#simon's bambi eyes

[wilmonssun]

[dollykiller]

[bunnycasket]

put me onto ur black motorcycle ♡

[longing-for-the-past-times]

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - one.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 2,542

synopsis: Throughout your time as a Task Force 141 operator, you fell asleep on your Lieutenant in random circumstances. What happens when he is the one to fall asleep on you?

notes: hope you enjoy this, it was initially meant to be max 500 words but I got carried away reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

one.

In hindsight, the day shouldn't have been so draining; it had been an average day spent on base, involving physical training, shooting, and paperwork. You had endured much worse during missions where you could barely get some shut-eye between watches, but that was not the case.

The problem, the literal root of your heartaches was a cat, your sister's cat. You had been more than happy to take care of it when she so kindly asked under the pretence of having to spend a few nights out of town. You had been even happier when you went shopping for cat supplies with her - perhaps excited at the thought of having a furry cuddling partner. And you intentionally kept it a secret from your teammates, scared that they would drop by uninvited to help you take care of it when all you wanted was the creature's undivided attention.

The previous day, the first day she'd spent under your care was perfect: she, for the cat was a female, spent hours cuddled up on the couch, sleeping like there was no tomorrow. But when the night came, the little beast came to life. Scratch that, beast was an understatement - it was the spawn of Satan that had been racing through your bedroom, jumping on the windows, and left hanging on the curtains. The demon that kept butting his head against your door, and that launched violent attacks against your blanket until your alarm rang.

So that was why the plain day at the base was more draining than it should have been. You went on with training, the shooting session was average, and the paperwork had you dozing on your desk. Letting out a small sigh, you forced your eyes to stay open as you scanned the last mission’s report for any grammatical mistakes- which proved to be a tedious task, especially because you’d eaten not too long ago and your eyes became heavier each breath.

At the sound of another yawn, Ghost lifted his head from his own paperwork, glancing in your direction. He noticed with a frown your exhausted face and the way you blearily rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make the sleep go away. What was that kept you up last night? Or should he ask- who? He quickly shook his head at the thought, discarding it like a crumpled piece of paper thrown in the bin. He’d known you long enough to notice your mood shifts and he would know, he had to know, if you started seeing someone. Not that he had something against it - he wouldn’t be the one to pry into your personal life like that. After all, it was Johnny’s job who, in turn, would share the information with him.

But that did not mean he could not try to ensure you felt good enough in his presence - the team’s presence - to not feel the need of finding another someone. After all, it would only get you distracted and unprepared for the missions to come.

His reasoning was sound in his head, and when he saw you had given up, propping your head against a stack of papers while mindlessly glaring at your extended hand, he got up from his desk. He made sure the screeching of the chair was loud enough to alert you something was going on, and he suppressed a grimace under his mask when he saw you slowly turn to face him, eyes glossy with sleep. At that moment, glancing at you, he thought you were the perfect embodiment of the expression: no thoughts, head empty, and, as much as it amused him, he knew he had at least to get you out of the office.

"Come on, let's go."

Scrunching your eyes before blinking, you looked up at his massive figure that was currently towering above your desk. If you'd been more alert, you would have noticed a small sparkle in his eyes, but your efforts were put into battling off the waves of sleep that just kept coming. Your mind could not form a coherent thought: what was the time, did the lieutenant finish his paperwork already, where did he want to go-

The internal questions continued and you ended up yawning loudly again, closing your eyes for a couple of minutes. You just needed to rest them for a while and then you'd be fresh, prime, and proper to finish your day on base. Yet your brief rest was interrupted when you heard, or rather, felt, a hot breath across your face. As you opened your eyes, you realized Ghost had crouched down in front of your desk, his masked face being centimetres apart from yours. His eyes still had that tiny sparkle you noticed this time, and involuntarily you began staring at his amber orbs and blonde eyelashes. Countless times you studied his eyes fervently, trying to get a glimpse of the man behind the mask - so much that you began to be aware of every crease and crinkle that would form around them, depending on his mood. At the time being, there seemed to be no such lines, or perhaps you were too tired to actually notice them-

"You can finish this report tomorrow, Sergeant. Let's go!"

He gently nudged you with his arm, waiting for any reaction. When he didn't receive one, he rolled his eyes and groaned, he actually groaned, which made you perk your ears in disbelief:

"I'm up, I'm up!", you shot up and out of the chair, too surprised by his loud reaction. But you couldn't see his face anymore as he was already heading towards the door, back turned to you, left hand silently gesturing you to follow.

The walk to the lounging area was silent, with Simon walking in front and you trailing dutifully behind him. The silence was not uncomfortable though, which was not unusual: he was one of the very few people with whom you could sit in a room for hours and don't feel the need to fill the space with words. There was no explanation for it; it all came naturally and you were smart enough not to question it, knowing that the lieutenant could be difficult with people when he wanted to.

"Look who decided to show up! Ghost, Bambi - how kind of you to join us!"

You shook your head at Soap’s loud greeting, trying your best to hide your smile as you plopped down on the sofa, next to Ghost. Captain Price was already seated in his designated armchair, leafing through what seemed to be a handbook, while Gaz was lounging on the other sofa, next to Soap. As usual, other members of the task force would come and go, bidding silent greetings, and at that moment, the comfort and familiarity of the atmosphere made you sigh softly as you propped your head on your hand while leaning against the armrest.

"Sleepless night, Y/N?"

Price did not look up from his book as he asked the question, but you knew he must have been watching you throughout the day, taking note of the sleepy state you'd often found yourself in. You also knew that he would have stepped in the moment he considered you pushed yourself too far, but for the time being, you were just satisfied that you managed to get through the day.

"Who's keeping you up at night, Bambi?", Soap quickly chimed in, a signature smirk plastered on his face. A smirk that widened even more when he noticed Ghost rolling his eyes, next to you. "Is there someone we should know about?"

"You're shameless, Johnny", you spat back at him, straightening yourself in an attempt to seem more collected. "...and even if there was someone, you think I'd throw them to the wolves?"

Gaz chuckled loudly at the remark, while Price was trying to hide his grin behind the pages. At that moment, Simon was glad the balaclava was hiding his features - the smirk he was sporting could rival Soap's.

"My sister left town for a couple of days", you eventually resumed, running a hand through your hair, "and asked me to take care of her cat-"

As expected, protests and offended remarks could be heard from both Soap and Gaz, the men demanding why they were not told of this earlier. They could have helped-

"The only help I'd get from you would consist of you two laying to sleep with her on the couch. But here's the catch, the beast only sleeps in the daytime - but when the night comes, she transforms into this dark demon which runs around the house and attacks my feet when I try to sleep!"

"Never had a cat before, Y/N? When you were a kid?"

You shook your head at Price's question, frowning when you notice his sympathetic expression:

"You need to keep them busy throughout the day, and then leave enough food for them at night. As a last resort, locking them in the bathroom is a good solution, but you need to first remove everything from the shelves."

"Or we could come in and babysit the baby!", Gaz kept pushing, an innocent smile gracing his features. "Sure, you had a rough night, but how hard can it possibly be, to take care of a creature whose routine mainly consists of eating and sleeping?"

"Well, it's only three more days. I'll manage somehow..."

As the conversation shifted to another topic you were too tired to understand fully, you laid your head against the wall, letting your body sink into the couch. There it was again, that soft hum that lulled you to sleep- not that you would actually fall asleep in the lounging area. No, you would just rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, before heading towards your car and riding back home to the little creature that must have been expecting you.

***

At first, Ghost did not seem to notice the shift of weight on his right arm. He was too busy scrolling on his phone, searching for articles about cats and their nocturnal habits. It wasn't until the room was too quiet for his liking that he looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting Soap's as his teammate was silently pointing to his right - in your direction.

He slowly turned his head towards you, his eyes widening almost comically behind his mask. You were the dead weight on his shoulder, soundly asleep, your left cheek squished against his arm. Of all the days, it was that specific day that he opted for a plain black t-shirt after training, and he was definitely overthinking his choice. Your skin felt soft and warm against his, enough to short-wire all the working circuits in his brain, prompting him to freeze and stare at you. The complete implications of this gesture would hit him later, when he would be lying in bed, unable to sleep, but for the time being, he could solely focus on the facts at hand: you were there, next to him, leaning against him, sleeping peacefully.

And he only wanted to keep an eye on you and kill anyone who had the slightest intention of waking you up.

"Where's that camera when you need it!", Soap quietly grumbled as he got up and started fumbling on one of the shelves, ignoring the daggers Ghost was shooting at him through his eyes.

"Top shelf, Soap - you put it there the last time you used it!", Price whispered with a sigh of mild frustration.

"Guys, be quiet, let the girl get some rest!", Gaz hissed as well before Soap joined him back on the couch, a dusty Polaroid camera in his hands:

"Alright, this one's for the books! Come on, give us a big smile, L.T.!"

He might have been unable to move, but his gaze spoke volumes- a true death glare though and through, quickly captured by Soap through the lenses and printed on the small Polaroid photo sheet. Gaz leaned over Soap's shoulder to see the result and even Price scooted his armchair a bit closer, a small grin dancing his lips. The picture was proudly placed on the wooden panel, next to one depicting the Captain sleeping just as soundly in the very same armchair he was currently sitting in. And in the meantime, Ghost could only feign indifference, letting his signature eye roll showcase his opinion about the situation.

He could not explain, could not even place a finger on or identify the warm and comforting sensation he was feeling in his chest. He was so used to the cold and dull feeling that had taken residence in there- yet there it was, a glimmer of hope, a ray of sun on a cold autumn day.

You felt safe in his presence, safe enough to put yourself in a vulnerable position in his proximity.

And he would do anything to keep things that way.

***

Bonus scene:

Letting out a small whimper, you stretched your limbs while keeping your eyes closed. You could not figure out how you got home or why your pillow was sporting a distinct smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and cologne, but your semi-conscious mind was too busy keeping you asleep that you did not seem to care.

Wait...

That scent was familiar. You were in its presence on an almost daily basis that you could tell it in your sleep. Well, not literally, considering that your mind was still trying to piece it out- why was your pillow smelling like Ghost?

You jerked yourself awake with a start, your groggy mind taking a couple of moments to process the fact that you were actually not in your bed, but in the lounging room at the base. And your pillow was not really your pillow, but actually, Ghost's shoulder and your cheek was fully squished against it.

"Look who's up, Sleeping Beauty herself..."

From your current position, his voice felt like a deep rumble, vibrating through your body and resonating in your bones in an unsettling manner. With a herculean effort, you managed to prop yourself against the other side of the couch, blearily blinking the sleep from your eyes. A faint blush spread across your cheeks, warmth radiating through your face as embarrassment tinged your features. It took all you had not to cover your face in your hands.

"I’m so sorry, L.T. - I really didn’t mean to-" "It’s alright, Bambi. No harm done."

The lack of your weight against him made him feel empty in a way he struggled to define. He tried to brush it away by rising from the couch and making a show of rolling his shoulder in front of you, calmly watching your embarrassed figure through his thick eyelashes. Your cheeks were already sporting an uncharacteristic rosy hue and your renowned doe eyes were widened, a glimmer of sheepishness and self-consciousness reflecting in them. He would never admit it to anyone, but he secretly adored the fact that he was one of the few people who could coax such a reaction from you.

"Although next time you might want to do it in a room without Soap. It’s likely that the entire base will learn of it by tomorrow."

A/N: wrote this on a whim, not proofread so it may contain grammatical errors (and more) updates won't be regular as I'm a college student with a full-time job

Hope you enjoyed it :)

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 5

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Hand feeding, praise, kink negotiations, discussion of power exchange dynamics, kissing (FINALLY)

When you reach for the cardboard box on the edge of the table, he catches both of your wrists in one hand. You only resist a little bit. His other hand flicks the box open and he picks up a thick fry.

“Open,” he rumbles, pressing it to your lips. When you open your mouth, you watch his pupils dilate. He purrs as you take a bite. “Good girl.”

The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You would let him feed you limp celery with that tone. You lean forward again, jaw dropping open.

“Should talk now,” Simon rumbles, thumb dragging over your lip as he feeds you the rest of the fry. The contact electrifies you down to your toes. You must make some kind of noise as you swallow because he smiles. “Didn’t consider I might feed you myself.”

“Okay,” you breathe, leaning into the hand cupping your cheek.

“Finished your stretches?”

The temperature in your body drops significantly. You lean away from him. “I…uh. I… didn’t.”

Simon hums a low note, hand finding your chin again without making you look into his eyes. “Hurtin’ somewhere?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I just… I was in my work clothes. And I didn’t want to do… that in front of Gaz and Soap.”

“Fair,” Simon says, drawing you forward to brush his lips over your forehead. You feel your face get hot all the way up to where they brush against you as he speaks. “You want to do them now, or later?”

The tension you barely noticed creeping into your shoulders melts away. Of course. Simon is just Simon now, not Ghost. If you aren’t comfortable doing something, he’s not going to get mad, just give you other options. He’s kept you safe, and he’ll make sure you continue to feel safe under his instruction. Even though everything is different, it’s all the same.

Tears prickle your eyes, so you squeeze them shut as you lean further into him. Suddenly, one of his arms is around your back, the one on your leg lifting you into his lap. If there’s even a grunt of effort, you don’t hear it over the way your breath gets caught in your throat. Your hands come up, automatically, to brace against his chest and one bicep before you’re folded into him like that’s the only place you ever needed to be.

And then his lips find yours.

God, how many times had you thought about kissing him? The fantasy is so muted compared to the real thing. His lips are thin and a little dry, surrounded by the barest scratch of stubble. He doesn’t coax your mouth open, just presses his lips against yours like he could do this all night. The tip of his tongue flicks out for a quick touch to your top lip, startling a sound out of you. He does it again, opening his mouth to moan into yours when you squeeze his arm in response.

When your own tongue comes out to touch the scar you’ve always admired at the corner of his mouth, he growls. “Fuck, Bambi.”

“Simon.” You barely recognize your own voice.

The hand on your thigh goes tight. It startles a gasp from you that he drinks down with a groan of is own.

He surprises you by pulling back enough to speak between kisses. “Beautiful, you know that? Thought I was hallucinating.” He tips you back a bit, taking all of your weight to scan your face. He grins as he says, “Was thinkin’ so hard abou’ you, and ‘ere you are.”

“You were thinking about me?”

“’Course, I was,” he says, leaning back into the couch. You end up resting your head against his shoulder. He sighs and kisses the top of your hair. “Missed our check in this week, ‘n you’d this big trip you were all nervous for. Didn’t get to see you off. Was lookin’ forward to gettin’ the tour of your hotel room, gettin’ y’r travel stories. ‘n then I got the call today, n’ I was cancelin’ on you again. Just about broke my ‘eart.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say. You’d always kind of assumed he was indulging you, letting you ramble about your day until he could get to the good stuff, as your ex used to say. “I knew you were kind of… on call. I didn’t realize that you were saving hostages, but I knew you were busy.”

He twists a bit to look into your eyes. “Don’t like bein’ too busy to see you.”

“You just like seeing my ass,” you joke, burying your face into his neck to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“’S a good arse,” he chuckles, shaking the meat of your thigh in his grip. “Was definitely lookin’ forward to a bit o’ skin. But if you were too tired, I jus’ wanted to ‘ear your voice, coax you through some of your stretches before bed. Speaking of…”

You roll your eyes at the significant look he gives you. The way he never forgets a command makes so much more sense now that you know what he does for a living. Your heart flutters to see the familiar way his scarred lips quirk at your sass, paired with the unfamiliar way he tweaks the skin of your hip with the gentlest pinch.

“I’ll do them later,” you concede. “I already did all my floor stretches, and I’m hungry now.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your ass. “Should prob’ly eat before it gets cold.”

He pops open the second takeaway container to reveal your meal, a dish you had picked basically at random from the menu Gaz had showed you on his phone. It’s a lot less hand-feedable than Simon’s wrap and fries, so he lets you feed yourself, but he refuses to let you sit on the couch, even halfway. Just holds you in place while he eats one-handed, trading fries for bites of chicken adana and tipping water into your mouth every few minutes.

You’re ravenous until you’re suddenly not, halfway through your food. Simon doesn’t comment, just finishes the other half of your food while you rest against him, exhausted. Simon’s hand is still on your hip, his thumb tracing back and forth in an idle, steady pattern.

When he finishes eating, he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

“Nervous,” you say automatically. This, at least, is familiar. “’M tired, and I don’t know what you’re gonna expect of me.”

He taps three fingers on your hip, twice. “Trust me?”

“You saved my life today,” you point out.

“Tha’s work,” he dismisses. “Not workin’ now. You trust me?”

You think about it, because he always wants you to think about it before you answer. You fall back on your rules, the promises between the two of you.

“I trust you to be honest with me,” you answer, the mantra coming easy. “I trust that it’s okay to tell you if I’m not okay with something. I trust that you won’t yell at me. I trust that you’re not going to hurt or harm me on purpose to correct my behavior.”

“Very good,” he rumbles, pulling you close to press his lips against your forehead again. “I trust you to be ‘onest with me, too. Trust you’ll accept a no, when I give it. Trust that you’re not g’nna yell. An’ I trust you not to punish me if you’re upset.”

“Wow,” you say. “I never expected to hear you say that in person.”

“Never thought I’d ever ‘old you,” he replies. “An’ I’ve never folded a whats-it-called… a romper, before, neither. Interestin’ day o’ firsts.”

“It’s a jumpsuit if it’s long,” you mumble, mortified all over again that he’d had all of your stuff in his hands.

“’S impractical. Soft, though. Bet it’s real pretty on you.”

A swell of embarrassment swoops through your belly. It’s automatic to bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“None o’ tha’, now.” Simon grasps both of your wrists in one large hand again and brings them down to your chest.    He makes you look at his face with a finger under your chin. “Won’t promise I’ll never make fun, but I won’t say I think you’ll look good if I’m no’ bein’ ‘onest. Promised, yeah?”

“Trust you to be honest,” you whisper, tipping your face back into his shoulder. “Acknowledged.”

“Good girl. Three deep breaths.”

You push all of the air from your lungs, the way your therapist taught you. When you inhale, you feel his chest rise with yours. He matches you when you hold, then release the breath in a steady stream. Where the back of your hand touches his chest, you can feel his heartbeat, solid and steady as he takes the next breath with you. By the third inhale, you let your spine relax as you feel him do the same.

“Know we never planned on meeting,” he eventually rumbles. He tips you back to look down at you, then ducks down for a quick kiss. “But I’m gonna be selfish and say I’m glad you’re ‘ere. If you don’t want nothin’ else, tonight, gettin’ to ‘old you is still everythin’ I ever could’ve wanted. Honest. Acknowledge.”

“This is good. We don’t have to do anything else, and it’ll still be good,” you whisper. “Acknowledged.” You lick your lips, prop yourself up to look into his eyes, then away. “What if… What if I want to do more?”

“One step at a time,” Simon chuckles.    “Stretches first. Then we’ll see about tha’ reward I promised you, yeah?”

He brings his mouth to yours again. Your hands are freed so that he can cup your jaw so tenderly that it threatens to melt your heart, even as it electrifies you down to your toes. When you moan into his lips, he echoes you, then pulls a way to press his lips to your cheek.

“Up, Bambi. Let’s get you to the bed.”

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

library scene • episode 1

their expressions softening and smiles growing bigger as soon as their eyes meet. oh the effect of each other’s presence!!!

wille's staring contest and the lip bite while approaching give off so much confidence. he leans in for the kiss like it's all he's been waiting for - everyone is watching and yet he sees and cares about anyone anything but simon.

simon dives into the kiss just as quickly. it starts out as shyyy but you can see the tension easing through his body language.

it’s a second first kiss for them in a way bc it's their first public one: the thrill, the excitement, the butterflies - it's all there. for this huge step to come from wille makes it even more special.

it’s a super tender kiss, with simon’s hand ending up on wille’s chest. background noises fading away to enhance the sound of their lips is so on point: none of that truly matters bc in this moment it's - them.

first they kiss and then greet with a proper hej *giggling*.

lip biting is serious business in this scene. simon's shows a lot of embarrassment tho - he comes out of their own bubble and suddenly becomes very aware of people's chatter.

shoutout to felice and maddie in the background not giving a damn about it ahsjsj.

wille pulling simon by the hand in such a hurry is funny and so him. he literally says 'ok folks you've seen enough, i want him just for myself now'.

ugh i love parallels in this show sooo much. they alone tell the whole story!

same spot but different point in their relationship: so distant in s2 - both physically/emotionally - and couldn't be seen or heard so they were hyper attentive; deeply connected on all levels in s3 instead, the focus is solely on each other, reaching for comfort by holding hands. the coloring tells the same plot too: cold and dull tones first but much warmer ones in s3.

simon side eyeing the hallway but turning to wille is enough to reassure him and ease the discomfort.

hands intertwined with the key chain in such a ‘fuck 'em, this is about us’ way is a genius move.

wille’s whole posture is extremely relaxed - one arm behind his back, the other hand holding simon’s, his legs crossed. it’s a breath of fresh air to finally see him acting this loose and unbothered around people. he's also the one who helps simon feeling much more comfortable here too.

not much to point out, i just needed to gif simon’s bambi eyes and wilhelm being mesmerized by his face.

hela terminen's line delivery is honestly *chef’s kiss*. they care to keep their voices low throughout the scene and then -

i have a thing for height difference so this shot is everything to me. it's peak head over heels boyfriends behavior!

wilhelm is stronger than me bc i would've kissed simon right on the spot if he tilted his head up like that.

shhh they’re cuddling.

the forehead touch with closed eyes and content smiles. this is basically what i've always loved the most about them - the state of pure bliss they're in only when with each other.

simon's eyes on him while wille is still keeping his eyes closed, slowly pulling away, to enjoy the moment a little longer.

simon's attention directed towards wille and the linked hands. it must feel the best kind of weird to experience the freedom of doing couple-things publicly - people's scrutiny no longer being something they have to hide from.

[bambisspeckles]

Couples Costumes ✿ Flufftober Day Nine -- Simon

Summary: You and Simon have a hard time agreeing on a couples costume! WC: 758 <3 Song of the day: Cherry ❁ Lana Del Rey

"Okay, okay! What about this one? It's cute and I'd get to dress up like a deer!" You tug on the sleeve of Simon's jacket, pointing at the screen of your computer with your other hand.

He groans loudly and you could practically hear his eyes rolling as he begrudgingly drags his gaze to the screen of your laptop.

"A hunter and a deer? You serious?" He asks unimpressed. "Don' really wanna go as some fetish version of bambi." You gasp as his crude joke, jabbing your elbow into his arm.

"It's not fetish, it's cute! But fine you've ruined it for me anyways." Now it's your turn to roll your eyes, annoyed with your boyfriends exclusive taste when it comes to couples costumes.

"Why do you even wan' to dress up? Bit childish, no?" You let out a scoff, glaring daggers in his direction.

"I do not want to hear that coming from the same man who cosplays as a fucking ghost ninety percent of the year." Simon grumbles at your comment, leaning down to nip at your earlobe.

You gently push him away, whining softly at his teasing. He relents, chuckling meanly at your wordless complaint. You scroll through some more Pinterest boards, searching for perfect ideas, before finding, what you think, is a viable option for you and Simon.

"M'kay Si, what about this one? Isn't it fun?" Once again you can basically hear Simon roll his eyes as he places his phone on the table to look at your screen.

"The wolf and little red riding hood?" His stare far too judgmental for your liking. "Not sure if your ideas are gettin' better or worse sweethear'."

You groan, rolling your eyes so far back you would swear you could see the inside of your skull, before slamming your computer shut.

"Okay fine, I give up! No parties, no couples costumes, no candy, no Halloween!" You scoot your chair away from Simon's, which he promptly corrects by dragging you back over to him.

"No Simon.. Leave me alone I don't wanna sit next to you right now!" He sighs before shushing your petulant whines, and angling your chair towards his.

"Okay, relax. Do ya wanna tell me wha' your issue is love? Why's this botherin' you so much?" You ignore him at first, be then he grabs your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks roughly.

A small whimper escapes your lips and you pull away, batting his hand away from your face.

"Fine, just stop squeezing my cheeks it hurts!" He chuckles under his breath and you scowl. "You're not making it any easier to talk with you Simon."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling away with a gentle smile.

"Alright, M' done. C'mon, talk to me now sweethear'." You can tell he's actually done so you allow yourself a moment to compose your emotions before speaking.

"I know this is silly to you Simon. The costumes, especially the couple ones, the parties, the cheap scares… But to me it's fun and whimsical, and you're not even bothering to pretend you care! It makes me not want to do anything at all, and that really sucks." Your bottom lip sits in a pout and Simon feels bad, honestly he does.

He sighs, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his lap. He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking gently until he feels your body relax in his arms.

"M' sorry love. Was bein' a right bastard, didn' mean to ruin your fun." You hum, taking in his words as he continues to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck.

It really would piss you off more if you didn't know his apology was sincere.

"Can do whateva' you wan' for Halloween, okay? Dress-up as whoever you wan', promise I won't be an arsehole." He finally pulls himself from your neck, his pretty brown eyes staring into yours.

"But I want you to have fun too… Don't wanna drag you into it if you're not gonna have fun." Simon tilts his face towards yours and you quickly get the message, letting him press a soft kiss to your lips.

"M' happy either way love, long as you're happy I couldn' ask for anythin' more." You smile, pressing another kiss to his lips.

"Promise?" You ask, head tilted to the side.

"Swear on my life love, I'd kill someone to prove it."

He would, he probably has before, not that he'd ever tell you. Not that you'd ever know.

[bambisworlds]

bambi and her bodyguard

simon "ghost" riley is bambi's bodyguard, he worships the ground she walks on but fights his feelings for her. well, until he can't anymore (5,121 word count, i'm insane)

*bambi is my oc, click on my pinned 'about my blog' post to learn more about her :)

content warnings, mdni 18+

f!reader, bambi!oc, bodyguard!simon, unmasked!simon, gentledom!simon, innocent!reader, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader (but not a virgin), simon is down bad for reader, protective!simon, jealous!simon, oral (f. recieving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), use of "Daddy" (2 times), use of "good girl", lottts of praise, not really a warning but frequent consent checks (consent is sexy), frequent usage of pet names, let me know if i missed anything x

Simon never expected to like his charge for his latest bodyguard gig. The contract would only last for a year, and then he'd likely move on to whatever spoiled brat he was assigned to next. He retired from special forces 5 years ago. He thought he'd enjoy it, but as it turns out he hates to sit still. So, he started working as a bodyguard 2 years ago. He's had 8 jobs so far, most of them were short-term gigs. Bambi was his latest assignment.

Her name wasn't actually Bambi, but the nickname fitted her well. She looked as if she belonged in some flower field where the sunlight could shine on her, making her hair glow in golden hues. Bambi was gentle and skittish like a deer with big doe eyes. The object of innocence and sweetness. He wanted nothing more than to taste the sweetness of her lips and her cunt, but he couldn't go there. He wouldn't.

Bambi was the daughter of the CEO of a luxurious company. He was a billionaire, and like most wealthy and famous people he had people who hated him. Her father was receiving threats on both himself and more importantly, Bambi. His words to Simon in the consultation before he was hired were; "She's too good for this world, too innocent. These thugs would squash her like a bug."

Her father was right, Bambi was too good for this world. And he would do whatever it took to keep her from its harsh realities.

Simon stood outside of her bedroom, he could hear pop music faintly playing inside. Probably Ariana Grande or SZA, which Bambi had been educating Simon on against his will. Bambi had plans to go out with her best friend, Florence. She and Florence have been friends since middle school. They were an unlikely pair. Florence was outgoing, raunchy, and bold. Bambi was not. Bambi was shy, polite, and kind. Florence, like Simon, knew Bambi was precious, so she often used her boldness to defend Bambi, which Simon greatly appreciated.

Simon had been staring at the wall across from him in a haze as he listened to Bambi's faint, melodic humming from inside her bedroom. He was practically in a trance. But, he was snapped out of it as Florence came strutting down the hall.

"Hey big stuff," she greets Simon with a wink as she walks into Bambi's room without knocking.

"Florence," Simon greets flatly. As if there was some magnetic pull between him and Bambi, he turned so he could look into her room. Florence had left the door open after she entered. Simon leaned on the doorway as he watched Florence try to coax Bambi to do bolder eye makeup. Simon didn't think it was necessary. She looked angelic with her usual soft, pink eyeshadow and the delicate highlighter on her nose that gave her a natural but ethereal glow.

Simon barely registered Florence's outfit, his gaze was hyper-focused on the silk, pink dress Bambi was wearing. It had fine flower designs on it with a low cut, giving a glimpse of her cleavage. Simon gulped and forced himself to look away, pretending to seem intrigued by the collection of romance novels on her bookshelf.

"Si's coming with us," Bambi says, her sweet voice calling Simon's attention back to her like a siren call. He blamed the flip in his stomach on the shitty Chinese food he had for lunch, not her calling him 'Si'. She was supposed to refer to him as Ghost, but Simon wanted to hear his name on her lips, so he asked her to call him Simon two weeks into his job.

"You won't even know I'm there," Simon says, his tone dull, as she tried to prevent Florence's unavoidable bitching about him accompanying them to the blues bar they were going to.

"Yeah, right," Florence scoffs, turning towards Simon, "What are you? 6'4, 6'5? I'm sure I won't even notice your sasquatch ass behind Bambi the entire night," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"He's just doing his job, be nice," Bambi coaxes Florence with a gentle touch on her arm.

Simon watched transfixed as Bambi adjusted her hair in the mirror. It was neatly curled with a lovely, pink bow on the back of her head to keep her hair out of her stunning eyes. Bambi adjusted her dress and turned to Simon, "Are you ready?" she asked gently.

Simon cleared his throat, he barely listened to the words she said, he was too focused on her otherwordly-like appearance. "Yeah, I'm ready," he says gruffly.

"Good, let's go," Florence says and takes her hand, pulling her along with her as she exits Bambi's bedroom.

The whole drive to the blues bar was torture for Simon. He tried to stay focused on the road, but his eyes kept involuntarily drifting to the rearview mirror to get a glimpse of Bambi.

"I need to find you a man," Florence says to Bambi and Simon snaps out of his daze. His eyes fly to the rearview mirror again at almost inhuman speed. Florence was perceptive, or at least more perceptive than Bambi, so she had picked up on Simon's feelings for Bambi. And damn, did she love torturing him with it.

"I don't know, no guys seem to be the kind that I want," Bambi sighs, fidgeting with her purse, "I've tried dating apps, but they all just want hookups or they ghost you once things start to get serious. I want someone to understand me, to want to understand me."

I understand you. Simon wanted to say but bit his tongue.

"Maybe we'll find your Prince Charming tonight," Florence says to Bambi with a gentle smile, before turning to look at Simon in the rearview mirror with a mischievous smirk. Simon scoffs under his breath and focuses back on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Simon was two seconds away from punching something, someone, in the face. He never had the desire to hit a woman before, but damn was he itching to as he watched Florence introduce Bambi to a group of frat guys. Simon was positioned at the opposite end of the bar so he wasn't breathing down their neck, but could still see them clearly.

Simon wasn't supposed to drink on the job, but he went against protocol and downed a shot of bourbon after one of the frat guys rested his hand on Bambi's lower back.

His grip tightens on the now empty glass as Bambi smiles at the guy shyly, her cheeks tinted pink. Simon was practically seething when Florence looked at him over her shoulder with a smirk, clearly enjoying his struggle. She wanted him to man up and tell Bambi how he feels and she was gonna make him, one way or another.

After another grueling half an hour of watching the string bean of a human flirt with Bambi, Simon stood, the bar stool scuffing from his abrupt movement. He practically stomped over to them, stopping when he was positioned behind Bambi. The frat guy slowly looked up at Simon, who stood nearly a foot taller than him, he could see the unease in his eyes. Simon reveled in it.

"Your dad wants you to go home, said he got a new threat in the mail," Simon says flatly, his eyes bearing into the man's face. Bambi flinched at the sound of his deep voice, unaware he had been behind her. Simon grabbed her wrist, but with a gentleness that contrasted his rough exterior, and started to lead Bambi out of the bar. Florence followed after them with a slight smile.

Simon led Bambi to the car, he offered her his hand as she got in and closed the door behind her before getting in the driver's seat.

“Thanks for the help,” Florence mumbles as she gets in the car as well without any special treatment from Simon.

“I’ll drop you off on the way,” Simon says flatly to Florence. His eyes were dark, situated on the road ahead of him as he spoke. Florence knew she had pissed him off tonight, and she couldn’t be happier about it, which Simon knew, pissing him off further.

Simon pulled in front of Florence’s apartment. Bambi bid her goodnight.

Florence stopped at the driver's side window, “You better not fuck this up.” She says to Simon, a quiet warning before she heads up to her apartment.

Her words rang in Simon’s ears the whole way home, he really didn’t want to fuck things up with Bambi. But he needed to taste her, to be surrounded and engulfed by her sweet, addictive, scent.

After pulling up to the Bambi's father's mansion, he killed the engine. His heart pounded in his chest at the knowledge that her father was away on business. He fell into the usual routine of helping her out of the car and walking her to the door with a protective hand on her lower back.

Simon held open the door for her, and once she entered he did as well, closing the door behind them and locking it. Simon stood, utterly motionless and silent, as she took off her Mary Jane shoes. When she straightened back up Simon spoke, "What do you want in a boyfriend? What traits, what behaviors?" Bambi turned to look at Simon, her delicate features furrowing slightly from the question. "I'll be any of it, anything you want," Simon says, hating the slight desperation in his tone.

Bambi's big eyes scanned over his face with a mix of confusion and understanding.

"What do you want?" Simon asks again.

"I want them to be like you," Bambi says softly.

Simon swallowed roughly, his hand twitching with the effort of keeping still. "Like me?" Simon asks, his tone flat.

"Not like you," she says, her voice soft and airy, "I want you."

Simon could hear his heart pounding in his ears as the entire world seemed to get smaller and smaller until only Bambi remained. Before he could think twice about it, he walked over to her in two long strides and captured her lips with his. The softness of her lips made his head spin. His large hands moved to span across her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"You want me?" Simon asks, his lips a breath away from hers, "You can have me." he says, his voice gruff. "Whenever you want. However you want."

Bambi let out a shaky breath and kissed him again, her soft hands moving up to rest on the back of his neck. Simon's legs nearly gave out from the eagerness of her kiss, but he forced himself to pull away again, "How do you want me baby?" Her eyes flicker between his, a silent storm behind her eyes as she tried to get the courage to say what she wanted, "It's okay, you can tell me. No need to be an embarrassed sweetheart." he says, his large hand lifting to rest on the side of her face. Bambi looked down at her legs briefly then back up at him. Simon smirked, "You want me down there?" his head nodding towards her thighs. Bambi nods timidly, nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously. "Good girl," Simon praises before leaning down again to kiss her.

His hands slip down to underneath her thighs, lifting her up until her legs wrapped around his waist. Simon managed to make his way up two flights of stairs and down a hallway without looking as he kissed Bambi like she was his only supply of oxygen.

He kicked open the door to her bedroom, then kicked it shut behind him before carrying her over to her plush bed. He laid her smaller form on the pink comforter. "Can I move these?" he asks gently, motioning to the four squishmallows propped up against her pillows. Bambi nods and Simon smiles slightly, moving them over to the bay window before returning over to her. He stands over her, his fingers softly tracing along her thighs that were on either side of his legs.

"Now, I need you to do something for me, okay sweetheart?" he asks and Bambi nods. "Whatever we end up doing, if you want me to stop, or it doesn't feel good, you gotta tell me. Sound good?" he asks and she nods again. "Good," he says softly and leans over her body, his hands braced on either side of her head as he kisses her once more. Simon moans against her lips and braces one arm beside her head, the other sliding down to rub her side soothingly. His hand progressively moves down to her thigh, bunching up her dress slightly. He slowly eases the skirt of her dress up higher until her panties nearly peek out from beneath it, "This okay angel?" he asks and Bambi nods, her hands resting on his broad shoulders.

Simon pushes up her dress to her belly button, exposing her cotton panties to his eager gaze, "Cute." he mutters with a small smile as he looks at her panties. Simon leans down to place a kiss on her covered mound before standing straight again. "Can I see these pretty tits too?" he asks, gripping the fabric of her dress again as he prepared to lift it up higher. Bambi nods, "I need words sweetheart." he says with a gentle smile.

"You can take it off," Bambi says, her voice breathy with a slight tremble.

Simon leans down and gives her a gentle kiss, "Good girl." he mumbles against her lips before straightening up to take off her dress completely, “I’m gonna treat you like a princess tonight, sweetheart.” Simon says huskily as he lifts the dress up over her head. Bambi lifts her arms to help him, then rests them at her sides once the dress is off. Simon lets out a shaky breath at the sight of the delicate, lace bra that hid her breasts from view. "Such a pretty little thing," he breathes as he leans back over her body to plant kisses over the swell of her breasts. Bambi shivered, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. "Nervous baby?" Simon asks, lifting his head slightly from between her breasts to look up at her.

"A little," she says softly.

"Then let even the playing field a bit then," Simon smiles and pulls off his own shirt so perhaps she'd feel less exposed. "How's that?" Simon asks, tossing his shirt on the floor without a second glance.

Bambi gulps, her eyes flickering over his chiseled chest and abdomen, "Good." she says shakily. Simon chuckles in amusement.

"Now, we'll take this as far as you want, or do as little as you want, okay?" he asks and Bambi nods. "Can I take this off too?" Simon asks, his fingers ghosting over the straps of her bra. Bambi nods, "Use your words, baby." he reminds her gently.

"You can take it off," she says, arching off the bed slightly so he could unclasp her bra. Simon reaches behind her and unclasps her bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down her arms until her breasts are exposed. He folds her bra and sets it on the floor with a carefulness he didn't express with his own clothing. As Simon looks back down at Bambi, her chest heaving from anticipation and nerves, he felt his cock twitch. This little creature had the most perfect tits he's ever seen.

"Damn, little one," Simon says with a dramatic exhale as he drinks in her exposed chest. "Is it okay if I taste 'em?" Simon asks.

"Yes," Bambi asks, remembering to answer verbally this time.

"Such a good girl," Simon praises as he leans down to take her left nipple between his lips. He moans in satisfaction, his right hand coming up to squeeze its twin. "How's that feel baby?" he mumbles against her breast.

"G-Good," she says, her hands gripping the comforter beneath her. Simon smirks against her breast, moving over to her right breast to give it the same attention. He suckles the bud gently before pulling back to admire her tits again. Simon moans at the sight, his hands cupping and squeezing the soft mounds.

"Perfect fuckin' tits," he mumbles under his breath. His distraction from her breasts breaks as he looks down at her panties. "How about these, baby? Can I take these off?" he asks, nodding down towards her panties.

"Yeah," she answers, her grip on the comforter relaxing as he lets go of her breasts. He slips his fingers beneath the delicate fabric, "Lift your hips for a second sweetheart," he says and Bambi complies. He slides them down her thighs until they dangle from her ankles. Simon leans down to place a gentle kiss on her right ankle as he removes her panties, setting them on the floor with equal care he did with her bra.

Simon's focus returns to Bambi momentarily and his head falls back with a dramatic groan at the sight of her bare mound. He lifts his head again, sighing heavily as he rests his hands on her thighs. "Remind me what I want you to do angel," Simon says, looking back up at her face.

"Ask you to stop if I don't like something," she says softly.

"That's right, good girl," he says as he slowly pries her thighs open. Simon's mouth waters as he spreads her thighs, his eyes drinking in the sight of her pink, glistening folds. "Fuck," he whispers to himself, taking a moment to admire her bare sex. Bambi's cheeks turn pink and she looks away, growing flustered by his heated gaze. Simon smirks, "Don't get all shy now baby, you've got a pretty little pussy, might as well show it off." Simon leans forward, kneeling between her thighs and he plants a gentle kiss on her clit and Bambi jerks slightly.

"Have you ever had sex baby girl?" Simon asks Bambi. He knew she had a boyfriend before he was hired as her bodyguard, but he wasn't sure if they went all the way or not.

"Yeah, a few times," she says shakily. Simon nods in acknowledgment and kisses her clit again. He places a kitten lick on her clit before sucking it between his lips. He lets out a low moan at her taste, gently sucking on the sensitive bud. Bambi exhales shakily, her thighs twitching slightly. Simon keeps a gentle hold on her thighs to keep her spread open for him as he ravishes her pussy. Simon's technique was slow and unhurried, wanting to drag this out for not only her but for himself. He wanted to savor her taste and the sounds she made.

Simon's eyes flickered up to her face as he slid his tongue inside her. She gasped and her back arched slightly, a good sign. He began to pump his tongue in and out, lifting one of her thighs onto his shoulder so he could move his tongue deeper. Bambi let out a sweet moan, her face scrunching up slightly as his tongue slid deeper inside her. Her delicate hands gripped the pink comforter beneath her as Simon continued his ministrations. He watched her reactions closely, trying to see what she liked best. When she made a particularly appetizing noise, he repeated the action until her thighs trembled. He cycled through the favored motions, wanting to make sure she enjoyed every second.

Bambi panted softly, gripping the comforter tightly, her body growing tense as the familiar signs of an orgasm built within her. "Cum whenever you're ready, baby. There's no rush." Simon mumbles against her pussy, alternating between lavishing attention on her clit and fucking his tongue into her. Bambi gasps sharply and keens as she reaches her peak, her body trembling and spasming. She tilts her head to the side, trying to muffle her cries of ecstasy with the comforter. Simon smirked against her sex at her attempt to stay quiet.

He continued to lap at her clit until she jerked with each stroke of his tongue on her overly sensitive bud. Once satisfied that she was spent, he pulled away and licked his lips clean. "Good girl," Simon praises as his eyes drift over her limp form appreciatively. "Still not quite ready for me, though." he smiles and stands up to sit on the edge of the bed beside where Bambi's legs dangled off the edge.

"You're gonna do more?" Bambi asks, still slightly breathless.

"Baby, we can keep the foreplay going all night long if you want, I don't mind." he smiles, his fingers tracing over her mound. "I wanna make sure you're ready for me. But, if you don't want to have sex tonight we can just stick to this stuff." Simon says and Bambi shakes her head quickly.

"No, I want to," she says eagerly and Simon chuckles from her eagerness.

"Don't worry baby, we will if you want to." he smiles as he slides his fingers down to slip one of his thick fingers inside her, "Gotta get this pretty pussy nice and prepped first," he says with a breathy moan as he begins to slowly pump his finger in and out. Bambi lets out a slight moan, her thighs beginning to fidget, but Simon's free hand holds one open for his ministrations. "So fucking tight," he grits out as he continues to thrust his finger in and out of her sopping cunt. He relished the wet squelch from his finger moving inside her.

Bambi's eyes flutter shut as she moans sweetly, clearly enjoying herself. Seeing that she's relaxed, Simon adds a second finger. Bambi gasps and her back arches momentarily before she melts back against the bed. "Good girl, just relax and enjoy it," Simon encourages, picking up the speed of his fingers slightly. Bambi's lips part with a shaky moan as he picks up the pace. Simon smirks and crooks his fingers to find her sweet spot, he knows he found it when she arches off the bed and a high-pitched moan slips past her plump lips. Simon focuses on hitting that spot with each thrust of his fingers.

Bambi begins to squirm on the bed, her hips involuntarily rocking against his hand. "That's it, take what you need," Simon practically moans as she rolls her hips to meet his movements. He clenched his jaw, trying to stifle his own desire as he focused on making Bambi cum. But, there was a visible patch of precum on the crotch of his pants. He ignored it, focusing on the little angel he was pleasuring.

Simon smiles to himself triumphantly as her pussy begins to squeeze around his fingers and she white knuckles the comforter. Simon adjusts his hand so he could circle her clit without pausing his ministrations. Bambi gasps, her face scrunching up in pleasure. She tilts her head again, trying to hide her moans with the comforter. Simon's free hand moves to tilt her head straight again, "None of that little one, let me hear you." he says gently but firmly, and she complies.

Simon watches her face intently, drinking in every micro-expression as she cums. She lets out a desperate wail, her body convulsing and thighs squeezing around his hand as she cums. Simon's free hand quickly moves to grip one of her thighs, forcing her legs apart again. He slows the pace of his fingers, prolonging her orgasm. Once her inner muscles begin to relax and her breathing slows he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his lips to suck them clean.

"How are you feeling baby? Still good?" he asks and Bambi nods mindlessly, her eyes shut in bliss. Simon chuckles, amused by her blissed-out expression. He rubs her thighs soothingly as she comes back to herself. When she finally opens her eyes again Simon smiles down at her, "Do you want more? Or was that enough for tonight?"

"I want more," Bambi says quickly and Simon laughs at her speedy response.

"Okay, sweetheart," he chuckles and reaches down to work on his belt buckle. He pulls off his belt, tossing it on the floor before moving to unbutton his pants. Bambi watches his every movement, her body buzzing in anticipation. She had been dying to see what he was hiding beneath those cargo pants.

Simon unzips his pants and pulls them down, then his briefs. Bambi's eyes widen slightly as his large cock springs free and bobs against his stomach. The tip was red and angry, dripping precum. After Simon tosses his pants on his forming pile of clothing he looks over at Bambi, he chuckles at the look on her face. "Feeling a bit giddy are we?" Bambi's eyes flicker up to his face and she looks away shyly, feeling caught. "Don't be shy baby," he smiles gently, grasping her chin to turn her face back to his, "You can look at it as much as you want. It's all yours for the night, and as many nights as you want after."

Bambi timidly peeks down again before looking back up at Simon. Simon smiles to himself but doesn't comment on her quick glance as he moves to stand between her spread legs. He grabs her thighs in his large hands, guiding them to wrap around his torso as he stands before her. Bambi complies, locking her ankles together behind his back. Simon gives his cock a few slow strokes, spreading the precum over his shaft.

"Still want to do this baby?" Simon checks and Bambi nods, "What did I say?" Simon asks, his voice growing firm.

"To use my words," she says timidly. Simon raises an eyebrow, "I still want to." she says and he nods in approval.

"Good girl," he says and drags the head of his cock through her slick folds, coating himself in her juices. Bambi shivers each time his cock slides over her clit. His free hand rests on her belly as he positions himself at her entrance. He inches the head of his cock in first and Bambi tenses, panting softly. Simon moans lowly from the tightness of her pussy. He starts with shallow thrusts, stretching her open. Bambi responds eagerly to his movements, her eyes fluttering shut and lips parting. Taking it as a good sign, Simon pushes deeper until half of his cock is inside her, repeating the slow thrusts to ease her open for him.

Bambi's hands grip the comforter for the nth time tonight. She bites her bottom lip, stifling her moans.

"What did I say, baby?" Simon asks, halting his movements. Bambi's eyes fly open, "Don't be quiet, I want to hear you." he says firmly and she nods in response. Seemingly satisfied with her response, Simon resumes the slow roll of his hips until he bottoms out inside her. He groans in satisfaction as his balls press against her ass, "Fucking hell," he moans, remaining still for a moment to savor the sensation of her warm walls gripping him. Lost in his own euphoria, Simon snaps out of his cloudy haze as Bambi begins to squirm. "S'okay baby, I'll give you what you need," he says as he begins to thrust slow and deep, pulling out until only the tip remains before pushing back in.

Simon's eyes roll into his head as he begins to thrust again, letting out a gravelly moan. "Such a perfect little cunt," he breathes, "Gonna get addicted to you sweetheart," he pants as he picks up speed slightly. Bambi responds beautifully, her mouth dropping open as she lets out sounds of delight with each snap of his hips, "That's it, make all the noise you want," Simon encourages breathlessly, his hips smacking against the underside of her thighs with each thrust.

Bambi’s tits jiggled enticingly with each thrust, only adding to Simon's arousal. Simon lays over her, his arms braced on either side of his head as he ruts into her. Simon let out a shaky moan, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. She lifted her hands to rest them on the back of his neck, spreading her thighs wider to give him easier access.

“Good girl,” he grunts out as she spreads her legs wider. He leans back again slightly to get better momentum as he fucks her. Bambi’s eyes drank in the sight of him. His mouth was dropped open, his forehead beaded with sweat as he grunted and moaned with each movement he made. She couldn’t tell who was enjoying this more, him or her. His abs rippled with each snap of his hips, and Bambi couldn’t resist the urge to trace her fingers over the muscles.

Simon let out a low loan as her fingers danced over his hard abdomen and he increased his pace, fucking her with renewed vigor. “That’s it, touch Daddy wherever you want.” He grunts out. Bambi whimpers from the dominant title, surprised by how much she enjoyed it. Simon smirked, “Yeah? You like that?” He asks and she nods mindlessly. Simon chuckled and smacks her hip lightly, “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy. Make me proud.” Simon lets out something that resembles a whimper as Bambi’s pussy began to tighten around him. “Fuck,” he gasps, “Sweetheart, you gotta cum now before I blow my load inside you.” He warns, a slight tremble in his voice.

As if on cue, Bambi’s cunt clamps around his cock and she convulses wildly on the bed. “Oh shit,” Simon moans, his eyes rolling back at her already tight cunt becoming impossibly tighter, “T-That’s it, good girl,” he praises, his voice trembling as he fucks her through her orgasm. Bambi mewled and whined, her hands clawing at his arms as she rode out the waves of pleasure crashing through her. “Oh, fuck,” Simon gasps, “Gonna cum,” he pants, quickly pulling out of her messy cunt and stroking his cock rapidly. He lets out a low groan as he cums, thick ropes of his seed coating her stomach. Simon shudders and moans, bracing himself on one arm as he falls forward so he doesn't collapse on her as he rides out his high.

Simon pants, letting go of his cock as his orgasm subsides, “Holy fucking shit sweetheart,” he says, his chest heaving. Simon sighs shakily and tilts his head down to give Bambi a slow, almost thankful kiss, “That was damn good.” he sighs contently. “How about you? You still feelin’ good?” he asks breathily.

Bambi nods, “Yeah, really good.” she says, equally winded.

Simon gives Bambi another lingering kiss, “Let's get you cleaned up sweet girl.”

if you have any fic requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below or on my masterlist!! (check here: about my blog  to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

[pixie-bby-airia]

Who Would’ve Thought?

Summary - Soap and Gaz spot their usually silent teammate giggling her ass of in front of their usually stoic lieutenant and they can’t help but watch in confusion.

Warnings - None

“Gaz - come ‘ere” Soap gestured at the soldier, his eyes fixated on the strange sight he’d been witnessing for about 2-3 minutes now. Gaz tilted his head in slight confusion but complied - now mirroring soaps gaze as they both took a moment to see their stoic lieutenant and the quietest member of their team having a nice chat.

To be clear - neither Men had ever heard the shorter of the pair interact with anyone else on the team before, and while she was sweet she was inexplicably silent. But here she was, stood in front of the most hard to talk to man on the squad and she appeared to even be giggling.

“Who would’ve thought aye?” Soap chuckled - “the mouse and the big cat are apparently pretty good friends” Gaz couldn’t even begin to respond - a little too confused to think.

————————————

Ghost smiled beneath his mask - pretty proud of himself for getting his team member to let out a cute laugh - apparently she was not one to shy away from his darker, dry humour.

He understood why they’d given her the call sign Bambi now, you could only see her big doe eyes, lashes long as they blinked up at him - she had the rest of her face covered by a black mask. While this was the usual, it was only now he was fully paying attention to her features.

The two hadn’t interacted many times before - however he could safely say this is the closest anyone else on the squad had got to talking to her. She would usually give a smile, well what could be seen as one from the squint of her eyes and light crinkle of her skin. Aside from that she mostly communicated through hand signals - to the rest of the team anyway, however her and Simon had a few conversations by now, mostly about work but sometimes she’d reveal a little bit about herself, and for once Simon was actually interested in what she had to say.

In particular he can recall one time when she revealed some of her favourite music to listen to - now whenever she’s wearing her headphones around base he imagines she’s most likely listening along to her favourite artists - holding back a dance and singing along in her head.

“You’re very funny LT” Her voice was sweet and soft - a gentle vibration compared to his gruff gravely tone. His smile returned again - enjoying the praise. “I think we have an audience” she whispered. Eyes gesturing subtly over to the Sergeants and their obvious stares from across the room.

Simon made eye contact with soap who raised his eyebrows and grinned before scattering away - muttering something about giving the couple some privacy. He heard the small giggle come from her again.

The feelings she was stirring up within him were certainly not appropriate - especially considering his role as her lieutenant. Could anyone really blame him though?

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 7: Revival

You borrow Joel's guitar. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-6 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Nothing this time! No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6.6k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You lasted all of 36 hours before you were back at Joel’s house. 

It was your day off from the stables, Simon handling things two days a week so you weren’t working every single day - though you wouldn’t mind if you were. You liked staying busy. 

You still woke up early, the same time you usually got up to go start the day by feeding the horses, and tried to keep yourself busy and your mind occupied. 

You just weren’t great at it. 

In a lot of ways, you were still adjusting to life outside of captivity. Raiders had you for a little longer than two years and two years was a long time to get used to having no options. It was still a bit overwhelming to just be in your own home. There was so much everything - so much furniture, so much space, so much to do - that, sometimes, you just sat and stared at it, unable to focus enough on one thing to actually fucking do it. 

But that day you wanted to play music. You were singularly focused on it in a way you hadn’t been in years - since you were a teenager, really. You tried putting on a CD but it didn’t cut it. You tried playing the piano that sat in the front living room but it was so out of tune it made your head hurt. You tried using the handles of wooden cooking spoons as drumsticks on the kitchen counter but it was just a let down. 

Part of it, you were sure, was because you knew you could get at a guitar if you wanted to. Another part was that the guitar was with Joel. Joel, the man who terrified and intrigued and comforted you. You’d found yourself taking a different route to the stables the day before, going by his house in the early morning hours when it was still dark, the lights off in the outbuilding that Ellie called home but a glow coming from a small window on the side of the main house you couldn’t see into. The kitchen, you were guessing. You looked at the house the whole time you walked past, both praying Joel wouldn’t come outside and hoping he would. 

Around 6 a.m., you called it, throwing on your stolen coat and heading out the door, walking quickly with your hands shoved in your pockets as the sky started to tinge pink on the horizon. 

When you got there, though, you couldn’t bring yourself to knock on the door. For starters, the house looked dark. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person, maybe he just had to be up early for whatever job he’d done the day before. Maybe he’d be in bed for hours yet. But there was also the stomach-clenching fear of going on his porch, near his door, where you could be locked up and hidden away and who would even know? The people here would just think you’d taken off, your flighty nature finally driving you out of town. No one would even question it and you’d be stuck. Again. 

Even though something in you told you that wasn’t a risk, some part of you saw him as someone you could trust, someone you wanted to trust. Some part of you that you’d thought was long dead wanted to be close to him, had drawn you here to his front door as dawn broke into the sky. That part of you kept you there, pacing his yard, clenching and unclenching your fists, breath rising in a fog on the cold morning air until you heard the front door unlatch. You stopped, not quite back to his front walk as you paced, and turned slowly to face him as he came outside. His shaggy hair was mussed, warm eyes squinted against the early morning sun, pajama pants hanging low on his hips so you could see the outline of his stomach against his t-shirt. 

“Bambi,” he said, voice muddled with sleep. “Everythin’ OK? What’re you doin’ here?” 

It wasn’t until that moment that you fully realized that you’d shown up at his door at the crack of dawn to borrow his guitar. It was so ludicrous you couldn’t even look at him, crossing your arms tightly over your clenching stomach and staring at the steps to his porch. 

“Bambi?” He said again, clearer this time. 

“Sorry,” you shook your head.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. He stayed on his porch. You were grateful for that. “What’s going on?” 

You glanced at him, fingers digging into the cuffs of the coat. 

“Can I use your guitar?”

You said it quickly, words almost slurring together they tumbled out of you so fast. But he just smiled a little, the upturn of his lips making his eyes crinkle. 

“Course,” he said. “Want to come in?” 

“I’d rather not,” you tightened your arms around yourself. “Can I use it out here? If it’s all the same to you?” 

“Sure,” he said after a moment. “Gimme a minute… want coffee?” 

You frowned. 

“Coffee? Where the hell’d you get coffee?” 

“Traders that came through few weeks back,” he said. “Gave ‘em too much for it but can’t say I’ve regretted it yet.” 

“And you’ll just let me have a cup,” you raised your eyebrows at him, incredulous. 

He smiled wider. 

“Can’t see it hurtin’ anything. How do you take it?” 

“Black, little sugar.” 

“I can do that,” he said. “Ten minutes, Bambi.” 

He went back inside and you went back to pacing, trying to work the nervous energy that was thrumming through your whole body out of your system. It felt like no time at all when Joel was back on the porch, in jeans and a flannel this time, his hair no longer twisted in on itself. For a moment, you missed how he looked just minutes before, the casual intimacy of it. That he’d look like that if he woke up next to you. 

“Coffee first,” he said, heading for the stairs. You took a step back on instinct and he stopped. You flinched at that but you watched him think for a second. “I’ll set it here, OK?” 

He put the mug on the middle step before retreating back up the steps and going to one side of the porch, leaning against the railing with a mug of his own in his hands. You darted forward, grabbed the mug, and went for the large tree that sat opposite him. You leaned back against the trunk, the cup clutched tight in your fingers. Joel turned his head so you could see his profile, looking off at the horizon, but you caught his eyes glancing back toward you as you took a sip, the steam from the cup warming your cheeks. 

“Holy shit,” you managed after you swallowed, your eyes wide. 

Joel laughed a little.

“Yeah, I know. Different when you haven’t had a cup in a while.” 

“Fuck,” you said before taking another sip. “I remember not thinking a damn thing about this before, can you believe the shit we used to take for granted?” 

“I know,” he nodded. “Trust me.” 

“What’s the smallest thing you miss?” You asked, taking another sip and savoring it, the sugar cutting the bitterness just enough that it made it better instead of worse. 

“Hm,” Joel took another sip, thinking, before he smiled a little. “Don’t know if it counts as little but bein’ able to turn on a football game on a Sunday afternoon. Or just channel scrollin’ on TV, I guess. Seeing what was on, finding something that sounded good enough, sometimes watching something you hadn’t seen before and really loving it when you’d never have seen it otherwise. Miss that.” 

“That’s a good one,” you nodded. 

“You?” 

You thought for a second, sipping more coffee. 

“The chips aisle at the store.” 

“Specific,” Joel half smiled, a dimple on his cheek. 

“I didn’t like sweet snacks as much,” you shrugged. “And my mama was always on some kind of fad diet so we never had it in the house but whenever I was going to a rodeo with my dad, he’d take me to the store and let me get whatever snacks I wanted and the chips aisle was like fucking heaven. Hot Cheetos? Those stupid fuckers that were little cones that fit over the tips of your fingers so you had witch nails? Oh fuck, the chili cheese Fritos?” 

“Those fuckers were good,” Joel said. “Damn, who knew I’d mass produced sodium…” 

You laughed at that. 

“Close second would be the ridiculous fried shit at the state fair,” you said. “Still don’t know if any of it was actually good but I felt a lot better about getting thrown off a bronc when I had a deep fried Oreo.”

Joel laughed a little before finishing his cup of coffee, the two of you falling into an awkward silence, the soft coo of mourning doves on the air. You fidgeted with the mug in your fingers, trying to look anywhere but at him. You didn’t need to look at him. 

“Gimme a second,” he said, clapping his palm down on the railing once. “I’ll go get the guitar…” 

You watched him go back inside before returning with a beautiful acoustic guitar. It had been years since you’d last seen a guitar at all so you would probably have found a $99 piece of shit from Guitar Center fucking gorgeous but Joel’s was beautiful, actually beautiful, with leaves inlayed into the pick guard. 

You were walking toward him without even really thinking about it, eyes so glued on the instrument that you barely noticed that you were suddenly in close proximity to Joel. You downed the dregs of your coffee and set the mug down on a step before cautiously, reverently reaching forward to take the guitar. He set it in your hands and you just looked at it for a moment, the wood glossy and smooth below your fingers. 

“Everything OK?” Joel asked after a minute. Your head shot up. You’d forgotten he was still there. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, looking back down at the guitar. “Just… haven’t held one of these in a while. Didn’t know if I’d get to ever again.” 

You glanced back up at him as he nodded. 

“If you change your mind about comin’ inside, you’re welcome to,” he said, jerking a thumb toward his front door. “Otherwise, you know where to find me if you need somethin’.” 

“Thanks, Joel.” 

He just gave you a stiff nod and you watched him go back inside before you went and sat down, your back against the tree, facing Joel’s porch. No one could get at your back then and Joel couldn’t catch you totally off guard. It was a good a position as you thought you’d get here. 

You took a deep breath and cautiously put your fingers on the strings, making a G-major chord. It was the first chord you’d ever learned. Your oldest brother, Brendan, had been taking lessons  and you’d sat and watched him, utterly enthralled. His fingers moved slowly and deliberately over the strings, his face drawn into a frown. 

“Whatcha doin’, Ladybug?” He asked, still hunched over the instrument. 

“Watchin’,” you said, hands behind your back, fingers twisted together. 

“See that,” he smiled. He’d seemed so big then but you knew now that he’d been little, only 12. “Want to try?” 

You nodded quickly and he lifted the guitar. You clambered onto his lap and he brought the guitar back around in front of the pair of you. It was way too big for your little five-year-old body but you didn’t care. 

“Alright, gimme this hand here…” he took your small hand in his own and guided your little, chubby fingers to the strings. They cut into your skin and you winced but stayed quiet. “So when you hold down those strings, that’s a G-major chord. Then you take this hand…” he took your other hand and brought it around the instrument, your whole torso flush against the body of the guitar to reach all the way around to the sound hole to get at the strings. Brendan’s hand enveloped yours and guided you over the strings, the chord playing resounding and clear. Your fingers hurt. You smiled. 

“See Ladybug?” You could hear him smiling, too. “You got it.” 

The strings cut into your fingers again, the callus that had built up over decades of playing lost after years of inactivity. You didn’t mind the pain now, though, as you played the chord and tuned the instrument. You’d rebuild the callus and a little pain was a worthy price to pay to be a part of creation. 

Once the guitar was tuned, you took your time getting used to things again, playing through all the chords one by one, letting the sound of them soak into you. You remembered Brendan, wondered how he and everyone else you’d known then had died. They’d all been on the ranch, you figured they’d all turned or been killed quickly. You didn’t think anyone would have made it out. 

That thought hadn’t always made you sad. For a long time, you were almost envious of it. They didn’t have to live through the end of the world and that was a blessing. But Brendan and Richie would have liked Jackson and you found yourself wishing they were here with you, picturing them working in the stables with you like you had when you were 17 and still on your father’s ranch in Texas. You could’t really picture them in their 40s, though, with graying beards and bald patches on the backs of their heads. At some point, they all morphed into your father as they aged in your mind. Instead, when you thought of them here, you thought of them in their 20s, the way they’d been the last time you saw them, when you went home for Christmas in 2002. They were frozen that way, vessels of human potential that would never be reached. 

Once your fingers felt warmed up, you tried to think of a song to play. Your favorites would be too hard to dive right into, you’d fuck them up and get frustrated while ripping your fingers to shreds. 

Instead, you settled on Creedence Clearwater Revival. Bad Moon Rising had been one of the first real songs you’d learned how to play, it only took three chords. You listened to the song in your head for a moment, trying to make sure you actually remembered how it went. You hummed it next, fingering the chords on the fretboard as you did, before you nodded to yourself and started playing. 

You played it through at a little more than half speed at first, your fingers feeling strangely clumsy on the strings. It had been so long since you felt so unsure about anything musically. Sure, there were things you were new at and experimenting with all the time before, but it was still intimately familiar to you. Now, the strings felt foreign against your fingers, you were still trying to find the comfortable way the body of the guitar used to fit against you. 

The sloppy sound of the chords made you frown and you went through it again slowly, deliberately, pressing your fingers as hard as you could stand against the strings until they sounded right. It also took you time to remember the song correctly, stumbling at parts when you realized you couldn’t remember what came next. Between becoming reacquainted with guitar and trying to remember the song you were playing, it took a few hours for you to be happy with it and you found yourself singing quietly along with it when you heard Joel on the porch again.

You’d gotten so involved in playing that you hadn’t been paying attention to potential threats, leaning over the guitar and looking down at it as you played. You didn’t jump this time, at least, just pressed yourself back into the tree as Joel came down the porch stairs, a plate and glass in hand. 

“Won’t get too close,” he said, setting the plate and cup down a few feet to your side before backing away. You frowned, leaning over to look at it after he was a safe distance away. 

“What…” you began but he cut you off. 

“Figured you were here early enough that you probably hadn’t eaten anything today,” he said. “Thought you’d be hungry.” 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning the guitar gingerly against the tree before stretching and pulling the plate and cup toward you. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asked. “I’ll stick to the steps…” 

You looked at him, for a second. He was leaning against the post to the steps, his hands in his pockets, genuinely asking you. 

“It’s your house.” 

“It is,” he nodded, frowning a little. “But don’t want to do anything that might… make you uncomfortable.” 

“You won’t,” you said, quicker than you’d meant to. You weren’t entirely sure if that was true but you wanted it to be true. “It’s OK.”

Joel just nodded once before going into the house, coming back out a moment later with a plate and cup of his own. He sat down on the middle step, putting the plate next to him, facing out toward the road but you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

You took a deep breath and pulled your back away from the trunk of the tree and turned to face him. He smiled - a tiny smile, one that you’d have missed if you weren’t watching closely - and picked up a sandwich off his plate to take a bite. 

You took a good look at your own plate for the first time, a sandwich piled high and… 

“Are those chips?” You asked, frowning down at them for a second before looking back at him. 

He shrugged. 

“Where the fuck did you get chips?” You picked one up delicately. It was thick, a bit soft in the middle, warm to the touch. 

“Made ‘em,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Said you missed the chips aisle so… figured I’d give it a shot.” 

You took a bite, the edges crisp and salty, and closed your eyes, savoring it with a little moan. 

“Think that means I did OK,” you could hear the smile in his voice. 

You just nodded, eating the rest of the chip and sighing happily, sinking against the tree trunk. You hadn’t had a chip in 20 years. You’d have no clue how to make one - it hadn’t even occurred to you to try. 

But Joel did it. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You asked, picking up the sandwich next. You were saving the rest of the chips for last. 

He shrugged. 

“Friend in the QZ used to make stuff like that now and then,” he looked at his lap for a moment before looking back at the street. “Tried to remember how she did it.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Can I ask how she died?” He looked over at you, frowning. You answered his question before he had a chance to ask it. “I can just tell.” 

He nodded and looked away from you again. 

“Attacked by infected,” he said. “Tryin’ to head west. She didn’t even make it out of Boston.” 

“I’m really sorry,” you said quietly.  

He shrugged. 

“Like to think I did her proud.” 

You were both quiet for a moment. 

“You were soundin’ good there,” he said, looking back at you again. 

You scoffed. 

“Just Bad Moon Rising,” you waved him off. “I was playin’ that when I was… shit… five?” 

“How long’s it been since you played last?” 

You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time to answer, that question making your chest and stomach go tight. 

“About two and a half years,” you said. “Didn’t even go that long at the start of the damn outbreak, one of the first fuckin’ things I got my hands on was a guitar…” 

“Were you in a QZ?” Joel asked. 

“No,” you laughed a little at that, at how different QZ life sounded from the life you’d lived. “No, I was on my own. But I traded for a guitar about a year in.” 

“How’d you end up in Wyoming, anyway?” He asked. “Awful far from Texas.” 

“So are you,” you teased a little. “But I was workin’ this way during the outbreak. On a ranch. Everyone else turned that night - I’m guessing something in dinner for the ranch hands was contaminated - but I’d been out with…” You swallowed against the lump in your throat that appeared when you thought about Justin too long. “Out for the night with a friend so I missed out.” 

“Lucky,” he said. 

You shrugged. 

“Not sure you’d call living through all this shit luck but,” you took a bite of the sandwich. “How’d you end up here? Hell, how’d you end up in Boston?” 

“Was in Austin on outbreak day,” he said slowly. “Me’n Tommy made our way north over time. Tried makin’ it on our own for a while, ended up hearing that the Boston QZ wasn’t too awful so we went there. He moved west, I followed when he stopped callin’ by radio. Figured he’d landed himself in some kind of trouble so I came to find ‘em. Turns out, he’d just landed himself a wife and a kid. Which is a different kind of trouble than I ever expected him to find but…” 

He shrugged. 

“Was it hard?” You asked. “Coming this far?” 

You hadn’t traveled far beyond where you’d been during the outbreak. That Joel had come from clear across the country was nothing short of miraculous. That he’d made the trip at all, that he’d been so confident in his brother’s survival, that he’d thought it was worth the risk. 

“Hardest part might’ve been Ellie’s puns,” he smiled a little and you groaned. 

“Oh God, she loves those damn things,” you laughed. “I don’t know where she gets them from…” 

“She’s got a book.” 

“No!” You gaped at him. 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Called No Pun Intended: Volume Too. Except it’s spelled t-o-o…” 

“Oh my God,” you laughed, too. “This explains so much.” 

“I keep lookin’ for volume one for her when I’m out on patrol,” he said. “No luck yet. ‘Course for the sake of all our sanity, if I find it I should probably burn it…” 

“No, you have to save it,” you laughed. “Give her some fresh material.” 

You laughed with Joel a lot over lunch, more than you had in years, the sun high in the sky when he eventually came to clear your plate and cup. You only cowered back into the tree a little that time. 

“Thank you,” you said as he reached the base of the steps to the porch again. “That was… It was good. Thank you.” 

“Sure,” he said. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.” 

He left you with the guitar and you settled back against the tree, watching the door where he’d just disappeared, thinking about the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 

*** 

He hoped you wouldn’t hear him opening a window. 

You really were good, especially for someone who hadn’t played in years. He wanted to sit and listen to you, hear you remembering how to do something you so clearly loved. 

But you weren’t ready for that. He could tell. 

The dishes from lunch done, he picked up the book he was reading - Dune, something he thought Ellie might like - and opened the window on the side of the living room near the tree. Just enough that he could hear you playing. He settled in on the nearby couch and listened to you practicing chords and piecing together a song. You hummed to yourself occasionally, trying to piece the music together and find the right chords to match. 

It took him a minute but then he figured it out. You were working on House of the Rising Sun now. Another good choice for someone relearning. He hoped you’d sing that one, too. Fuck, he’d love to hear you sing that one. 

He shook himself mentally. He shouldn’t think of you that way. Didn’t matter how pretty you were, how much he just wanted to hear you talk, how badly he wanted to play music with you. You were still remembering how to do anything besides just survive. You didn’t need him causing problems. 

But he could just listen to you play through a crack in the window. That wouldn’t hurt anything, the soft strumming, the building of the music, the occasional sound of your voice accompanying part of it. 

He didn’t make much progress in the book. 

Eventually, it was about time for dinner in the mess hall and Joel set the book on a side table, letting you finish the play through you were on. He didn’t like thinking about it this way, but he knew it was more for him than for you. He didn’t want to stop listening to you, not now that you were confident enough that you were signing as you played. 

But he had something better in mind than listening to you through a window. 

“Makin’ progress,” he said from the porch. You didn’t jump this time, just looked up at him and smiled. You’d taken the coat off and it was the first time Joel had seen you without it since he’d given it to you on the way back to Jackson months ago. 

You were in clothes that fit you now, no longer in the oversized button down, and he could see your shape, gentle curves that he wanted to trace with his fingertips in the dark. 

“Getting there,” you said, setting the guitar down on your lap. 

“I was hopin’ I could talk you into something.” 

You frowned. 

“What?” 

“Well,” he said, suddenly feeling nervous. He wasn’t sure why. “It’s movie night. Hoping you’d come with me, actually stay in the mess hall for longer than two minutes and stay for the movie. I think Maria said it was Jurassic Park this week….” 

You had the doe-eyed look again. 

“No one will make you stay if you don’t want,” he said, trying to keep his voice soothing and calm. “I’ll even leave with you. If you want. But… think you should give it a try.” 

You thought for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Can I borrow the guitar again?” You asked. He had to try not to laugh. 

“You can borrow ‘er any time you want, Bambi.” 

“OK,” you said after a moment, giving yourself a firm nod. “I’ll go.” 

He tried really hard to not watch you put the coat back on, not watch the way your shirt fit to your body. He didn’t do a great job of it. 

“Can I ask what’s got you so…” he paused, searching for the word as the two of you walked slowly toward the mess hall. “Scared here in Jackson?” 

“People,” you said, crossing your arms over yourself. “People are… they’re uncertain. They’re a threat. And bein’ in a big room of them when I don’t have my gun on me? Freaks me the fuck out.” 

He nodded slowly. 

“The people here are good,” he said. You crossed your arms over your chest. “S’OK if you don’t trust me enough to believe it, but they are.” 

“Everyone’s a good person until they aren’t,” you replied. “I’d rather deal with infected than people. Infected is just another animal, them I know. I can understand them. They’re just doing what their biology tells them they have to, that’s all. People… Sometimes they just want you to hurt because they can make you hurt. Can’t plan well for that shit.” 

He wanted to be able to tell you that it would all be OK, that human nature was different here, but that was lie. He couldn’t make any promises about the people here, even though he felt he could trust them. 

He could only make you a promise about himself. 

“I’ll look out for you,” he said. “Don’t have to be alone in it.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Thank you,” you said eventually. Like you believed him. 

You were on the defensive as the two of you carried trays through the mess hall, your eyes wide and darting everywhere. Joel spotted Tommy and Maria with their son, William, and Joel led the way to sit with them. 

Tommy looked at you for a second before his eyes met Joel’s, his brows raised. Joel just gave him a look, hoping he’d shut the fuck up about the fact that you were staying here for longer than 30 seconds. 

“Hey Bambi,” Tommy smiled. Joel tried not to groan. Of course he couldn’t. “Fancy seeing you here!” 

“Thought I’d give it a try,” you smiled back, a little stiff. 

The two of you sat down, no one saying anything else. Joel fought the urge to groan. William gave a pained wail as Maria held him on her lap, breaking the tension. 

“I know buddy,” Maria said, pressing her lips to his forehead. “It’s miserable…” 

“He teething?” You asked, frowning. Joel looked at you, trying to hide his shock as you leaned across the table.

“He is and it’s a bear this time,” she sighed, kissing her son’s head. “I’m just not sure what else to do for him, we’ve tried damn near everything.” 

You nodded.

“He’s, what, almost two?” 

“Yeah,” she said.

 You nodded again.

“Yeah, those are the molars, they’re assholes,” you said. “One minute.” 

You got up from the table and, hands shoved in your pockets, jogged off to the kitchen. 

“What’s she…” Tommy began, but Joel cut him off. 

“Fuck if I know.” 

You came back a few minutes later with a knife and a chunk of ginger in your hand. You sat back down and wordlessly peeled the end of the root and handed it off to Maria. 

“Rub that on his gums for a few minutes,” you said. “It’s an anti-inflammatory. It’ll help.” 

You took a bite of your food before looking from Joel to Tommy to Maria, all staring at you. 

“What?” You frowned, looking at Joel. 

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, looking down at his plate. 

Maria tried the ginger trick and William calmed, not even whimpering as he sat on his mother’s lap. 

“Here,” you said, wiping your hands on your napkin. “Pass ‘em over, then you can eat something without worryin’ about him…” 

Maria glanced at Joel who just shrugged slightly before she stood and passed William off over the table. You pulled the child into your chest and arranged him so he could see his parents clearly, bouncing him and whispering in his ear. Joel had to try to not stare at you again. 

“Hear you’ll be comin’ on patrol with us,” Tommy said after a minute. You looked up at him from the baby who was snuggling into your chest. “Promise Joel and I’ll take it easy on ya…” 

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll ride slow so you can keep up.” 

Maria laughed so hard she started almost choked on her food. Tommy smirked. 

“Sayin’ we should save some infected for ya, Bambi?” He asked, teasing. 

You shrugged. 

“I mean, if y’all can’t handle ‘em on your own…” 

Tommy laughed and looked at Joel. 

“I like her,” he said. “Now you have to bring her around more.” 

Joel kept a close eye on you through dinner, your body tense just about the entire time, only somewhat relaxed when you were holding William and talking to him, watching his little expressions at everything in the world around him. 

The movie, though, was a different story. Joel could feel the tension on you, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as he stood beside you, pressed against the back wall of the makeshift movie theater as everyone else packed into seats. 

“You can go sit,” you said, glancing up at Joel. 

“Nah,” he waved you off. “Been sittin’ half the day.” 

You ground your teeth a little but stayed quiet. 

“How’d you know that teething thing?” He asked. You raised your brows at him. “Just… doesn’t seem like something you would know.” 

You considered him for a second before looking back toward the movie screen, the lights turning out. 

“Traded with all sorts before,” you shrugged. “Including families. Guess I was safe, being a woman. Brought their kids around. I picked up some shit.” 

Joel watched you more than the movie. There were times, he could tell, that you were lost in it. That you weren’t worried about someone sneaking up behind you or taking you and hurting you because they’d like it. 

Others, your whole body was tense, even your jaw, your arms so tight across yourself that Joel was worried you were hurting yourself. But you stuck it out until the scene where Muldoon was hunting the raptors in the woods, one sneaking up on him from the side. When the raptor pounced, you bolted, all but running for the doors and out into the street. 

Joel frowned, following you, Maria catching his eye from across the room as he went. He just shrugged at her. 

It took him a moment to find you once he was outside but he did, your back pressed against the side of the building, your hands clenching and unclenching as you tried to force the tension out of your body. You must have sensed his presence because your eyes sprang open, wide and wild.  

“Just me,” he said, hands up. You visibly relaxed and nodded. “You’re OK…” 

“Go back in,” you said, closing your eyes again and leaning your head back against the wall. “Finish the movie.” 

“Seen it,” he said, going and leaning against the wall of the building a few feet away from you. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Yeah, endlessly,” you said sarcastically. He smiled a little. Joel liked that you felt comfortable enough to be sarcastic with him. 

“Want to…” he began but you cut him off. 

“Don’t like watching people being hunted,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut tighter. “Forgot that part of it. It’s been about 20 year since I last saw any movie, even longer for this one. Didn’t remember much.” 

“It’s OK,” he said gently. You turned your head to look at him, actually opening your eyes this time. The moonlight reflected in your irises and he wanted to stand closer to you. Instead, he stretched his hand out against the wall. “I’ve got you, you’re OK.” 

You just nodded and looked straight ahead again, fighting to take deep, even breaths. You relaxed your arms and put them to your sides, the hand closest to Joel pressed flat against the wall. It took him a moment to realize it was inching closer to him. 

You stretched your hand slowly across the space between you until your fingers brushed his own. He forced himself to stay still, ignoring the electric surge that passed between the two of you when you touched his skin. You took a deep, shaky breath before pushing back from the wall and putting your hands in your pockets. 

“Would you mind walking me home?” You asked, looking up at him, your eyes still wide. 

“It’s a nice night,” he said. “Walk’s good.” 

You looked up at the sky most of the way, the fog of your breath rising on the air and Joel kept his hands firmly in his pockets while staying a few feet away from you at all times. He couldn’t get too close, your hand against his proved that much. It wasn’t smart and it wasn’t fair to get too close. It wasn’t smart to want you, it wouldn’t lead anywhere good. 

“Sorry I fucked up movie night,” you said as the two of you started down your street. “It was a good movie, I forgot how good.” 

“Didn’t fuck it up,” Joel said. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

“Hard to say,” you said after a moment. “Like I said, haven’t fuckin’ watched one since 2003 but - and you can’t make fun of me - I really liked Titanic.” 

“Really?” Joel smiled and tried not to laugh. Which you could apparently hear because you glared at him. 

“I said you can’t make fun of me!” You moved close enough to elbow him in the ribs before stepping away again. 

“I didn’t say a damn thing,” he said, still smiling. “Just doesn’t seem like your kind of movie.” 

“Well it was,” you said, smiling a little, too. “It had all the good shit, it’s got the romance part - which I do like, just because I’m a rancher doesn’t mean I can’t like that shit - and the action part. It’s the whole thing.” 

“No, it’s a good movie,” he said. “Not makin’ fun at all.” 

“Sure you’re not,” you scoffed. “What’s your favorite?” 

Joel half smiled at the memory of Sarah bringing home a movie on his birthday all those years ago, the two of them falling asleep while watching it. The last time he was happy with his daughter. 

It used to hurt too much to think of times like that. He’d shoved it all down - the good and the bad together - so often pretending she didn’t exist because that was easier than accepting her loss. But there was a particular cruelty in the thought of denying her, at the idea of pretending that all her goodness hadn’t been here at all. It had cut away at him for so long he was sometimes surprised there was any of him left at all. 

Now, he could remember that time. It still hurt, but it was a hurt he could survive without needing to drown it in liquor and pills. It was a hurt he didn’t feel like he wanted to die to avoid anymore. 

“Curtis and Viper 2,” he said. “Don’t ask me to explain it, I’ll loan it to you sometime.” 

The two of you reached your front gate. The light in your entry way was off. 

“Shit,” you sighed. “Forgot about that. I left so early I didn’t think to turn on a light…” 

“Want me to come up the walk?” Joel asked. For some reason, just asking the question felt intimate. His heart was pounding. “I’ll stay outside but if you need anything, I’ll be right there…” 

“Yeah,” you said after a moment. “Yeah, OK.” 

You took a deep breath and opened the gate, your hands going immediately back into the pockets of the coat. Joel followed behind you to your porch and he stayed at the bottom of the steps, a distance you seemed OK with. You unlocked your door but turned back to face him. 

“Thanks,” you said. “For walking me and for the guitar and… well, just everything.” 

“Don’t gotta thank me,” he said, clenching his hands into fists in his pockets. He had to stop thinking about kissing you.

“Still,” you said. “Would it… would it be OK if I came by tomorrow to play again?” 

“Sure,” Joel smiled a little. “Assuming you haven’t shredded your fingertips.” 

“I can play,” you said quickly. 

“You can come by anytime you want, Bambi.” 

“Thanks, Joel.” 

You gave him a tight smile, one he could barely make out in the moonlight, before heading inside. Joel stood sentry at your steps until he saw the lights turn on inside, until he knew that you’d feel safe enough for him to leave. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I know this is a little crazy to be excited about in fan fic but... SHE REACHED FOR HIS HAND AHHHHHHHHH

Also I can't with this Joel. I can't. I just... I've made him too perfect, OK? I'm sorry for that. I truly am. Soft!Joel is a whole other creature and he's impossible to manage and I'm in love with him.

I do have a taglist, please comment below if you'd like to be added.

Thank you, as always, for reading. It means so much to me that you're here. Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf

[dollykiller]

Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed shining like a fiery beacon༺♰༻༺♰༻

[crownedwille]

So, this gifset by @sobadbad has inspired me to write a little wilmon car blowjob scene, it's just a silly little thing I wrote down quickly but yeah...here you go.

A future fic involving Simon helping Crown Prince Wilhelm release some tension...

Also gonna add that to @youngroyals-events kinktober with the prompts oral sex, semi-public sex and deepthroating!

The royal family must have a car that has one of these partitions you can roll up and down between the back seat and the driver and I'm just imagining them on the drive back to the palace or something coming from a fancy royal event and Wille is wearing a suit and he looks all regal and handsome in all his crown prince glory but Simon can see Wille getting lost in his head again a bit, his anxiety threatening to come to the surface and Simon takes the fingers that Wille has been playing with and stops his tapping by sucking them into his mouth to distract him and have Wille focus on him.

Of course it works and Wille stares at Simon's mouth coating his index and middle finger with spit, licking them up and down and he can feel himself getting hard and he croaks out a "Simon".

Simon responds by taking Wille's fingers out of his mouth with a plop and sinks down on his knees right in front of Wille. It's a spacious car, one of these elite luxury ones so there is enough room for him to sit down without the front seat digging into his spine and Wilhelm looks down at him with dark eyes displaying desire and anticipation but then they blink up towards the driver with hesitation and worry.

They're stuck in traffic with minimal movement and Simon nods at him encouragingly, they have a way of not being seen or heard in the car and Wille tells the driver to roll down the partition in the most steady voice he can muster up and after a moment of silence he gets a perfectly even "yes, your highness" in reply before the dark glass slides all the way down, separating them. The windows are tinted anyway so no one can see what they're up to.

Simon doesn't take off Wille's pants immediately though and mouthes at his erection through his slacks, wetting the material while looking up at him and Wille is groaning and bucking his hips up until Simon finally gets the zipper and pulls his pants and underwear down just enough to take his dick out that is fully hard now and dripping precum already because of course Simon has that effect on him.

And so Simon wraps his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue around and collecting the precum before he goes down further. Wille groans even deeper and puts one hand in Simon's hair, just slightly entangled in his curls but not pushing, just to have something to hold to keep him steady. Simon is still looking up at him with wide bambi eyes and his mouth full of cock and Wille wants to throw his head back and close his eyes but he can't, not when Simon is looking like that and he can't break the eye contact and it feels so intense. So he keeps his one hand in Simon's hair, just slightly petting it and watches as his boyfriend takes him all the way down with only the smallest gagging noise.

He wants to thrust, fuck into that warm, wet heat so bad but he also wants to let Simon decide the pace and do the work without him interfering. So Wille says "so good, Simon, so good to me" and that has Simon whimpering around his cock, which creates a pleasant vibration and him speeding up. While he had been more languidly making his way down Wille's cock before, Simon now feels invigorated and starts bopping up and down with a faster, harsher rhythm.

Slurping and spitting and choking noises are heard and Wille doesn't give a fuck who the driver is on the other side anymore and what they might think they're up to in the back, they're employees of the royal court, they serve him and they're sworn to secrecy and will never be able to breathe a word about this to anyone, so he finally stops holding back and bucks into Simon's mouth, chasing his pleasure.

Simon stops his own movements and doesn't touch his own dick that has started to get hard inside his pants, he keeps his sitting position on the ground with his hands in his lap while he lets Wille use him. This is what he wanted, for Wille to stop worrying and get out of his head, he tends to be like that after public events, strung tight and anxious and all that tension needs to find a way to get out. And Simon knows exactly how to achieve that and is oh so willing to help him with that. It also helps Wille always looks really good in a suit and it makes him want to drop to his knees all the time, worshipping his royal boyfriend.

After a few more thrusts he can feel Wille's hips stuttering more and the rhythm becoming more sloppy and he knows Wille is close and the only warning he gets is another croaky "Simon" and then he's getting filled up with come and Simon dutifully swallows everything he can. Wille slides his cock out of his mouth and pumps it a few times until a few last drops of come land on Simon's face.

He catches his breath and Wille does the same and slumps down in his leather seat. Simon waits for him to open his eyes again to look at him, his face flushed and his pupils wide, probably reflecting his own. Then Simon wipes the come from his face with his finger and sucks it up. Wille huffs and leans forward again, he brings his hand around Simon's cheek, his thumb hovering over his lips to catch a few more drops of come gathered there and Simon slides his tongue out to suck Wille's thumb and gulps it down.

They share a heated look full of desire and worship and love until Wille says "I'm so glad I have you" and Simon smiles, teeth on display - "Always."

[longing-for-the-past-times]

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

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

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

taglist: @neoarchipelago, @thecorruptedlovely, @mitchlow, @fieldsofbats, @thaprilks, @stars-andfreckles, @that-napa-know-how, @preistinajamjar, @iamaliceinwonderland, @allaboutirem0, @lilpothoscuttings, @01trickster10, @yyiikes, @joanne-uwu, @dorck26, @wawuwe, @karagd13-blog, @rindulacre, @claibornc

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 7

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Smut, 18+/MDNI, CMNF (clothed male naked female), continued hamstring stretches (advised by the appropriate medical professional), praise, kissing, manual stimulation/fingering, touching under clothes, explicit consent, dirty talk

The noise you make would be embarrassing if you couldn’t feel the effect it has on him, see the way his pupils almost swallow his irises. With your calves over one shoulder, he pulls your underwear clear. You expect him to toss them aside, but instead, he places them down gently next to your hip.

Then, he parts your legs to let the left one fall back to drape over his leg. Your your face gets hot when you hear how wet you are. Simon makes an interested noise, getting your left leg back into position as he pets lightly over the hair you’d thankfully groomed before your trip. His thumb dips down to just barely brush over the hood of your clit.

“Already so wet f’ me,” he rumbles. “Set your hips. Good girl.” As he straightens your leg, he shifts his own hips and makes room for his hand between you. The breath hisses out of him when his fingers slide across where you’re wet and wanting. “Fuck. Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you whimper, resisting the urge to roll your hips into the barely there touch. “Green. Green, Simon, please, I want it.”

He doesn’t make you ask again, just lets a thick finger sink in ever so slowly. His thumb rubs soft and slow, using your wetness to glide gently over your clit. You try not to moan too loudly, to hear the way he huffs into the side of your calf. For once, he’s not staring at you. Instead, his eyes are closed, breaths shallow as his finger pulses inside of you, almost metronome steady.

The heat that’s been pooling in your belly spills into the rest of your body. You can’t help but squeeze around him, once. He’s so gentle that you can feel yourself soften and open for him, until the friction is nothing but the shivery, slow ascent toward your peak. You don’t resist the urge to tip your head back with a soft sound.

After a few long moments, you flutter your eyes open. When you look at Simon, you notice the slightest tremble in his shoulders. His head is tipped down, but you can see tension in his neck, though there’s only the lightest pressure where his temple meets the leg that is still over his shoulder.

You touch the top of his thigh, surprised by how rigid he’s holding himself. “Simon?”

“Mm?” His voice is just as soft as his muscles aren’t.

Your voice comes out just as quiet. “You okay?”

The hum he gives you is noncommittal. But he keeps petting you inside and out, steady and distracting. Three fingers on his other hand tap two times. He needs some time to think, to center himself.

Did you do something to upset him? You try to sit up to speak to him. Before you can get an elbow under yourself, he squeezes his fingers toward each other, a sudden, staggering pressure that makes you fall back with a yelp. You try to twist away, but as gentle as he is, you can’t break his hold on your leg - or between your legs.

“Settle,” he rumbles, pinning you with a heated look from beneath his lashes. He starts petting over your raised thigh. “’M okay, Bambi. Ready?”

You almost say yes. Your whole body wants nothing more but to melt into him. But… “A-are you sure?”

“’F course,” His whole face softens when he smiles. “Mos’ beautiful woman in the world ‘s in bed wi’ me. Tryin’ no’ to mess my pants like a green boy.”

You end up swallowing whatever you might say to that when he curls his thick finger back up to make quick, hard strokes against your g-spot. Even as a part of you starts purring with the knowledge that he’s so undone for you, you feel yourself start to come apart at the seams.

Simon straightens your leg, asking, “Number?” Which isn’t fair of him. You have to consciously resist the building tension in your body, resist chasing the orgasm that is building ever so slowly.

“Number, Bambi,” he prompts you again, with mean pressure over your clit.

He’s barely putting any strain on your leg, just holding your it up. “Two,” you gasp. “One and a half.”

He leans forward, just a fraction, with a grin. “Now?”

“Three-ee!” you yelp as his fingers speed up.

He holds you there, watching as you struggle to relax into the stretch. Each time you start to tense into the pleasure, he slows his ministrations, just a little. Just enough to pull you back from the edge. You want to curse him out, you want to cry. It’s agony just as much as a reward, a slow syrupy pleasure that makes everything a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Doin’ so good, Bambi,” he rumbles, what you suspect is much longer than 30 seconds later. “Ready for the other one?”

You give into the urge to arch your back as he adjusts you. Your voice is so soft you’re not sure he’ll hear you when you ask, “C’n I have more?”

Simon hums as he adjusts you to drape your other calf over his shoulder. “Ask me nice.”

Your whole body feels warm and soft and pliant. “Please, Simon, can I have another finger?”

“’F course,” he coos. He straightens your leg. It’s the barest hint of pressure. You whine as his finger withdraws, then settle when he pets at you with two. “Askin’ so nice. C’n ‘ave whatever you want.”

He pushes in, slowly, before he adjusts your leg, and you’re grateful. His hands are so large, and you appreciate them in a new way, now. His fingers are so thick you have to take a few deep breaths to let him in fully. You can feel the groan that scrapes its way out of his chest. Your own hands seek his thighs, clenching the cloth of his sweatpants in a shaky fist as he pushes your leg where it needs to go.

He doesn’t seem to need your input this time, pushing your leg just to where you need it. Or maybe he did ask, but you’re too focused on the gentle and implacable way he caresses you inside to hear him. He barely has to move to devastate you. Before, you had to try not to tense around him. Now? You’re not sure you have any command over your body. You’re at his mercy, the most serene you’ve ever been.

You can’t stop the noises you make when he starts moving again, little whines and moans that he echoes. The climax that has been building inches closer with every beat of his fingers. When he sets your leg back down, you only notice because he leans forward to brace his hand next to your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, and the hand between your legs gets so insistent that you have to gasp for breath. “Good girl, Bambi. Tha’s it. You wan’ to come, pretty girl?”

“Si-mon,” you hiccup, turning your head to mouth at his wrist.

“Yeah, you wan’ it,” he rumbles, ducking down to pant against your cheekbone as he works his hand. “You c’n ‘ave it, beautiful, take your reward. Come f’ me, now. C’mon.”

Before Simon, you’d never been able to come on command. After a few months, his voice could coax you to you peak with a little preparation. Now, with his lips brushing your skin and his presence filling your senses?

You couldn’t resist him if you wanted to.

The orgasm feels like it’s torn from behind your belly button. You can barely breathe for how it rolls through you. If Simon wasn’t caging you in, you might shake apart. As it is, you grasp at him however you can, trembling and crying out in ways you’re barely aware of. His voice anchors you through it, rasped encouragement and snarled affection that you can’t understand.

It takes all of your strength to turn your head to catch his lips with yours. Simon takes over, immediately, perfectly, and you give in to him with a panting moan. He steals your remaining breath, but also starts to gentle you down, hand and fingers gentling from earth-shattering movement to something so slow and gentle that your hips chase the echoes of sensation. He lets you. The way he kisses you, you think he really would give you anything you want.

[soaps-mohawk]

i'm back again to pour my brain out!!!! i apologise for always sending a billion asks, my brainrot is CRAZY for crcb

what are some silly things you think the boys cry at? like... simon bawling his eyes out watching bambi (yknow, the bit where the mum dies). i just think disney films get simon BAD. or.. just silly stuff in general that gets the boys all emotional. johnny seems like the type to tear up about someone making his mum's signature meal or something, one he ate in scotland as a child all the time - like the scene in ratatouille!!! my most self-indulgent idea is that john cries when doc dies in mean machine (the 2001 version, my all time favourite film). kyle i think you'd have to put on forrest gump or something to make him cry, yknow the scene with bubba??

anyways, hope you're all good pook!! hopefully you can catch up on all your sleep and everything <3 (my fav heart emoji won't work!!!!)

-🪐

Noo that's okay!! I'm just super slow at actually answering things 😭

Johnny definitely cries watching commercials. Like those ASPCA-type commercials or the like super sappy, happy, sweet ones (that definitely don't make me cry or anything) he's bawling like a baby. Disney movies as well. Any movie with some sappy ending he's crying.

I think Simon cries at happy endings. Super horrible things happened and then they get to live happily ever after, gets him. I think bittersweet endings get him too (Return of the King every time 😭). Definitely tries to pretend he's not crying but they all know.

Kyle I think would get teary-eyed over food. Make something from his childhood and he'd tear up. I also think Dinsey movies would get him too, but more of a sniffle than full-blown crying. There might be certain movies though that could get him going.

I think John is the same where it's very specific things that get him going. (I've never seen Mean Machine so I'll take your word for it) again no one is going to say anything, though, because they'll be forced to do extra pushups or extra laps during their next training if they say anything lol.

I'm alright. Still super stressed out and not really sleeping well which is cool. Love that for me. Hope you're doing well (a day late).

[cheezbites]

Bf!Ghost x Cat!Mom!Reader

✎: this is for my cat moms out there

♡Summary: Bf!Ghost meets and adapts to your furry friends.

Bf!Ghost watched as you lined all your cats up for a roll call. They peered at the towering, bulky man standing before them as their eyes instantaneously dilated like black marbles. Your cats who were more on the more defensive side slightly shied away from him - downturning their ears and keeping their heads low.

“So, here’s Coco,” you began, gesturing at the small, dark brown kitten who was comfortably tucked away into a kitten loaf. “Here’s Bambi - you can easily remember her ‘cuz Bambi’s a very fluffy fatty,” in which she was - a round, white, furry ragdoll. She kept her gaze intently fixed onto Simon, like if she were to look away he’d suddenly disappear. “This is Rocky, and that’s Benjamin—“

“Benjamin?” he asked, his expression suddenly growing in amusement.

“It’s a long story, okay?” you groaned, playfully nudging him for mocking your precious baby’s name. “It’s complicated. But, she is in fact a girl and it’s Benny for short.”

Nodding along to your words whenever you spoke, he felt obscurely intrigued by the cats displayed in front of him. He never thought he’d be willingly standing in the same room as a cat - let alone multiple cats being the massive dog person he is. The dogs he were familiar with ranged from big and tough ones or soft and cuddly ones, like Golden Retrievers and many others.

“And then… there’s Milo.” You finished, pointing at blank air, “he’s always hiding when guests are over. I’d be surprised if you even get to see what he looks like in person,” you giggled, amused with the thought of Simon never getting to meet who you sent him pictures and videos of the most; either if it was Milo doing silly things in the silliest of places or random videos of him. He had dark, indistinguishable fur, so he can easily hide and observe others from a distance and go unnoticed like a cute shadow.

Bf!Ghost didn’t really plan on interacting with your cats despite how adorable they were. They didn’t really want to interact with him, either. It’s a win-win. It was like they were fearful to go up to him, but in all honestly, he doesn’t bite. Everyone else but Bambi understood this, she never shies away from being a friendly, clingy extrovert; she’d rub her whiskers against his ankles and purr into him as if she was making her mark on him, indirectly claiming him as her second owner. The moment you weren’t in the room, they all seemingly scattered away like a harsh wind was being blown on sand.

He couldn’t help but be astonished with the thought of how much time you must commit into all the feeding, petting, cleaning or changing their ‘doo-doo boxes’, (as you simply put it). Even their toys, food packets and cave beds are organised - and they’re well behaved. They rarely fight or quarrel with each other or cats that they’re unfamiliar with. He even remembers seeing Rocky playing outside with some random cat. He shared his tuna snack with them, as well as kindly befriending them. You had incredible motherly skills when it came to that massive, ever-growing kitten family.

Bf!Ghost has a sleek black sketchbook where he draws hyper-realistic wild animals in his free time. They’re all very high in detail and quality, he only uses a mechanical pencil or a scarce amount of materials when he draws. Drawing was an effective and productive distraction from all else. The contents inside where more on the edgier side; menacing skulls, roaring bears, large lions - things along those lines. Being the artist he was, he noticed how still your cats could be despite their energetic outbursts. They were always calm and still in the cutest of poses like the kitty loaf or when they poke their bellies out when stretching. He couldn’t help but draw Coco who was sleeping on your living room carpet, freely extending her limbs out with her eyes closed as she endearingly purred to herself. Her snout was in a cutely shaped w, like she was warmly smiling. She was basically an adorable muse that was longing to be drawn, and so he got to work, darting his gaze between his sketchbook and Coco’s restated state, methodically stroking lines with his pencil his sketchbook’s high-quality paper. He tried his best to capture her cuteness, like a photographer who just copy and pasted the kitten onto paper - and all with a pencil and a spare amount of time. He was now a professional printer who drew your kittens quite often. But, they all looked so out of place amongst the sketchbook’s general theme. For one page you could get an ominous wolf or a dark, sinister raven, the next page you get a wholesome sketch of Bambi snuggling Benny, adorably falling asleep in each other’s warmth with hearts around it. Everyone else in the cat family had been drawn… except for Milo. He hasn’t even seen him up close, the closest thing Simon’s gotten to him is the sound of his anxious footsteps scurrying away from areas he picked up on Simon’s lingering scent.

Bf!Ghost got your cats to gradually open up to him, it was a more of a tedious process for Milo, though. He couldn’t help but want to pet them. They slightly flinched the first times he’d touch them, but they still mutually endured in the feeling of his hands enveloped around and gently stroked them. His clothes would be stained in their fur after, but he doesn’t really mind it as he’s too busy living in the moment. The way they closed their eyes, purred and melted into his touch and softly vibrated was all too worth it. You love taking in the sight of him being so adoring with them, despite him being very keen on dogs rather than cats.

He befriended everyone else, but he was still left defeated - he needed the last family member to come say hello to him. He’d crouch down next to the cupboard, where Milo was hiding under, and softly coo to him like he could actually understand a word he was saying,

“‘ts alright, buddy, ‘m not gonna hurt ya,” he teased one of the rat toys in his hand under the cupboard’s gap, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of his paw reaching out to try claw at it but the only thing he got in response was Milo’s nervous footsteps further rummaging into the darkness for protection.

Bf!Ghost went out of his way to buy tuna treats, mostly for trying to teach them tricks as a satirical experiment. But he’d fail about each and every time, sigh in defeat before giving them the tuna snack, just for being ineffably cute and greedily meowing at the mere scent of it. Their eyes always curiously dilated and heads would slightly crooked to the side, being confused at the British man crouching down besides them, repeating “Siitttt, c’mon. Sit,” whilst wagging the treat in the air as an offer for their compliance. He gave up with the in vain tricks and tried fetch. He tossed one of their toys across the room, whenever one of them got it they’d zealously claw at it with their sharp teeth. He expectedly waved the snack around, expecting them to return with the toy in their mouth.

Long story short, it never works.

That was until you were watching. He promised you that Rocky knew how to play fetch, knowing that he would only sink his paws into the toy that’s been thrown instead of returning it.

Rocky ran towards the tossed toy, briefly clawed at it, then somehow returned with it in his mouth, nearly dropping it on the way.

“I never knew Rocky was such a good boy!” you exclaimed, astonishment heavy in your tone. You knelt down besides him and contently pet his multi-coloured beige and brown fur for his supernatural achievement.

Simon was honestly shocked. After all his attempts, all it took was for you to be there so it to actually work. He casually played this off like he taught them how to play fetch with a smug expression.

“Yeah, they learnt from the best.” He teased, gesturing to himself like he’s made the decade’s biggest discovery.

Bf!Ghost would gently ruff your kitties fur and subconsciously say, “Who’s a good kitten? Who’s the cutest kitten?” as he did. Even though his petting style was akin to how you’d pet a dog, he was still super soft and gentle in doing so. He just can’t help but express his dog person personality, even with cats.

Bf!Ghost is used a human bed by these cats. They playfully squabble over who gets to sleep on Simon or who’s turn it was, jumping on his lap for attention or meowing in front of him, demanding pets and praises.

The most precious moment he’s had so far is when both Benny and Coco fell asleep on him at the same time without disputing; they were both too still, warm and tired.

Bf!Ghost was having a movie night with you. In the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny, dark critter moving around. He just dismissed it, assuming it was just Bambi who would just meow for him to pet her again. That was until he noticed that he hasn’t seen this curious creature before.

Lo and behold… Milo. Here he was, living and breathing, standing right in front him. He turned to you, checking if you were witnessing this as well, but you were already half asleep and on the verge of dozing off right on your couch. Milo leapt and curled onto his lap, warmly purring. He shot you another unsure look, knowing damn well that when you woke up and if he were to tell you about this, you wouldn’t believe him for a second. But, Simon gladly gave into him, feeling a sense of achievement whilst petting Milo’s short, slick and dark fur. His in vain attempts of getting him to come meet him finally deterred. He fondly smiled to himself and the timid kitten curled up before him.

Bf!Ghost has finally met your whole kitten family, sharing wholesome, funny and rather confusing moments together. The thought of petting so many cats in such a short period of time never crossed his mind - let alone befriending and growing bonds with them. It’s like he became a part of you guys. You, the organised and caring mother. Your cats, great snuggle buddies for when you’re having sleeping troubles and also your adorable children you’d do anything to protect and care for and Simon, the newest addition and ‘farther figure’ of this family.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this, I’ll drop a König version later for sure😭!!

Headcanons of Dating Ghost

Masterlist