited for us.”

“Of course, no?” Rodolfo asks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

If only he knew how easily Ghost had pushed the both of you away.

“No,” Soap says, right as Ghost speaks.

“Yes,” He gives Johnny a hard stare before swiveling his head towards you. You don’t want to look at him but you do, noticing the sudden intense emotion in his dark eyes that not even the mask can hide. “We’re a team. All of us.”

It actually sounds like he means it.

“This happened on my watch and I’ll need help to fix it. No one fights alone.”

You shake your head, the opposite way Soap is. Now he wants to work as a team? When he’d so easily ordered you to run when he could’ve come with? Where was this mentality earlier?

Rodollfo says that there’s an apartment in the basement and he’ll take the first watch.

Soap offers to help but you’re reprimanding him sternly, telling him that he needs someone to look at the wound in his shoulder and that he needs to rest.

The lighting reminds you of a hospital basement, white and dim, flickering in time with the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance.

The first aid kit you find is stocked. Not surprising since it’s a safe house, after all.

You dig through it while Soap rids himself of his gear, vest sliding to the ground with a heavy thud, his soaked t-shirt following it with a slap. He groans at the feeling, tucking his hands under his arms to try and warm back into them as you set up your supplies.

“It’s freezing buckets down here,” he mutters, hissing when you poke your tweezers into his wound without warning, “Fuckin’ hell.”

You don’t respond right away, trying to focus on the task at hand. Your hands shake slightly, fingers completely numb as you dig around for bullet fragments.

“How long are you going to be mad at Lt.?” he grits when your tools brush against the inflamed muscle.

You don’t even sparer him a glance, tweezers catching on metal. You pinch down and grit your teeth as you tug it out, feeling sorry for the sergeant when he swallows a whimper. He’s a trooper, you’ll give him that, bulging arms frozen tightly across his chest, staying as still as he can while you work.

It doesn’t stop his mouth from moving, unfortunately.

“I’m not mad at him,” you reply eventually, showing him the fragment you’d pulled from the wound. You nod your head at the piece, impressed, while Soap grimaces.

It clunks loudly into the metal tin, the sound reverberating in the tiny room. You can hear the heavy thumps above as Ghost walks around, presumably talking through plans to save Vargas while you play medic.

“Duuuust,” he drags the syllable as he tuts knowingly.

You sigh, glancing up at him once more before returning to the task at hand. You don’t want to do this now, don’t want to speak to anyone really. All you want to do is get out of your sopping wet clothes and warm up under a blanket, if you can find one.

But Soap continues on, grunting, and you let him because it’s probably distracting him from the pain of you digging around his injury. There’s only one piece left and then you’ll leave him to disinfect and regroup.

“He’s just trying to protect us youngins,” it’s a joke but doesn’t sound like one when he hisses in pain.

You roll your eyes, biting back, “If I needed protecting I wouldn’t have signed up for the military.”

“Fair point,” he responds gruffly, “I think he’s got a soft spot for ya or something, you know?”

Your nose prickles at the sentiment, but you’re quick to clench your jaw, gritting your teeth as the final fragment sticks to the muscle a bit, “No. I don’t.”

“Oh, come off it Dust–”

“If I had to choose I’d say that he likes you a lot more than me, Soap.”

You’re annoyed now, just want to curl up and let the exhaustion of the day pull you under. Your tweezers snag on the final shard and you tug it out with maybe a little too much force, if the growl the sergeant lets out is any clue.

You toss the tool and metal into the container you’d been collecting them in. It clangs loudly, nearly tumbling over the edge of the sink.

“There,” you nearly spit out, turning on the water and scrubbing his blood from your hands. The water is ice cold and it makes the muscles in your jaw ache.

“Dust,” he tries, but you’re already spinning on your heel.

“Disinfect it and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected. You’re welcome.”

You trudge out of the bathroom with purpose and Soap lets you. Stalking down the small hall you find a single room with a bed, but the real prize is the dresser across from it. You breathe a sigh of relief, finding the first drawer full of thick socks.

Your current garb sticks to your skin uncomfortably, thighs chafing together from your wet pants and the cool air does nothing to keep you from shivering.

The new clothes are most likely Vargas’, which means they’re too big for you, but it doesn’t even matter because they’re free of blood and fucking dry.

You peel out of your shopping wet clothes, teeth chattering in the cool air as you slide an abandoned t-shirt over your head. Ghost won’t like seeing you in another man's clothes, especially one that he knows well, but you couldn’t give a fuck less.

Doubling up on socks, you slide into soft joggers and a clean t-shirt that smells like mothballs. There’s even a sweatshirt, to your luck, and you pull it over your head with ease. The sleeves reach over your hands so you roll up the sleeves as you bundle your wet clothes to take them to the bathroom, setting them out to dry.

Soaps abandoned the bathroom by the time you’ve returned, thankfully. You quickly relieve yourself and wish that the water you’re using to wash your hands was anything but arctic.

You’ve just pulled down the sleeves of the cozy sweatshirt, trying your best to give some warmth to your frozen digits when there’s a soft knock at the door. You're surprised to see Ghost on the other side of it, didn’t think you’d be seeing much of him at all if there was a plan to be made to save your brothers in arms.

He watches the muscle in your jaw tick as he stares down at you. You look cleaner than you did when the both of you had arrived, his heart stuttering in his chest when he saw you covered in all that blood.

A quick assessment shows that you’re not injured, at least where he can see.

Ghost opens his mouth to say something but you’re shoving your way past him before he can get a word out. The lieutenant you knew before you’d had the pleasure of tasting him would’ve just asked if you were done in there, but this man…well, you didn’t care about what he had to say.

He catches you around the arm as you take the first step up towards the barn again, spinning you around and pinning you flush against the wall with his own massive body.

You struggle against him, shoving at him as you grit, “Get the fuck off of me! You’re soaking wet!”

He blinks. So the only reason you didn’t want him pressed up against you is because he’s wet from the rain. He can work with that.

Ghost steps away enough for you to slip out from your spot, but he keeps his arm out, keeping you from moving further up the staircase.

You cross your arms over your chest and he doesn’t miss the way that you move your hands up and down your biceps, trying to get your blood moving.

“Are you going to move?” you ask, glaring up at him. Even with the extra added height of the first step he still towers over you.

Some of his eye black has washed away in the rain, making him look even more of a human, and you realize in that moment that you don’t know anything about him. You know his name, had been warned against using it, you know what his lips feel like against yours, how they feel dragging down your naked body but you don’t even know what he looks like.

“Rodolfo is taking first watch and Johnny’s keeping him company for a bit.”

More like he ordered the sergeant to stay away.

His words warm your blood a little.

You nod once with finality, spinning on your heel and making for the single bedroom, your body screaming at you to collapse onto the comfortable looking bed.

Ghost is a silent entity behind you, stopping you from shutting the door with his boot.

You glare up at him, “What are you doing?”

“You’re shivering.”

And yeah, your arms are still shaking and you can’t feel your toes, your fingers are numb from where they’re struggling to shut the door, lips painted a purple tinge, but you’ll be damned if you let him in so easily.

“Been through worse,” you grit. Like you not wanting all of us to stick together on the mission, goes unsaid, hanging in the air between you.

His nearly black eyes flicker as he picks up on what you’re not saying, and he speaks again, gravelly voice softer this time, “I know.”

You know he’s giving you a choice. He’ll leave you alone if you want him to, turn right back around with no questions asked and whatever it is between the two of you will be strained until you crack, the stubborn asshole, or you can save yourself the time and solve it now so that at least you might get a warm body pressed up against yours for the night.

It does sound awfully nice.

“Go get cleaned up,” you relent. Ghost waits a few seconds, searching your eyes to see if this is something that you really want.

He seems to finally find his answer when your gaze doesn’t leave his, slowly turning away from you to make his way back up the hall.

Sighing, you leave the door open a crack, crawling up onto the bed with a sigh. You barely have the energy to tuck yourself into the covers but the softness of the blanket is so inviting you force yourself, eyes slipping shut to rest while you wait for Ghost to return.

You’re halfway to slipping into full on sleep by the time he arrives, cracking your eyes open to catch sight of him lifting the covers to slide in next to you.

He’s clad only in his briefs and a shirt that looks like it’s nearly two sizes too small, leaving little to the imagination as it stretches across his muscular chest.

The balaclava is ever present.

“Where are your pants?” you question, propping yourself up on an elbow. If you stay lying down there’s no way you won’t fall asleep and the two of you need to talk.

“None of ‘em fit,” he responds gruffly and you can’t help but to laugh.

For a fleeting moment you picture him in the throes of battle in nothing but his briefs, his powerful thighs choking out an enemy soldier.

You swallow harshly before stating dumbly, “But you put a shirt on.”

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted me.”

His admission lies thick in the air, heavy between the two of you, laden with nerves.

You’re the first to move and he reacts as quickly as a cat, opening his arms up and pulling you into his body as you start to shuffle over. You hum, relishing in the warmth of his body as he holds you close.

“I want you with me,” you admit softly, playing with the hem of his shirt. You can feel his muscles contorting as your frozen fingers brush the sensitive skin above his waistband, but he doesn’t complain.

“I know,” he murmurs against your forehead.

You’re both silent for a moment, breathing each other in. He smells like metal and gunpowder, not even the rain can wash it away.

“Why?” you croak, forcing the tightness in your throat to subside. Maybe you can pass your hurt off for exhaustion instead.

If Ghost picks up on it he says nothing about it.

“Johnny needed help.”

He exhales and it sounds shaky as he brushes the hair from your face and presses his clothed forehead against yours, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Johnny needed help and I knew I could keep their attention away from the two of you. I knew that if you could both get away, somewhere safe, that everything I’m doing would’ve been worth it. Even if it meant–”

Your hand snakes down, twinning your fingers tightly through his.

Even if it meant that he wouldn’t survive.

This wasn’t about him working better alone at all, it was about saving his comrades, his friends. Ghost had been willing to give up his life in exchange for yours and Soaps.

“Well I need you alive, Simon,” you breathe harshly, and his eyes pop open at the forcefulness of your tone. His name, you’d used his name. Not just a plea for him to let you orgasm or a sigh of it afterwards, you were actually using his name to scold him.

You let out a soft, wet laugh, “I’m pretty sure Soap needs you too.”

He grunts, amused, “That bastard’s had enough of me.”

“I haven’t.”

Your words send warmth shooting through his body. He couldn’t look away from you if he tried, utterly entrapped by the way your voice lowers, the slight smirk on your perfectly pink lips as your fingers dips underneath his shirt, dragging it upwards.

You can feel him growing hard against you and your core aches, crying out for him. You rub your nose against his before pressing your lips against his.

It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing the mask, a fresh one, not dampened with rain or blood or dirt. Surprisingly you can smell the faintest tinge of his laundry detergent and it’s endearing in the best way, makes you weak, cunt clenching as your body reacts, rubbing up against him.

One of Ghost's hands skims down your sides beneath your shirt, thumbing roughly across your pert nipple and he swallows the noise you make. He rolls, pinning you beneath his muscular body, grinding down into like a man who’s just returned home to his wife.

“Mf, Ghost,” you sigh, shoving his shirt up under his armpits, a sign telling him that you want it off.

You can feel the curve of his lips through his mask.

You wonder if it’s a struggle to get off as it is on but Ghosts pressing up to his knees, dark eyes glimmering with feral lust and amusement in the lowlights of the room, before he grabs the shirt at the collar and splits it down the middle.

If you weren’t wet before you sure as fuck are now.

It looks like he’s tearing a paper with how easily the fabric breaks, the cotton falling away from his chest much like your legs are opening for him to settle between, glorious rippling muscles on full display.

His dog tags shine where they rest in the center of his chest, catching your eye for a second before you let yourself drink in his bulging muscles.

Ghost doesn’t waste any time, helping you sit up to remove your own shirt before he’s dipping down for another kiss, pressing you back down into the bed.

The metal of his dog tags are like ice against your hot skin and you whimper in pleasure at the feeling, praying that his name will be indented into your skin from how tightly the two of you are molded together.

He drags his masked face down your body and you feel like a Goddess being worshiped by her loyal acolyte. The wetness of his mouth through the fabric leaves a trail down your skin, the cold air licking it in the best way.

He teases your breasts, massaging one with his hand and the other with his mouth, rolling your nipple between his teeth and brushing his tongue over it.

The feeling of the ribbed fabric over your sensitive skin has you burying your fingers into the fabric of his mask and arching up off of the bed.

Your touch scalds him in the best way and he can’t help but to buck down against you with a groan.

He continues down your body, positioning himself between your legs, looking up at you with lust fuelled eyes.

You can feel his heavy pants against your cunt, even through the layers of fabric still separating the both of you. You keen at the warmth of his breath, utterly aching for him to do something.

“Ghost,” you cry when you’ve had enough, writhing in the sheets, “Please.”

He noses at your folds, watching with hungrily as your back bends off of the bed in pleasure, hips bucking against his mouth on instinct. His large warm hands pin your hips down as he buries his masked face into your cunt, savoring the moan he earns in reward.

Ghost considers for a moment never washing his fucking mask ever again. Your wetness seeps through his balaclava and he grunts in appreciation. You smell fucking incredible, taste even better and he loves the way your sensitive body squirms against the fabric, keening and whimpering for more.

“If you’re going to keep the mask on,” you breathe when he pauses to slide your panties down your legs. Finally. The cold air is starling but he’s back on you just as fast, feeling the flick of his tongue through the thin veil between his mouth and your bare sex. “At least let me ride your face.”

“As much as I’d love that, sweetheart, I don’t quite fancy being waterboarded by your tight little cunt.” Your protest is cut off by a finger dipping into you, dissolving into a sigh of pleasure.

It slides in easily, cunt soaked with your arousal as he works his finger in, out, then immediately slipping back in with two, reveling in the sounds you make as he moves. He watches intently, cock strained against the fabric of his underpants as you write, grinding down on his thick fingers.

Ghost takes extra care of you, pumping in while he finally starts touching you with the other, rubbing tight circles to your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm, that hot feeling coiling in your gut.

You moan when his fingers brush over that sensitive spot inside of you and you clench your legs together instinctively but he’s already there, keeping them spread with his own meaty thighs and quickening his movements.

“Simon,” you cry, hands fisting the sheets as he works you towards your pleasure, “Please. Please.”

“Please what?” he grunts, can’t look away from your perfect cunt, taking his fingers so greedily. “C’mon Dusty girl, gotta use your words.”

You press your head back into the pillow, mouth slack in ecstasy. The sight makes his cock twitch, makes him want to shove it right between your perfectly ‘o’ shaped lips, feel the tightness of your throat wrapped around him.

“Please don’t stop,” you cry out, letting yourself fall into utter bliss.

He doesn’t stop, working you through your orgasm until you’re relaxing into the bed and twitching from the sensitivity, eyes shut and chest heaving.

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the slurp of him sucking your taste off of him but he’s already pulling the mask back down over his chin.

You ache with disappointment.

The only time Ghost gives you to get your bearings straight is when he stands, towering over you like a true predator. His eye black is smeared half-heartedly away from where he’d been rubbing at his tired eyes, clearing them from the exhaustion and rain.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s smirking under that mask, if he’s licking his lips as he carefully watches your reaction while he slides out of his underwear, staring you down just as hungrily, like if he takes those dark, brooding eyes off of you you’ll somehow disappear.

You’re frozen beneath his gaze, eyes sliding down his muscular body as he drops the undergarment to the ground and his cock springs up, thick and hard and perfect in every way. You swallow at the sight of it. You’d seen his cock so many times before but you always seemed to be shocked at the sheer size of it.

Your heart races in your chest as he climbs back up onto the bed, sitting back on his heels as he stares down at you. He gives his cock a rough tug, smearing the bead of precum at the head with a calloused thumb, a question glimmering in those deep, darkened eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, and Ghost doesn’t waste a single moment longer. His hands drag down your thighs, massaging the soft skin before he hooks his fingers and drags you closer to him.

Your yelp dissolves into something utterly primal as he presses the tip of his head right to your wet heat. He groans at the slight resistance he feels and you can’t help but gasp when he finally pushes through, the head of his cock swallowed by your greedy cunt.

It seems never ending, the drag of his cock as he pushes in, in, in. The air presses from your lungs with each inch he moves forward, so full but somehow he’s still going.

“You okay?” He’s trying to mask the strain in his voice like he does when he’s been injured and doesn’t want anyone to know. The feeling of you wrapped tightly around him is next level, and the fact that you’re in a hideaway house in the middle of a mission ebbs from his mind when your muscles tighten around his cock.

“Better than,” you reply, wrapping your legs around his taut waist when he’s fully inside you.

You share groans, his rough tone mixing with your higher pitch in the most delicious way and Ghost can’t help himself, he needs to taste the moans he’s pulling from you so he pulls up his mask just above his mouth and kisses you.

The hot and heavy kiss has you ripping open your eyes, blinking past the lust to admire the man on top of you as he begins to move, kissing down the creamy skin on the column of your throat, careful not to leave any marks.

It’s maddening, not being able to see his whole face, but in the best way. You ache to peel him out of the last piece of clothing between you, the final barrier before this could truly mean something more than just sex.

“Don’t leave me again,” you mewl, fingers clawing down his back for purchase. You can feel the delicious flex of his muscles as he moves, snapping his hips against yours with fervor. You don’t care how desperate you sound when his cock feels this fucking good inside of you.

He sweeps his tongue over yours, a solid weight in your mouth, “Never.”

His hands skim down your body, everywhere he can; the soft skin at your thighs, right where his hips are meeting yours, across your stomach and up to your breast, grabbing a handful before he latches onto your other one, tongue skillfully swirling around your pebbled nipple.

Ghost is thrumming with arousal and the rapid beating of your heart and your loud moans only adds to it, enjoying how the noises you make wash over him like the rain, reveling in the fact of how fantastic he’s making you feel.

His grips on your hips are bruising. You can feel every single one of his fingers biting into your skin and you know that you will be mottled with purplish yellow spots in the morning.

“C’mon, Simon,” you sigh, blissed out on the way that his cock is splitting you in two.

He picks up his pace, shifting and you yelp as he jackknives into you at a better angle. His breath is hot against your lips as you share panting breaths, a tease of your lips against his until your fingers fist into the back of his mask and you pull him down, meet him halfway.

“Patience, Dust,” he growls lowly and it goes straight to your cunt. Ghost groans as you tighten around him and you’re surprised at how well he’s holding himself together because you are a puddle beneath him.

He presses a finger to your lips and you suck on it greedily, looking up at him through lowered lashes to see him watching intently, doesn’t even blink as you work, his lips bitten red and gleaming in the light from the lamp.

He’s utterly delicious.

His wet finger trails down your neck, chest, where he circles around your nipple. The cool air of the room bites at your wet skin and it makes you shiver, trying to pull him closer to feel his warmth.

You gasp as his wet finger trails further south, a tease against your clit. You arch up into him, clawing at his shoulders, leaving crescents in its wake.

“Please,” you whine again, doing your best to grind against his cock as he ruts his hips into yours harshly. Your eyes roll back into your head as his calloused finger presses harder into the swollen bud.

The louder you are the faster he moves, hips snapping against yours as he plays with your clit.

You admire the way his broad chest heaves for breath, muscles rippling and shining with sweat. All you want to do is lean up and lap at his skin, feel those pectorals and abs across your tongue as you taste him.

Your thighs quake at the merciless pace Ghost’s setting and you’re seeing stars, so full and drunk on his cock, the fiery feeling burning in your gut as he helps you towards a second orgasm.

He lowers himself onto his elbows when you reach out, his hand trapped between the two of you still flicking against your clit with purpose. You grasp onto any part of him, moaning beautifully against his mouth. He gives you all that he can, his fingers, his cock, his mouth, something intimate and vulnerable from the soldier.

The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and barely any lips because you both need to breathe.

“Come on, Dusty,” he pants into your mouth, swiping his finger fast, his hips harder, causing you to cry out in euphoria “Give it to me.”

“Yes sir,” you grit. And you do. You give him everything he’s asking for, letting yourself succumb to your orgasm.

Ghost continues rubbing you as you ride out your orgasm, clenching tight around his cock. The sounds you make and the feeling of your cunt hugging his cock has him spilling into you, groaning deeply into your neck.

Your skin is still on fire when he finishes, limbs going heavy, but it’s okay because you’ve got him, will always have him, if he wants you, hands caressing the back of his head as he buries his face into the juncture of your throat and shoulder, sucking a single mark into the soft skin there.

It’s perfect, everything about this moment is flawless when he pulls back, rolling onto his back, taking you with him. Your hearts pound where they’re pressed up against each other, and the rise and fall of his chest mixed with the sensations of your second orgasm have you nearly falling asleep against him.

You prop your head up on his chest so you don’t fall asleep. Ghost watches silently as you mark out the features of his face through his mask. He tenses when your fingers hook around the fabric that’s scrunched up, exposing his mouth. You study him for a moment, pressing your lips against his one more time before dragging it back down over his mouth.

It stings a little when he relaxes under you, tracing lazy circles into your lower back.

“Sleep,” he grumbles eventually, pulling the blankets over the two of you but keeping you nestled into his chest. You don’t have it in you to protest, the comforting warmth of his skin calming you completely, eyes drooping shut at his soft command.

“I’ll take your watch.”

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