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fanficwriterlover · 1 year ago

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My Choice Our Consequence

Chapter 2 (Part 1) : Big News to All

Summary : Hera has returned home, yet your absence has put a damper on the taskforce 141. Everyone is confused of your absence and it takes a lot of getting used to being a civilian now and being pregnant now.

Expectations: Confessions, Past Smut, Shooting, Cursing, Pregnancy, Reveals, Reconnecting, Smoking, Drinking, Assault, Google Translator etc.

Call-Sign: Hera or Lil Light

Word Count: 6.7k

A03 Version

Ghost’s POV

Quit ? You ? That almost seems impossible to believe. He composes himself once more looking at Price for any sign of misunderstanding. But who was he kidding, this sort of topic isn’t something Price would make up into the thin of air let alone joke about. He could tell this was taking a heavy toll on him, as if this was the last thing he would’ve expected. As he should, because he probably was unaware that it was due to him scolding her for making her quit. Least, that’s what he told himself. His eyes narrow seeing the paper before Price, it was your resignation form. You filled it out yesterday and gave it to him. He stood for the longest time processing, had his words been too harsh ? Should be have approached you yesterday and apologized for what he said to you. Yet, Price was the one to pull him from his thoughts… “I was hoping she wouldn’t go about it this way…unless you had a hand in the decision?” he cocks his brow at him waiting. But from the sound of it, why was he asking as if the two of you talked as if you both needed approval from another ? “Sir ?” he was confused, why would he make a decision for you ? Obviously this made Price eyes widen “She didn’t say or mention anything to you ?” he then narrows his eyes on Ghost, Ghost was just as confused as he cocked a brow, crossing his arms over his chest “Should I have been aware of a choice the Sargent had made on her own accord ?” Price huffs at that rubbing his forehead, something was eating at him… like he knew something that Ghost didn’t knows. However he seems to brush it under “Nevermind Simon…I thought you two may have discussed or something before she wrote in her resignation.” He sighs at this leaning back in his chair grabbing a cigar and his lighter. Stressed. This wasn’t at all what they were expecting from you. Out of everyone you were the most driven and dedicated to staying with the taskforce. You saw them as family, and felt accepted. Ghost couldn’t help but feel slightly, disappointed? When he said those words to you, he expected you to more prove him wrong…but guess you didn’t. Yet, why is it bothering him so much that you didn’t. He looks back at the Captain “Sir…was there something I should know" he asks curiously watching the Captains movement as he took a drag of his smoke yet eventually landing his eyes back on him. “Honestly, it’s not my place to say Simon. But, when the time is right, I’m sure you’ll get the answer.” He sighs heavily, Ghost could see traces of stress in his voice that the very idea they’ve lost another member would take a toll. And it would, being asked into this taskforce is no easy deal. You’d be a hard person to replace, and quite frankly it’s too soon for it.

Ghost takes his leave from Prices office, he lingers by the door for a moment processing his words and his own with you. This felt like horrible timing, he wished he knew where you live so he could snap some sense into you. Maybe Johnny or Gaz knows where you live ? Perhaps he should see how they’re handling the news if they know about it. Surely she would’ve said goodbye to her best friends ? Though it’s odd that she didn’t even give Price a chance to coax her otherwise, and why wasn’t Price making efforts to get her back? For her to even leave would’ve required a signature approving her reason to depart, therefore someone higher rank has given it to her. But who ?

He trudges down the halls of the bunkers then sees one of the doors wide open, deep down he knew exactly who the room belonged to, well had, as he stands in front of the doorframe, your room. He can see that the room is a bare state now. The bed perfectly tucked and made, with an extra blanket laying at the end, folded neatly, with the pillow at the top fluffed up. From the desk cleaned with even some new pencils and pens in a cup and blank sheets of papers laid neatly, obviously done for the next person to inherit this room. He couldn’t help but be reminded of how the two of you spent that night together. It was a moment he let himself go, let Ghost go, and brought out Simon. He felt vulnerable to your touch yet felt the power that always coursed through you spread through him. Yet now, as he stands in the middle of your room, it’s cold, empty, lifeless. It feels more as if you were killed off never to be seen again. That made it feel worse. The fact that you made a room warm would be loss now. But most of all, he didn’t realize how dark his vision had become without your energy . You bright aura that shined so dominantly, it gave Ghost a headache sometimes because he was never used to such a sight. No matter when you’ve been shot at, stabbed, nearly blown up (as he still remembers the incident like it was yesterday). Every hellish moment, he was there with you during them saving you at the last minute or finding you. Even then, you never, ever, let it diminish your light. He takes in his surroundings once more, before silently leaving the bunker as he walked out the door he could hear the familiar footfall patterns of two Sargent’s obviously coming down probably to collect you. Instead they are faced with a skull mask.

Gaz curses in a mumble and Johnny practically jumps when Ghost steps out through the room. They both were obviously not expecting the looming man to step from your bedroom, but Gaz quickly recovers. “Afternoon sir, is y/n up ? We hadn’t seen her in a while and thought she was cooping herself up in there.” They both look at him expectantly he frowns a bit, it was a fleeting moment one neither would’ve caught as he now knew, that not only did you leave somehow with approval and never told himself or maybe the captain but you didn’t even tell your closest friends. The Sargent’s. He looks away from them glancing down to the other way of the hall saying gruffly “You won’t find ‘er ‘ere. She resigned from the taskforce.” He could hear the sharp intake of Soap and as he glances at them with his arms crossed now, they both are wide eyed and shocked. Soap is the first to speak “What ?! I don’t fuckin’ believe it !” he peeks into your once room, seeing how bare it is, he start rummaging through everything as if looking for any sign that just maybe, maybe, you left for a bit and would return. He flung open your closet where your clothes used to hang but it was empty, except for extra hangers on the pole and extra blankets, towels, etc laying on the top shelf. Gaz stands there stunned yet, sadden as Soap still seems to refuse you’ve left as he curses “Fuck !” his efforts are to no a vail. You had cleaned out your bunker spotlessly, there was no practical evidence of you living here for all these years. And that’s what hurt more. Gaz mumbles softly. “She didn’t even say bye…nothing…” he almost whispers it. Ghost could tell it was tearing the inside of Gaz. You two were hip and bone. He remembers when the two of you found out that you were part of the same taskforce exclaiming how you both met on a mission in Paris and you were aiding Gaz’s team to collecting more Intel. So seeing that not only were they not told of your soon departure but you had left without a word to your friend. Ghost breaks the annoying silence, in some cases he would’ve enjoyed it, but it was painful now, usually you were the one to break the moment with your cheerful demeanor and made everyone forget what they were glooming or stressing about. Now you were gone. The effects obvious now. “Soap, Gaz, you two are needed to train the privates. Should get to it Sargent’s.” He watches as they both seem to straighten up at the order, walking out of your once room slowly, Gaz lingering last as Ghost observed him. “Did she not say anything to you Lt ?” he still looking at the room but glances his way as Ghost meets his eyes, “No.” Gaz nods his head painfully, almost having to accept the reality, he took his leave of the room leaving Ghost last. He takes one last look, a reminder of the place he seen her so many times, before leaving. He shut the door to your room then went to his office to get some work done. Maybe, just maybe, he hoped they’d see you again. Maybe you would come back ?

Your Pov

Honestly it was scary leaving, the base was your home for so long. Wearing your military attire was all you’ve ever known., yet now you were dressed as a civilian in a cab heading back. Already you felt butterflies in your stomach, it was thanks to Laswell for making the changes and approving you resignation and to leave the base. Already driving home, you were about three hours from your home and already excited to see your mother. You had called ahead to let your mother know you’ll be returning home which she was ecstatic to know you’ll be home. She just didn’t know you were pregnant and you had to leave the taskforce because of it. That was a conversation you were dreading. Your mother being a single mother and raising you on her own, had always wanted you to do better than her. She made the mistake in dating your father who had one too many issues that your mother to this day refuses to share the details. All you knew was you mother hightailed as far as possible, dishonored by her own parents for being knocked up before marriage and choosing to keep you. Yet to her, you were a blessing. You gave her motivation to keep living and honestly embrace motherhood. You were never a complicated child, sure as you got older you rebelled but you respected your mother above all else. She inspired you to join the military because you saw her as fearless and determined as a soldier. The moment you hit 16, things were getting harder financially so you asked her, no pleaded with her to let you join the service. Of course emotionally she refuses but you had encouraged telling her how it was your wish, even though you simply joined to support your mother. Every paycheck you received went to your mother. And you made certain she was given it on time. This allowed your mother and you to look into a new home that was more suitable than a dingy old flat. You both ended up saving up on a nice townhouse that had more rooms than your old flat. It was a three bedroom two bath, a decent size kitchenette, living, and one office. One bedroom is upstairs and the other is upstairs next to the office.

You knew immediately that the third bedroom will likely become your unborn child’s bedroom. A part of you seemed excited to prepare for the baby but another part of you terrified, you left at a crucial time for the team. You would have gone on a mission to eliminate and it was a top priority but now with you out, and no reason to be allowed to return for a long while it broke your heart to think that you’ll be looked at differently. Definitely probably in the eyes of the Lieutenant, you knew he took betrayal seriously and to him you’re probably certain he believes you did just that.

Sighing heavily you rub your brows you draw closer and closer to home, passing by valley, meadows, woods, homes, farmlands and more each passing by in a haze. It’s almost hard to imagine that this world is peaceful when there’s war raging elsewhere. Knowing exactly your team will be giving their lives for this exact peace while you would not be there to see it through. You don’t realize how much driving gone by until you see a familiar street, as your driver turns down it. Your home, how it seemed unfamiliar, all the rows of homes lined up nicely in different shades it was emotional seeing it once more. When the driver finally pulls to the front of your driveway you nearly suck in a breath. Seeing your home digits on the door as you can seeing your mother’s car in the driveway. You smile to yourself, opening your purse you grab out the cash to pay the driver, adding an extra tip for the ride as he gets out to pull out your duffle bag. You travel light, you didn’t have much anyways. Taking it in hand you thank him as he then drives off.

Standing in your driveway it felt unreal, you never thought you’d come home honestly. With always being on mission you honestly thought you’d die on the field before you ever could be home again. As sad as that reality was, you were always away. From one base to another it never ended. And Laswell always needed your for a mission so it was impossible to be in one place for long. Which you didn’t mind, however, sometimes you were homesick or close to facing death. You don’t know how long you were staring at your apartment but the next thing you knew, the door to your home flies open, your eyes quickly snap in that direction, immediately thinking your mother must’ve seen you through the window. She was in pure tears rushing down the three steps as you began to get emotional to “Mom!” you cry as she tightly embraces you you don’t remember dropping your duffle bag you’re just overwhelmed, she’s crying holding you and it makes you feel so loved once again. “Oh my god ! Y/n !” She sniffles as she strokes your cheek looking at your face you had one tiny scar over the top of your brow nothing serious, least not compared to the ones on your body as she hugs you again “I thought you wouldn’t get here for another hour ?” she smiles at you happily taking in that you’re in front of her as you laugh softly “Well, that would ruin the element of surprise.” You wipe your eyes but she immediately begins to do so too before wiping her own. “Come ! Let’s get you inside ! Oh I just can’t believe my little girls home !” you smile bashfully, knowing it’s not the only thing you brought home. Yet you followed your mother waist to waist carrying your duffle as you entered your home.

Couple Hours Later

It doesn’t take you long to settle into your room, your mother insists on making you a grand meal upon your arrival and had even already contacted your Uncle Daryl to come see you. You were his only niece and favorite. He raised you as if you were his own daughter so hearing he’ll be arriving made you smile. As you walked around your place you couldn’t help but smile seeing the pictures hung of the two of you when you were much younger. It almost made you hope you could share the same experiences with your own child…This also made you come to the conclusion that you’ll have to tell your mother and uncle about your unplanned pregnancy. The thought made your stomach feel more acidic, but you kept it down in your stomach. Though the thought quickly left your mind when you nearly jumped from your seat upon hearing the front door open abruptly. Turning your head you see your Uncle Daryl, who obviously out of breath and eyes scanning the place until he sees YOU.

The tears prick at the corner of your eye as you stand up and he takes long strides to meet in the middle. Embracing you in a tight hug. You missed him. Your mother sneaks a peek seeing the two of you embracing as she also starts to get emotional and comes in to join the hug. Your family. One you sometimes forget because you’re so consumed in your job. You don’t know how long the three of you hold each other, or who was the first to withdraw but you sniffle wiping your eyes then smile “Good seeing you Uncle,” he huffs smiling back with the biggest one, showing his dimples. He was your mother’s big brother, so of course he looked after the two of you. He too was part of the military, the Air Force to be exact, and he was another inspiration for you to joining the military. Yet you never imagined you’d be in more dangerous situations than him. “Good seeing you again lil lumière.(little light)” He seems to do a quick scan over you, probably looking for any kind of wounds, which fortunately are in areas well hidden so you thanked your lucky stars. Otherwise he would’ve gone on a rant about how unwise you decided to join the most dangerous type of work. Honestly you were glad you could share a bit with him, of course not classified information but it helped to share her struggles and things only he would understand and handle emotionally better than your mother could. “Momma, is making our favorite tonight.” You giggle seeing his eyes widen with excitement “Oh you shouldn’t have Monica ! Hell, I’m trying to keep this old body still in shape and you trying to fatten me up !” he laughs at this which your mother playfully whacks him on the arm “Only thing fattening you up Daryl is your wine.” You couldn’t help but stifle a snort as he looks at you to her offended “Sorry Unc, she’s got a point.” He grumbles in French, which you caught a little how he says we disgrace the French tongue. However your mother rolls her eyes and goes on her way to continue cooking as you go to sit down with your uncle. “So…what brought you back ? And I don’t want to hear,” as he uses the air quotes incorrectly “That you wanted a vacay. I know you better than that.” He leans close as he was seated across from you in a lounge chair waiting for your response. You shift in your sheet, his narrowing eyes felt the same as your Captain. Which would make sense because your Uncle was once the Commander of his unit. “Well…I resigned from the taskforce…” his eyes shoot wide open, obviously shocked. Yet he goes straight back to composing himself narrowing then once again “Why ?” it came out gruff and you felt like you were on the pedestal being scolded by your homeroom teacher. “I-, I wanted to tell you both honestly…not just one of you.” He cocks his head to the side confused, what you didn’t know was your mother was ease dropping in the conversation as she steps out with concern written on her face “What is it sweetie ?” your uncle seems to be processing and calculating different reasons why you would have resigned from the taskforce, let alone been allowed to. You could practically see the gears in his brain churning with every possibility. You must’ve been holding your breath because you quickly blurted out “I’m pregnant.”

In a quick huff you take in both your uncle and moms facial. Complete shock. Your uncle seems to be going between your eyes and stomach almost probably finding it hard to believe and possibly questioning how along are you because you sure as hell didn’t look it “3 weeks…I’m three weeks pregnant.” Biting your lower lip you couldn’t help but feel anxious with the growing silence between the two as you spoke “Look, I know it’s horrible timing. It wasn’t exactly intentional… and I’ll be allowed back in the task force once the baby is born but the station chief made the call and got me out so no one would question my absence.” You pant out, you said it so quickly your mother must’ve been confused on some parts but her eyes were welling up and it made you more worry that it was because of disappointment “I- I know…I’m so-” your mother latches herself around your neck hugging you as your left dumbfounded as she speaks softly stroking your hair “Oh sweetie, if you’re happy with having this child, I’ll sport and help you. You have NOTHING to apologize for.” she looks you dead in the eyes and you feel a sense of warmth. You should’ve known, your mother would walk through hell with you and trust you entirely. You’ve done nothing but look after her and provide her a good life, so she was beyond willing to do the same for you and your child. You glance over at your uncle who seems to be processing, as he says lowly “I knew something was different about you kid…” you and your mom look at him confused as you never felt nervous until you saw him smile. “You’re glowing as much as your mother did when she was pregnant with you mi lumière” he stands up and comes over rubbing your back at you give him the most appreciative smile “Thank you… both of you” felt like a weight came off your shoulder. Telling them was a big deal and knowing they’d still support you made you feel so much better. You Uncle then looks serious at you “So, do I want to know who the âne (jackass) of a father to this baby is ?” You mother once again reaches over and whacks your uncle who curses “Qu’est-ce que c’est que Monica ?!(What the hell Monica)” you begin laughing as your mother giggles, with your uncle huffing in mild amusement. “Well ?” he cocks his brow looking at you as you blush a bit “I- I can’t tell you yet, but I promise he’s a good man…in his own way.” He squints his eyes at you questioning your choice of words “If that’s so…why isn’t he here ?” obviously your mother senses you tense from the subject giving a glare in your uncle’s direction “What Daryl means is ! As long as he’s a good man we’re happy” he grumbles a bit “Bien sûr Bien sûr (Of course of course) , but why isn’t he here with you meeting us ?” he cocks his brow again as you sigh knowing he won’t be letting go “Because…I didn’t tell him exactly he’s going to be a father…”he rubs his face with both hands obviously more stressed. Your mother seems taken back by this news as she tentatively asks “Why not sweetie ?”

A good question indeed, honestly the idea of telling them the father is your Lieutenant would sending your uncle to his grave early. And no, not from the idea but simply because you know he’d be yelling his hat off to Ghost and would likely get himself well handed to him. Sighing heavily “I didn’t get a chance, they were preparing for a mission.” You’d hope they’d buy it, your mother seems to have. But your uncle ? Hah, impossible he could read you like a book and as he should considering he used to be a commander. You mother claps her hands together standing up “Well ! This is a cause for pie then and I’ll need to run to store to collect some stuff. Write a list dear, I know those growing cravings will get to you soon.” She smiles with delight going back into the kitchen leaving you with your uncle.

He stares at you for a few moments as if waiting to make sure your mother was actually in the kitchen continuing to cook. When he’s satisfied, hearing the clattering of pots and pans against the stove or her bustling through the fridge for ingredients he then speaks lowly “So, what’s the real reason the father doesn’t know?” he squints his eyes at you, felt more like an interrogation then question, however you probably wouldn’t be surprised he’s using his Commander tone in order to get an answer from you. In all honesty it worked. “Because his my superior officer. I was told to tell him but quite honestly I don’t think he would’ve…” you bite your tongue considering your next words tentatively “I don’t think he could handle having a child. He barely knows himself.” You say softly. Hoping your uncle wouldn’t pry further. Which he wouldn’t. He understood every soldier has traumatic experiences in the military especially being in the SAS. He had no doubt you’ve seen things he would’ve rather your eyes never witnessed. With that answer he nods his head. “Well…one of these days you need to tell him. Perhaps you’d be more surprised by the outcome.” He pauses for a moment stroking his chin and looking out the window “If I’m being honest y/n, I think telling the father would make him better. I know when Monica told me, I was horrified for her. But then,” He smiles “Then when you were born it all changed. Before you I was short tempered and…” he grumbles “Not gentle with my choice of words which I got a firm scolding from Monica during his hormonal stages.” The idea your mother would have yelled seems hard to believe, even when you did wrong she never raised her voice at you. “Tell him one day y/n. I think your child deserves that chance at least.” Pondering on his words he leaves the room to go help your mother continue cooking with you contemplating on his words.

Maybe you should…perhaps ? What’s the worst that can happen ? He rejects you once again ? Tells you your on your own when you’ve already mentally accepted that fate ? Maybe your uncle is right, you don’t know. Ghost is still a mystery to you. Sometimes he’s snappy and harsh to others especially during missions. But you know he means well. Infact you couldn’t help but think about the times he was more…nicer to you. Like the time you were at the shooting range you were working with different weapons at the time, but particularly was working with a heavy set rifle that always made you sore in the shoulders…

You huff annoyed after having pulled the trigger on this rifle. It was bulky and heavy, when it fired it sent a painful ache up your shoulder upon impact. Now usually your preferred rifle was lighter and easier to handle the impact into your shoulder. Yet this one, this one was so big and bulky, the idea of carrying it onto the field seemed impossible. You’re only average height standing 5’7, which apparently to everyone else is very small since you usually get picked on. However, you always made up for your size with your agile self and quickness. If a bigger opponent used their full strength you had to be quicker. It’s why you did so well on the field especially hand to hand combat. You had you fair share of training with other recruits, privates, and Sargent’s McTavish and Garrick. Soap always gave you a run for your money but you always held your ground. Yet, you never dared to attempt against ghost. He was a forced to be recon with. You seen soap spar with him and seeing the big brute of the Scottish man easily subdued was terrifying.

Withdrawing your gaze from the scoop you grab the binoculars to inspect how well you shot it, not a bulleye, you hit right outside it. You were close…but it wasn’t good enough. A mere inches off is enough to give the enemy time to fire a shot back at you or detonate you and your team. The progress you’ve made with the weeks of practicing seemed futile. You almost were considering telling price you were not cut out for this particular mission which required you to be watching soaps six while ghost would be overwatch. Why they were making you go, you understood. They wanted to get in quick only relying on stealth and to not attract attention. Not saying ghost would, but his large stature would give way to the enemies quickly. Yet, you’ve seen him infiltrate buildings with ease but this mission was hoping to shed no blood shed. Sighing heavily you lean away from the table, “you keep gripping it like that you’ll never hit your target right.” The words from a deep voice made you almost jump, as you quickly reached for your knife quickly swing it behind you, only for your wrist to be caught, inches from ghosts looming neck. You let out a shaky voice “Lieutenant..” You were embarrassed now, relaxing your stance as he releases his hold on your wrist before looking right over your head where you had missed your target once more already having hit it 7 times to no avail. “When you fire don’t fight against the shot, you tense alters your movement when looking through scope.” He nods his head “Try again.” You raise a brow at him but obey. Not like you’d ignore your lieutenants orders. Facing back and getting into position, you then start to feel his hand readjust your stance, it was subtle, he used his boot to nudge your feet, he used his gloved hand to fix your elbow, then poke at your shoulder to moving it back and relax. When he seemed content after fixing your stance he simply grunts an approval. His back leaning against the table as you take the shot. It felt different, not as abrupt when the bullet launched your whole body seemed to absorb it better, and when you lift your gaze from the scope to look at where it hit you see you finally hit the bulleye. You’re shocked …you made the shot, but that’s not what was shocking to you, ghost helped you make it. Glancing up at him, his posture was looking at the base but his eyes were gazing down at you. “Not bad.” He mumbles before pushing off the table and walking off. You’re left stunned but appreciative. He didn’t have to help you, let alone adjust your stance. You began continuing to practice doing that stance until the day of the mission. Honestly, it paid off.

Now that that you’re thinking back on it, perhaps that’s when you began to notice other subtle gestures Ghost would show to you. At first you just thought it was his way of correcting you but now maybe…it was perhaps he cared enough to do so. He never took the time to do that with other recruits or privates. So maybe ? Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt at least give him the chance to see if he wants to be a part of your child’s life. For now…you’ll wait. You’re certain by now they’re deciding best course of action eliminating General Ghorbani, that was the mission you were tasked to go with Ghost yet instead you’re dealing with his unborn child growing in your stomach. Probably best to wait it out. Though one thing is certain, you owe it to Soap and Gaz…

Few Months After Eliminating General Ghorbani

Ghost’s POV

Recently Ghost was just filling out paperwork, having to write down everything that happened per week for higher ups to see from different points of view. Gaz had gone back to his original base, working to get some intel and Soap, he knew he’d be returning tonight. Felt like everyone had gone their own way. Just the thought of how everyone seemed to slowly fade away made Ghost tense. First you, then Gaz, then Soap, and Price. He knew they’d return but the idea he was surrounded by no one he trusts made it hard. A part of him would never blatantly say it out loud but, the minute you left there was nothing holding them together now. Metaphorically you were the chip on a glass cup that kept everyone together, the minute you fell off the rest soon cracked.

During your absence, he would never admit, he spent every opportunity dwelling on his words to you. He wondered if you hated him so much that you turned on them all because of his choice of words. He felt like a bloody idiot for saying them. The only reason he said it, he had hoped to cut his own feelings for you. It was never to doubt your abilities. Far from it, he knew what an asset you were to the team. Besides your bubbly personality and calmness during tense times you were a skilled fighter. He seen you take down a man not as big as himself, but fairly tall as Soap and you easily had the man struggling to keep up having the man shift to a defense stance. You were a sight when in a fight. In fact it was almost alarmingly attractive to Ghost seeing a women so lean yet small hold your own. The image of you from that night often played in his mind, it was torturous. He can hear how you moaned out his name, arching your back from the immense pleasure and begging him to keep going and give you more. It’s been 5 months…5 long grueling months and not a minute of breather. It’s hard to believe how much he needed your presence, how you kept him sane when not out in the field, in his zone. Sometimes he wondered how he would cope with the life of mundane lively hood. Were you living such ? Knowing what you know and have seen out in the world, did you forget it all ? Did you let your guard down ?

That’s when other thoughts, ones he absolutely hated crossed his mind. Did you find someone ? Probably by now, no doubt in his mind you found a bloody bloke who is a lucky bastard to have such a fearless yet regal women. The mere thought of you walking hand in hand with a man who probably could never protect you as well as you could yourself. But no, the idea that HE wasn’t the one protecting you even though you weren’t a damsel in distress. The urge to always protect you in the field was natural instincts for him. He didn’t realize he was gripping his pen tightly until it snapped. Looking at the broken piece of plastic he let go pushing back from his chair simply looking at his hands.

For years, since he was a mere teenager, he only saw himself capable of fighting. Then when he became a soldier all he could think about was killing. Yet when you joined the taskforce and he had himself between your legs, he could see he could perhaps also be gentle. You brought that innocent Simon Riley out of him, the boy who couldn’t fight against his father’s abuse. Couldn’t stand up for his mother when his father was a drunken state. Yet you, you reminded him that he was very much Ghost and Simon. His hands could touch your perfectly smooth skin gently tracing every inch of you, getting the most pleasurable reaction he ever heard. Yet he could also be rough just enough to send you over the edge and begging, clawing him for more.

Grumbling to himself, he pulls out his packet of cigarettes, grabbing one. Lifting his mask just over his nose, he then put the wrapped piece in his mouth then lighting it. He took a drag before puffing out the smoke, the nicotine hitting him hard as he shut his eyes. He did everything in his power to find a way to look to where you were. But even with his rank, he was limited to much. Couldn’t access the full extent to your file as most of your information was black. Not as covered as his but enough for him to be annoyed with because he bloody couldn’t stand he didn’t know where you were if you’re still alive and how he can contact you. This was an annoying addiction that drove him crazy. Where the fuck were you ?

Gaz POV

Honestly seeing the number pop up on his screen while he was in his bunker on a base near London he frowned at bit. It was his personal phone yet only few people could access it since it was a secured number that could not be traced. So he answered “Ello ?” waiting for a response he almost thought it was someone playing a practical prank on him until he heard a soft familiar voice “Hey Kyle…”, you. He was utterly stunned, his throat felt tight and his heart beating hard. “The fuck…y/n ?” you let out a tired laugh as he felt his heart flutter. “Yeah, it’s me silly. How are you ?” you seemed shy, but the same soft spoken as ever. He didn’t know how long he must’ve been silent but it obviously must’ve made you question “Kyle ? You still alive there bud ?” he snorts “Yeah Yeah, I’m just…wow. I’m shocked if I’m honest. How about you ?” you sigh a bit, he could hear you sounded exhausted. Were you not sleeping ? “I’m doing alright…just tired. I- I just missed you. How is everyone ?Been on a lot of missions since ?” he smiled, you were so motherly, he swear his mother would love to know you had reached out to him… in honesty you two knew each other well. Gaz had brought you once to meet his mother during the holidays and she took a liking to you immediately. His mother would always joke about how you were the daughter she always asked for. “Yeah…I’m actually in London working on getting some Intel. I haven’t heard much from Price. Sure the old man out smoking a cigar on a hunting trip. Soap and I keep in contact…Ghost, well haven’t heard much from him honestly. He isn’t much a talker. Oh ! My mam wants to see you again one day ! She was worried when I told her you left.” He could hear you humming as you listened to his update. “Aw, well I’d love to see her again…actually…if your free sometime, I’m sure your mission is important but I’d love to meet you up some time.” He smiles at this “Yeah ? Say where and when.” He chuckles and he holds his breath hearing you laugh. It was airy, he can’t believe how much his missed your energy “Alright, well I’d love to have you over from some tea at my place. Just let me know when you can come by.” He perked up at this. He never been to your place, in fact you seemed very secretive about showing it. He never asked why, so he always volunteered to take you to his place. “Id love that Hera.” He smirked saying your call sign, he can already imagine you grinning “Ah good old days, unfortunately not much of Hera anymore. I don’t think I ever can honestly…” he frowned at this, he wondered if that’s why you resigned from the task force. In fact thinking about it you seemed exhausted, your voice wasn’t as chirpy like you used to be. You seemed out of breath with a few sentences. Were you ill ? “Are…are you ill ?” he asks hesitantly. He huff softly from your side “No…not exactly. It’s complicated, but I promise when we meet I’ll explain. Not like I could hide it anyways.” He now was more curious…did you secretly get sent off on a mission and got seriously hurt ? Were you that ill, you had to resign ? “Well, actually, I’m free today if you are ?” he looks at his clock. It was 06:20, you still were just an early riser as he was. “That would be great. I’ll text you my address. See you soon Gaz.” He can imagine you smiling, as he smiles too “Yeah, see you soon Hera.”

Taglist : @the-reality-of-my-life , @kat-nee , @wwe1rdc0re , @saturnknows , @stalyxysh ,@avatarislife4ever,@ayesha-fish , @sae1kie ,@longing-for-the-past-times,@daisyfrubies,@sailorneotunemivhiru,@ra-im , @maflor123 ,@i-love-ptv

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veryloudbrain · 9 months ago

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walter + henry "masterpost" (canon)

season 1

1x01 they sit together at dinner(?). before wille grabs their attention, they seem deep in conversation and HENRY GLANCES AT WALTER’S LIPS (im delulu ..but not really). this is their first canon interaction. i cannot make this shit up. i’m losing my mind. they sit together in class. they stick close (walter is fucking leaning on henry) at the very first party (after wille’s initiation). they’re both drinking. walter is spotted without henry for like a literal millisecond (idk where his mans went). walter and henry hang with stella and felice (at least until felice runs off to throw up lol) when wille is like,, crowdsurfing (using that term loosely) walter is not with henry mans lost him where is he.. (probably throwing up somewhere idk)

1x02 simon sits between them at lunch.

they sit together in class (on monday? the party was friday.. i assume)

math tests are handed out. they sit close and show their grades to eachother. (comparing results maybe ?)

wille mentions they take private lessons.. together ? over the weekend ? bro i cant defend them. (not that i want to)

henry joins rowing practice. they’re wearing MATCHING SHIRTS. i cannot make this shit up.

they’re both attending rowing practice still when august.. kisses simon (LMAO)

they debatably sit together at the movie night. they’re social distancing for some reason but no one is between them. henry looks over at walter (i’m delulu, he was probably looking at august) after The Jumpscare

1x03 the week after the horror movie (exact day unknown) henry sits with wille in class, but walter is in the seat literally next to him just,, with a space lol

(same week) they work out on the SAME GODDAMN MAT in p.e (either that or their mats are placed so close they don’t show a space.. idk which is gayer tbh)

they stick together during the parents day, but sit in different rows in church (..for some reason?)

after church neither of them are spotted interacting with any adult or even eachother in the background. they went ~poof~

i think you see walter entering his dorm? but it could be a different background actor honestly i don't know

for breakfast the day after: henry mentions to walter that his dad recognized his surname.

“no, i know” “how long have you known?” “i know because my… my dad recognized your surname”

this convo confirms to me that they didn’t know eachother before hillerska.

note: the convo was very light-hearted and henry was smiling (this has lead to theories about their parents having dated in the past, i also heard that uno, walter's actor, confirmed this but i haven't seen this for myself so i'm not sure)

1x04 they sit together while watching erik’s funeral on TV the Society "meeting". henry is never technically explicitly shown to drink or take pills but he seems inebriated and picks up a pack of pills from the table so i'm gonna assume he did both (so much fanfic potential i'm clawing at the walls)

1x05 they’re not sitting together in class, both having 2 desks by themselves until wille joins henry. walter is in the seat directly behind him. (side note: henry is wearing the same goddamn sweater he was at the Society meeting. was it washed or does he just stink of booze in class ? LMAO)

plot explained why they aren’t sitting together !! walter was meant to do a presentation with alexander and therefore left the seat for him.

they sit together again in class. this would be the week after the class they didn’t.

henry attends another Society “emergency meeting” (alexander was caught with the drugs) (this isn't walty but idc)

henry looks stressed/conflicted after the 2nd Society emergency meeting, but walks out with wille. (probably hard for him cause he can tell something’s going on between wille and simon, but pinning it on alexander is also a shitty thing to do)

they(walty) stand together outside before the whole lucia thing starts.

walter is fiddling with something with his left hand. it doesn’t show up in the shot, but henry is right there on his left. (they were obviously having a thumb war /j)

they’re both talking with wille after the lucia thing, but they’re so caught up in their conversations they don’t even bat an eye when wille’s whole life falls apart (it's not funny but it's really fucking funny)

1x06 at breakfast sometime after the video got out. henry and walter are talking abt how wilmon sat together at the movie night and that they talked abt it after.

h “remember the movie night?” w “yeah” h “when they sat next to eachother” w “exactly!” h “we talked abt that” w “yeah we talked abt that!”

(as if they weren’t also sitting next to eachother)

in class sometime that week (tuesday or later) they sit separate in class again. walter is gossiping (or just talking tbh idk) with some other students while henry sits alone. wille sits next to henry and henry attempts small talk with wille to cut the tension) (walty are once again only separated by the aisle lol)

they sit together in church on christmas day (or eve ? i’m not sure honestly)

they also talk together (+vincent och nils) outside church after. henry quickly noticed wilmon hugging (gay noticing gay frfr)

[i need it to be known this was initially written by me right after season 2 came out and i rewatched everything]

#young royals #henry x walter #henry and walter #walty #valty #i wish they would decide on a way to spell walter/valter and stick to it bro

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bingoboingobongo · 2 years ago

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wrong

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Angst

Summary: Simon’s finally home, so you should be happy right? Wrong.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: anxiety, stress, tbh probably signs of depression too, pasta consuption (sorry ppl who r gluten free), explicit language

A/N: bruh. um. barely beta-read we die like men. yes i said i would be back by january yes i lied. definitely 100% not inspired by real life. tl;dr i hate mock trial, all the guys at my school are boring or annoying, and i’m on the verge. enjoy :)

It felt wrong to say, like really wrong, like going against every single thing you knew to be right and good with the world wrong, but Simon was really hurting you right now. Part of the reason why it felt so wrong to say was because it wasn’t even Simon’s fault. It wasn’t anything that he was or wasn’t doing that was hurting you, and there wasn’t anything he could or couldn’t do to make you feel better.

You felt terrible, even though you should’ve been feeling amazing, even though you should’ve been feeling ecstatic that after so long of being away on duty, he was finally back home, back in your bed, back in your arms. You felt guilty. You felt guilty because he was here and you should be happy and you should have been cherishing him and spending as much time as you could with him, and for some reason you couldn’t.

There was something hanging over your head, some insufferable, suffocating, terrifying cloud of stress and anxiety following you around that made you want to burst into tears at any second, and you didn’t even know why. You just felt bad. And Simon didn’t deserve that, not after everything he had been through, all the horrors he had seen. He deserved someone happy, someone who could cheer him up and smile with him, not someone who couldn’t even figure out what was making them feel like this.

It was horrible, how every time you saw him sleeping or washing the dishes or reading a book, your stomach twisted and the lump in your throat grew, how even just the sight of him made you feel so guilty for feeling bad around him, which of course just only made you feel worse, and therefore more guilty.

It was exhausting, and you wanted nothing more than to break down and cry and let it all out, but you couldn’t. Simon didn’t deserve to have to deal with that, he didn’t deserve to have to help you figure out what was making you feel like this when you didn’t even know how to tackle it on your own.

And even though you hated to admit it, you were secretly counting down the days until he left for duty again. Until you had another chance to put yourself back together and finally greet him with a sincere smile and a warm hug like you should’ve been able to do when he first came back. You just needed a chance to sort yourself out, a second chance.

Which is why when he said he had important news to tell you tonight, a tiny part of you lit up with excitement, shamefully praying that maybe, just maybe, he had to go back to whatever classified base he had spent the last five months at. And it made you sick that you were thinking that, that you wanted him gone so badly, but you couldn’t help it. It was so exhausting to smile at him and nod along to his conversations and act like you didn’t want to just drop off the face of the earth.

And now here he was, wearing a way-too-small ‘kiss the cook’ apron you had gotten him as a gag gift, standing in front of the stove while something that smelled way to good to be shitty Chinese takeout — your normal meal for when he told you he had to leave again — and you couldn’t help the way your stomach dropped when he turned around with one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen him wear on his face.

If he noticed the faint terror on your face, he didn’t mention it, instead taking your bag off of you and ushering you to the dining table, where he placed a delicious smelling plate of pasta in front of you and urged you to try it. Putting on a smile, you reached for your fork, but time seemed to slow down as you tried to take a bite out of the pasta. You felt like some invisible force was squeezing down on you, slowing your movements as it pressured you to put on a happy face for Simon. When you finally took a bite, you didn’t taste anything. You knew it wasn’t the food itself; it smelled delicious and it looked like it’d taste like heaven, but the dread bubbling in your stomach was all-consuming.

But Simon needed this, and you knew he needed this, so you closed your eyes and tossed your head back like it was the most delicious thing you had ever had. You groaned, “This… this is delicious, Simon. How did you make it?”

You tried to be happy at how relieved he looked at what you said, but instead it just made you feel more guilty. You watched as his hand reached for the back of his neck, something he always did whenever you complimented him, and his lips moved around in some slurry of words. You couldn’t hear anything, or at least your brain wasn’t processing it. You were too focused on making it seem like you were absorbing every single thing he said, like everything was fine.

At a certain point he sat down across from you, and you watched him fold a napkin neatly over his lap as he got ready to eat.

“What was that news you wanted to tell me about?” You asked, surprising yourself.

“Oh right,” Simon said, before quickly taking a bite of food. You tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped as his next sentence — although garbled and unclear due to the food he was eating — left his mouth. You had just heard him wrong, right? Yes, that had to be it. It was just your ears playing tricks on you, nothing more. Right?

“Um,” you said, swallowing, “what did you say?” You tried to put on a good face when you said that, a face that said ‘I’m so happy’ and not ‘I think this may send me over the edge,’ but by the way Simon’s chewing stopped abruptly you could tell you failed.

You watched as he swallowed slowly, setting down his fork and wiping his mouth neatly before continuing. “I said… I said I won’t have to leave for another four months.”

There was no hiding it now. As soon as the words left his mouth you felt a wave of emotion crash over you, and before you knew it you were crying. You felt embarrassed. Although it was blurred by tears, you could see Simon’s face just a few feet away from you. He was sitting quietly still, a complete opposite to your shaking, sobbing, body.

You could hear him call out your name, which just made you cry even harder. You didn’t know why you were doing this, you wanted so badly to stop, to just shut up, to not embarrass yourself any further, but you couldn’t. It was like you didn’t have control over your body anymore. You felt like your body was being tossed around by the cruel waves of emotion. You didn’t know how to do anything but cry. It was washing over you and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You could feel the cold air burn your lungs as you tried to gasp for some sort of breath, but nothing helped.

For a moment, you thought you were better, but then you felt Simon’s hand on your back and you were drowning again. The way your cries grew louder and the sobs racked through your body harder when he wrapped his arms around you made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. So many emotions were battering your body: shame, exhaustion, dismay, embarrassment, love, fear.

At a certain point though, your cries began to quiet down. You became aware of Simon’s hand stroking the back of your head and the strong cocoon he had wrapped you in. Your heart rate began to slow down, and the only evidence that you had been crying was the still damp tracks down your cheeks and the erratic hiccups that jolted through your body.

You felt Simon’s chest rise like he was going to say something, and a spark of anxiety raced through your body again. You didn’t want to talk about this. You wanted to pretend this never happened. You wanted to grab your things and leave. You wanted to come back the next morning with two coffees — one black, just like he likes it, and one with way so much cream and sugar it’s almost inedible just because you know it pisses him off — and start talking about how he has to watch James Gunn’s Suicide Squad because it’s so much better than the one with Jared Leto.

But instead of asking if you wanted to talk about it or if you were okay or some other anxiety-inducing conversation starter that would only lead to more tears and confusion, all he said was “Do you wanna go to sleep?”

And for a moment you didn’t say anything, but then you slowly nodded your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist as he picked you up. He didn’t say anything as he brought you to your bedroom or when he helped you change into your pajamas or when he pulled the covers over you and pulled you close to his chest. And yet, even though he was a man typically shrouded in mystery and confusion, you could tell by how tight he was holding you that he was telling you something, even if it wasn’t out loud.

He was telling you that it would be okay, that he knew you could get through this, and that even if it wasn’t he would be there with you. And it wouldn’t be suffocating anymore and you wouldn’t have to feel like you had to hide things from him, you could just be, and he would be there for you. And that was all you needed as you drifted off to sleep.

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monophobix · 2 years ago

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born werewolf soap / bitten werewolf ghost

soap having grown up in a pack dynamic. he has a healthy respect for authority as well as the confidence to challenge it when necessary. he’s used to his instincts and heightened senses, using them as a strength and not getting as overwhelmed by them and when he does he can shift at will, having control over his wolf as they’ve grown up together to the point where they can seamlessly mix together.

ghost however. ghost was bitten during roba’s experiments thinking it would make him more compliant. his only experience of a ‘pack’ was the abuse he suffered under roba, where violence and death was encouraged, leaving him and his wolf completely separated and therefore having no control over his instincts when shifted. he often experiences sensory overload with no healthy way to deal and only turning when forced by the moon or extreme stress and having no control over himself when it happens.

imagine them meeting. imagine them both turning with the moon and soap realising how much being a werewolf has burdened ghost whilst it’s a chance at freedom for soap. imagine ghosts wolf attacking both soap and himself due to ghost’s internalised self-deprication and fear of others due to roba.

imagine soap teaching ghost how to adjust. they go on leave and travel to the countryside in scotland where ghost gets to witness a loving pack. gets to see first hand the bond between the wolf and human and how it’s not always a burden. imagine ghost’s wolf slowly accepting simon and allowing himself to get close to soap.

idk i just like werewolf au’s (:

#soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #werewolf au

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eksvaized · 7 months ago

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Part Twenty Five

[ Previous ]

︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱

taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride, @ghostieslove, @bbypionaa, @wxspq

“You know it’s wrong, Simon,” Price says, his fingers convulsively crumpling into taut fists. His knuckles, white from the strain, press against the edge of the counter that he leans on for support. His voice carries a weight, a hidden plea perhaps, as he continues, “Whatever it is that you’ve done, whatever happened since you met her—I won’t ask, I don’t need to know. But you can’t keep hiding her here anymore.”

Simon makes an attempt to look as though he’s paying attention to Captain, his head bobbing up and down in what seems to be a nod, mirroring the actions of a student diligently soaking up every word of his teacher’s lecture. However, the words of the man standing before him are falling on deaf ears. They are nothing more but a white noise to Simon; his mind is elsewhere.

The only sound that Simon can tune into, the only frequency that seems to penetrate through the thick fog of his preoccupied mind, is your voice. It’s a faint echo, barely audible through the thick walls that seem to enclose him, yet it still reaches him. He’s haunted by it, haunted by your heart-wrenching sobs, each one landing like a punch to his gut, robbing him of his breath and consuming him with an overwhelming sense of helpless frustration.

Even though a wall separates Simon from you, his mind conjures up images so vivid it’s as if you’re standing right next to him. He can see, in a clarity that stings like sea salt in a fresh wound, the large, saline tears carving wet paths down your cheeks. He can see your lips, swollen and reddened from your constant biting, a futile attempt to suppress your cries. He can see your hands, the anxious way you fiddle with your shirt, twisting and turning the fabric around your fingers until the blood circulation is cut off.

“What do you expect of me?” Simon’s voice rises. He lifts his head and snaps out of his thoughts. He stands far from the doorway, his back rigid and straight, his muscles taunt. If he had it his way, he would force Captain, Gaz and Johnny out of his home. With a forceful slam, he would shut the door in their faces, his snarling words echoing as a final warning to never return. But Simon knows that if he does so, if he surrenders to his simmering emotions and acts out, none of them will leave of their own accord. Therefore, he keeps his mouth and his thoughts restrained.

“Take her to see her family, reassure them that their daughter is safe and well—this will convince them to call off the ongoing search. You need to prove to them that there’s absolutely no cause for alarm,” Price implores with a sense of urgency. His shoulders droop, collapsing inward as he rubs his face, like he’s trying to wipe away the stress and frustration. “You can’t keep her hidden here forever. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes knocking at your door, and if her family will find her here—and trust me, they inevitably will—it won’t end well, neither for you nor for her.”

The very last thing Simon wants to do is leave the security of this house and bring you face-to-face with your family, force you into a situation that would inevitably require you and him to play yet another taxing game of pretend. Simon successfully fooled Johnny because he knew him well. But he doesn’t know your family, which means that he wouldn’t have any way to brace himself for the potential confrontations that meeting them might bring.

Of course, Simon could interrogate you, putting you under immense pressure to divulge every trivial detail, every inconsequential fact about your family that he could potentially use to his advantage. However, he has serious doubts about the efficacy of this approach. Given your current mental state, which is anything but stable, whatever answers you could provide to his questions would be far from reliable. They would be clouded by your emotions and distorted perceptions, and would most likely prove to be futile in the end.

“Fine, we’ll go to see them,” Simon lies. He holds his breath. The silence in the room becomes deafening as he waits for Price to call his bluff. After all, Captain was always unnervingly adept at sensing when Simon was attempting to deceive him, his instincts honed over years of service. However, much to Simon’s surprise and immense relief, the man standing opposite him remains silent. “But you need to leave now.” Simon hastily adds, seizing the opportunity to regain control of the situation. “I need to calm her down—you can’t keep pushing her like this. She already snapped once and I’m certainly not going to sit by and watch as it happens again.”

Price doesn’t reply. Instead, he retrieves a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He flattens the note out on the counter, sliding it across the smooth surface towards Simon. “With a bit of digging, I was able to locate this,” Price says, as Simon looks at the note and the messily scribbled address. “Arthur and Elizabeth,” he adds, then handing over a faded photograph to Simon. The image portrays a family, a man, and a woman standing behind a little girl who is grinning broadly at the camera—it’s you, or rather, a much younger version of you.

“You have two days.” Price declares with a stern tone. He moves towards the doorway, but just as he’s about to cross the threshold, he turns around slowly, pivoting on the heel of his polished boot. “Otherwise, I’ll have no choice, but take matters into my hands.”

* * *

The moment the front door firmly clicks shut behind him, and the sound of the truck engine rumbles to life, starting to pull out of the gravel-lined driveway, the tires screeching against the coarse, irregular stones, Simon marches back into the living room. You are sitting on the couch, your gaze fixed blankly on the opposite wall. Your tears have long since dried up, leaving behind only their salty traces, but the sleeves of your shirt are still damp.

Simon approaches you cautiously. He kneels before you, his eyes meeting yours. His lips part, an instinctive reaction, as he wants to say something - anything - to soothe your pain, to apologize, but no words form on the tip of his tongue. The day has been long and arduous; the sun has already started setting down, painting the room in hues of soft gold and bitter orange, and he realises that all you need right now is a moment of peace, a chance to rest. He can talk with you tomorrow, in the morning, once he’s had time to decide what he wants to do.

Slowly rising back to his feet, Simon gently scoops you into his arms. Your body feels weightless against his sturdy frame. Your head rests on his shoulder. A sigh escapes your lips. Closing your eyes, you surrender yourself completely to his protective hold, the tension in your body finally beginning to unwind.

Simon carries you into the bathroom and places you on the edge of the tub. His hands linger on your arms for a second, ensuring you’re steady, before he lets go. The silence is pierced by the sound of running water. He begins to gently peel off your clothes, each piece landing softly on the tiled floor. Surrendering to his touch, you offer no protest, instead finding solace in leaning into his chest and feeling the warmth radiate from his torso as his fingertips delicately trace a path down your exposed back.

After discarding all your clothes into a disheveled pile in the corner, Simon helps you to get into the tub. You cautiously dip your toes, testing the temperature. Much to your relief, the water doesn’t scorch your skin or give a jolt of cold—it’s the perfect temperature. You lean on Simon for support, your fingers tightly curled around his arm, as you take your time to slowly lower your body into the tub. You continue to sink down until your shoulders submerge beneath the water’s surface.

For a while, Simon just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze fixed on you. With a gentle splash, his hand plunges into the warm water, his calloused fingertips gently tracing delicate patterns over your soft skin. Once the water starts cooling, he realises it’s time to help you wash up.

Reaching for a bottle of sweet-smelling gel, he pours a generous amount of the liquid into his palm. As he rubs his hands together, the fragrant aroma permeates the air. It envelops the bathroom, filling the space with a scent that’s a blend of blooming flowers and a subtle hint of vanilla. Gently, he starts scrubbing your skin, his movements rhythmic and soothing. Then, he moves to your hair. Using the expensive shampoo he bought specifically for you, his fingers work through your locks and massage your scalp.

When he’s done, Simon reaches for a fluffy, warm towel that had been sitting on the radiator. He pats you dry, ensuring not a single droplet of water is left on your skin. Then, rather than dressing you, he carries you to the bed. There, before tucking you in under the mountain of covers, he brushes out your hair, and although it’s still slightly damp, he plaits it into a braid.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice barely rising above a murmur that’s swallowed by the creak of the mattress as Simon begins to shift his weight to stand up. “I don’t want to be alone,” you add, a pleading undertone seeping into your hushed words.

Simon hesitates. There is a long list of tasks that still demand his attention. But the sight of you, your eyes wide and begging, makes it impossible for him to refuse. He can’t say no to you, not when you’re looking at him like that, not when the room is draped in shadows and drowning in silence. So, he slowly lowers himself once more, settling back down onto the blankets. The mattress dips under his weight.

You scoot closer to Simon, your body fitting against his. The warmth of his embrace envelopes you as you lean your head onto the curve of his shoulder. The familiar and soothing scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, instantly calming your nerves. Your palm rests gently on his chest, the fabric of his well-worn shirt grazing against your fingertips. As you press your hand against his chest, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that provides reassurance amidst the chaos of your own racing pulse.

* * *

Simon cannot fall asleep. No matter how hard he tries to coax his eyes to close, to surrender to the gentle pull of rest, his mind stubbornly refuses to shut off. He wishes he could succumb to the sleep, with you nestled in his arms. He wishes he could forget about today’s events, even if only for a moment, for one night. But it’s not possible. Simon can’t slow down, he can’t calm down until he has figured a way to deal with the mess that today was. His heart races, his mind whirs, his world spins. Until you are safe, somewhere far away, where no one can harm or take you away from him, he refuses to rest, to give in to the exhaustion that tugs at his eyelids. He will not sleep. He cannot sleep. Not until you are safe.

Simon swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. Like a shadow, he crosses the room towards the wardrobe. One by one, not really paying attention to what he is grabbing, he starts stuffing clothes into a rugged, worn-out bag that’s seen better days. His movements, mechanical and efficient, reveal a familiarity with this process. Before zipping the bag, Simon finds the gun, the one you had tried to use earlier today, and tosses it on top of the clothes, watching as it gets buried beneath them.

Then, Simon rushes upstairs. Each step he makes lands with a heavy thud, causing the stairs to groan under his weight. The sound bounces off the walls of the otherwise silent house. He stops in front of a locked door, a door he never thought he’d have to open again. In his haste, he forgot to grab a key. Undeterred by this minor setback, he channels his pent-up energy, a raging storm within him, into ramming the door open with a forceful heave of his shoulder. Once inside, his eyes dart away from the faded, peeling yellow wallpaper. He tries to keep his mind empty, not letting it dwell on any specific thought. He dreads the onslaught of painful memories that would inevitably follow, particularly those involving you.

Simon remembers the day you first woke up in this house, the fear, and terror written all over your face. He recalls how you were frightened of him, and how he wasn’t sure that his plan would work because you were too stubborn, too strong-willed, and had too much fight in you.

He would never confess, not even under the harsh interrogation of his own conscience, not now, perhaps not ever, but there were undoubtedly times when he seriously contemplated giving up on you. Physically breaking you down was a simple task. But the mental battles, the struggle to break your mind and spirit, those were the moments that tested his limits, pushing him to the brink of surrender. Thankfully, he didn’t give up because after many years of feeling like he could never replicate the love he had with the woman ended up killing, Simon will finally get his happy ending, and so will you.

Under the window, precisely five floorboards to the right and one down, there’s a loose one. Simon removes it. Hidden beneath is a nondescript black box filled with a variety of items, which he tucks under his arm. Then he turns his attention to two passports and grabs them out of the hole - one for you, one for him; he had created these on a day when he had left you with Johnny, under the pretense of needing to go shopping.

Simon had never truly expected to use these fake passports, considering their creation merely a precaution in case things were to spiral out of control. However, given the current situation, he finds himself immensely grateful for his foresight. Because, if getting you out of this country, vanishing without a trace from the face of this earth, is what he needs to do to ensure your well-being, he will do it without a moment’s hesitation, without an inkling of doubt clouding his resolve.

Before returning to the bedroom, where you are still asleep, Simon heads to the kitchen. His hand dives into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around the cold metal key to the house. With a wrist flick, he sends it flying onto the counter, where it lands with a soft clink. He tosses the note with your parents’ address on top of it. Finally, he pulls out a picture. His fingers tremble slightly as he rips the image into three jagged pieces and selects the piece where you are the only one visible, your smile radiant, and eyes full of life. The rest of the picture, or rather what’s left of it, he leaves discarded and scattered on the counter.

* * *

The sun has yet to rise. Several hours have already slipped by since Simon roused you from your deep sleep. He woke you with a gentle nudge, his voice whispering in the quiet, urging you to quickly put on your clothes before the two of you left. Initially, sleep still gripped you, your consciousness flitting in and out like a wavering candle flame in the dark, leaving you too disoriented to question the sudden departure—you trusted Simon. But now, as you sit in the passenger seat of the car, with Simon navigating a labyrinth of forgotten, winding back roads under the night sky, curiosity begins to gnaw at you, urging you to break the silence.

“Where are we going?” you ask, twirling the seatbelt absentmindedly. Your eyes flickers to the backseat, noting the hastily packed bag that holds your shared belongings, before they get drawn towards Simon, whose profile is faintly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard.

“Somewhere far away,” Simon replies, his voice steady and soothing, despite the ambiguity of his answer. Without taking his eyes off the road, his free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together. He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of your fingers - a silent promise that lingers on your skin. “Somewhere no one will find us.”

#cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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ghostlychief · 2 years ago

Note

Dude I just loved your Ghost fic with his scary wife, it was so ✨chefs kiss✨

Could you please write a fic about how the MW2 men would react to reader letting loose in the club after a mission? Just the concept of a cold, badass woman who can handle herself in the field and is a total man-eater that has the moves™️ + the men's reactions (mayhaps with a crumb of nsfw👀) is JUST DOBDISHDONDOSHDINSKWE I BEG PLEASE

HELLO!! thank you sm for your request <3 I took some liberties but i really hope you enjoy what i threw together for you!! (and there is a crumb of nsfw, so i hope you enjoy the tiniest of crumb i gave you lmao) ALSO, thank you sm for saying you really like my other Ghost fic, it means so much to hear that <33333 thank you sm for reading!

ENJOY, SWEETIE

Dancing Queen

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol drinking; foreplay? slight fingering; nothing too smutty but MINORS DNI; seriously, if you're a minor pls do not read.

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i'll edit tomorrow, but sorry for any typos!

---

You were pretty revered on task force 141. You were the youngest on the team of burly men but you were one of the most skilled members on the force. And, you took yourself very seriously, almost too seriously some would say.

But who could blame you? You were a woman in a male dominated field. You had to be serious, had to be cold. Especially in the armed forces. This line of work was just as bad if not worse than the financial sector, you know, with all the finance bros. Actually, it was worse, but just by a hair.

So, due to your highly stressful and sometimes misogynistic job, you liked to let loose, have fun on the weekends. It was really the only time where you could fully relax and let yourself go. Alcohol helped of course. You loved going to clubs, bars, restaurants, hell anywhere really. As long as it helped you forget the week you had, helped you soothe the aches and pains that came with the job.

Surprisingly you found that your internal team, therefore task 141, weren’t such pricks after all. You thought they would be all misogynistic pigs, and treat you worse than their male colleagues. No, you were proven wrong. Something that doesn’t happen often. You were smart after all.

Sooner than later, you found yourself growing fonder of your team, and you considered them your closest friends. You know, big shock. You weren’t expecting your closest friends to be your work buddies as well.

You also sprouted a crush for one of your team members. Who could blame you? He was tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. Always sporting that black balaclava, only leaving his eyes privy to your vision. You have only seen him without his signature mask a few times, most of them being when he was drunk, and out with the team.

But who doesn’t like intrigue?

Fast forward to this Friday. You found that Friday is your favorite day to go out. You realized that you still have all of Saturday to relax, sleep, and recover and then it’s Sunday. The dreadful day in which work starts the next.

So here you were, getting ready to do out tonight with 141. You typically styled your hair your favorite way, did a full glam of make-up, and pre-gamed to make sure you would be a solid drunk by the time you had at least one drink at the bar. This was your time to shine, to have fun for once. You weren’t going to pass it up. Hence, your lovely make-up and outfits that made any jaw drop to the floor.

By the time you were finished getting ready, you felt a slight buzz in your system, and you felt good, felt pretty. You were ready for a night out. Specifically, you were ready for a night out with Ghost.

You found it much, much easier to talk to the intimidating guy when you were slightly buzzed, or better yet, drunk. Was it healthy? Probably not. But who’s perfect, right?

Even though you were a force to be reckon with yourself, the man still intimated you. Maybe it was because of the feelings that started developing in the pits of your stomach. You couldn’t help it when your heart clenched every time you saw him, or every time his blue eyes met your own.

It was getting bad, and you were worried it was going to start to effect your performance at work, which was unacceptable.

So, what do you do to deal with all these feelings? You drink of course!

Hey, you’re still in your twenties, it’s a pass.

You get a text from Soap in the GM that your guys’ uber is at your place. It was decided that you would ride with Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.

You saw the uber in front of your building, so you made your way to the back seat. You figured that Ghost would be in the front, so you open the door and tease, “Gaz, you need to take the middle seat because you’re the shortest out of all of us.”

However, you weren’t met with Gaz’s chocolate eyes when you swung open the door. No, you were met with Ghost’s large frame, and confused expression as you mistakenly talk to him instead of Gaz.

“You want me to sit in the middle?” Ghost points a finger at himself.

You hear Gaz snicker from the front seat. I’ll get him later.

You disguise your embarrassment with a cough, “Oh! No, no, no. I mean, we can’t have the tallest teammate sit in the middle now can we?” You flash Ghost what you’re hoping is your best smile. Dammit why did I drink so much getting ready?

Ghost just grunts in confirmation and gets out of the vehicle.

You clamber your way in only to find Soap with a shit-eating grin, sitting in the back as well.

“Hello, Soap.” Your tone is clipped, which makes his grin widen even more.

Ghost gets in finally, but once he’s finally settled, you find yourself literally squished between Soap and Ghost.

“Can either of you move over or something? I’m being squeezed to death.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it, y/n.”

You really, hope Ghost didn’t just hear what Soap said, but it’s unlikely. You hit him in the shoulder, “First rounds on you, asshole.”

Soap raises his hands in a truce. “Alright, alright. Don’t get mad at me.”

You were only annoyed because Soap was right. You did like being squished up against Ghost. How embarrassing. Stupid feelings. Who even has time for feelings anymore?

You all finally make it to the club, and you make a beeline for the bar. As promised, Soap orders you, as well as Ghost and Gaz a round of drinks. You all cheer’s, then you down your shot. At this point, you’re definitely drunk.

The guys get another drink as you observe the dance floor. They take two more shots, and you take one more.

After your last shot, you let them know that you’re going to go dance. They all toast you, and then you’re off to the dance floor.

You start moving to the beat, letting the music take over your body, letting it carry you away from all your problems.

It’s only a few minutes in when you notice that they’re playing your favorite song. You rush back over to the guys, and excitedly shout, “They’re playing my favorite song! Do any of you want to dance with me?”

Before anyone could really respond, Soap is clapping Ghost on the shoulder, and pushing him towards you, “Ghost would love to.”

If you weren’t so drunk, you would have noticed Ghost send a glare to his friend. But not out of despite, more out of nervousness.

You clap your hands, so excited that someone is joining you, much different than your usually demeanor at work. Then you grasp Ghost’s hand in yours and lead him to the floor, leaving a grinning Soap and Gaz.

Gaz just sighs before saying, “Why do you always have to butt in?”

Soap just shrugs with a knowing smile on his face, “Because, they’d be good for each other, and both of them need a little nudge from someone to get the ball rolling.”

Once you and Ghost make it to the dance floor, you turn around to face him. You have the biggest smile he’s ever seen on your pretty face, and he can’t help but smile back.

You start moving to the music as before, but this time, Ghost wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you in close to him. So close, that your chests are touching. He’s definitely buzzed, borderline drunk.

He leans his head down so his lips are brushing against your ear, “I didn’t know you were quite the dancer.”

His breath tickles, and you let out a laugh, tightening your arms that have found their way around his neck.

“Don’t you know? I’m the dancing queen.” You let out a laugh, and pull him closer.

He laughs as well and you both continue swaying to the beat, that is, until a more up-tempo song starts to play. Before you know it, Ghost has spun you around, so now your back is facing his front.

His large hands make their way to your waist, gripping tightly. But not too tightly in which it hurts. It’s more so a comforting hold. You feel secure, like you would never trip and fall in his embrace.

You lean your head back so it’s resting on Ghost’s chest, and you feel him dip his head to meet yours. The height difference is making you dizzy, making you want more of him.

You feel him kiss down your neck, his lips searing your skin as they map you out. He makes his way back up and nips at your earlobe, which has you letting out a small yelp. But you lean further into him, signaling him to continue on.

Your hands come up to rest on top of his, and you squeeze them. You’ve never felt this exhilarated, and Ghost’s touches leave sparks in their wake, igniting you.

As he continues to kiss down your neck, you take one of your hands that’s grasping his, and start to lead it to the top of your skirt. He seems to get the idea, and continues his hand down until it’s grazing your upper thigh, lifting your skirt ever the slightest.

He subtly brings his fingers under your skirt to graze your underwear. The dance floor is so packed, that no one will notice.

The feeling of his fingers pressing on your bud has your head spinning and you let out a soft whine. It’s just faint enough that only Ghost can hear it. His hand goes further and pushes your underwear to the side. He teases your entrance without entering a finger into you and he brings his thumb up to press down on your clit. Which makes you let out another low pitch whine.

Your hand trails down to find his, as if to ground yourself. From what, you don’t even know. You just need to feel him more. More so than you already are.

All too soon, he removes his hand from your and brings it back up to cup your waist, then he spins you around so you’re facing him. What a fucking tease.

You crane your neck to glance up at him and you don’t know who moved in first. But what you do know is that you’re kissing Ghost. His lips lock with yours and it feels like it was always meant to be.

You trail your hands up so they play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Twirling the hair around the tips of your fingertips. The kiss you share feels infinite, like it was mapping out the very constellations around you.

You never wanted it to end.

All too soon he pulls away, and brings his hands up to cup your face. His forehead is pressed up against yours, and he holds you so gently.

“I just had to do that, at least once.” He sounds breathless, and you fight the urge to pull him down to you again, at his confession.

“Why just once?” You’re just as breathless, if not more as you ask him this.

You don’t want this to end here, you can’t let it end here. You like him too much, too much that your heart hurts at the thought of letting him go.

Ghost peels himself from you, but his hands are still ever so gently cupping your sweet face. His thumbs rub under your eyes, on the apple of your cheeks, as he looks fondly down at you. He’s looking at you as if you created all the planets in the solar system, and hung up the stars as well.

“Because I know you deserve better.”

His admission tugs at your heartstrings, “Bullshit. You don’t get to tell me what’s good for me and what isn’t.”

It was true. You had to decide for yourself.

“Is that so?” A smirk forms on his lips.

You’re glad the air has turned back into something light, something teasing. That’s something you could deal with. Not the heavy shit that was threatening you before.

You bring your hands once again to his and grasp them, “Yes, it is, so you better get used to it.”

Ghost just lets out a laugh and then swiftly pulls you into a bone crushing hug. He rests his head on top of yours. You swear you feel a faint pressure atop your head, almost like a kiss laid upon your hair.

His words get muffled into your hair, but you make them out just the same. “Why don’t we finish what we started, but in a more private place, hm?”

You tighten your hold on him, words stifled into his chest as your answer, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Ghost Masterlist

hope you enjoyed! <3

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dovithedarklord · 10 months ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona finds dinner for the night and a very unexpected dessert joins in.

Hello! :D

I have a trigger warning for this chapter: Detailed description of sexual situations, smut, and male anatomy.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeform

I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeform

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Eighteen

.....................................

The silvery light of the moon draws the unfriendly darkness of the corridor into its pale embrace, and although there is nothing else to help me on my way except this translucent curtain, my eyes guide me across the floor as keenly as a predator on its prey, and the wood cries out with a low creak under my footsteps. And I do feel as if I had gone on a hunting trip, because the hunger that is slowly tearing my insides apart with sharp claws fills my nerves with impatience. And this restless feeling hangs only one goal in my mind, to get something as soon as possible that will quench the pain that clings to me like a poison, that pushes me minute by minute closer to the furious suffering that I wanted to avoid, but I happily earned for myself.

I wasn't wrong about that I pushed myself towards the limit again by acting all tough and rough in the last few weeks, but I strongly miscalculated how long it would take for my body to delight me with the first signs of its revenge. For although I was working with optimistic estimates, I thought I could manage to hold out with dignity at least until morning, and then I could go find Price in the hope of a nutritious meal. But it seems that stress didn’t only wear down my friends, but me as well, because even though I had dedicated many years to experiencing the limits of my own body with almost painful thoroughness, in the absence of experiences similar to my current adventurous lifestyle, I couldn't have possibly expected that the pain would arrive much sooner than I thought. Therefore, when the first dull spasm roused me from my slumber, I knew no matter the late hours, I needed to eat now before my condition worsened. And my pride couldn't bear that, especially since I was in the crosshairs of a completely new dangerous element who, God forbid, would want to take advantage of my delirium blinded by agony. Because he would, I'm sure.

So, in the middle of the night, I rushed to Price's room, but there was no answer to either my gentle or angry knocking, and when, emboldened by this, I entered the captain's private lair, I was greeted only by silence and eerily untouched emptiness. And after the first desperate shock, I decided that the smartest thing would be to visit the person who could be the closest to able to tell me where the hell the bearded Hunter might have disappeared in the dead of the night, because just a few more hours and the fever will arrive to crown my misery, and then I'm afraid that anyone who wanders in my way will become a tasty snack in a heartbeat. And now, as the door finally appears in front of me, for which I dragged myself through the depths of the house, then for a minute I doubt whether it's really necessary for me to go up to him, but the cramp twisting my guts quickly reminds me that I don't have all that many options left to be picky. And this makes my steps quicken, and I rush to the battered threshold of my favorite Hunter with such determined fervor that it's both pitiful and remarkable at the same time.

Blurry beams of dim light shine from under the door, and a small smile tugs at my lips involuntarily as I realize that it seems Price and I aren't the only ones who couldn't rest in this haunted house. Because although the building is in surprisingly good condition, the frozen coldness that sits in every plank and brick fills the walls with the smell of corpses, and even those who have been wading in the blood of monsters since childhood cannot rest in this gutted coffin. Of course, it's also a fact that if I hadn't pushed myself with my sudden conscientiousness to the mouth of the very steep abyss of hunger, then I would have leaned into the rough arms of the soap-smelling bedsheets with the greatest peace of mind. But now I'm here, and the ache gripping my stomach in an iron fist soon turns me back to the direction of my goal, and as I gently knock on the rickety wooden board with my hand, the muffled sound echoes like a melodious song in the concert of the noises of the night.

And it doesn't surprise me in the slightest when the door opens a few seconds later, because I'm sure he heard the sneaking tap of my boots when I stepped out of the solitude of my homey quarters. Because Riley looks down at me exactly as if he had already expected me to pay my respects in front of his humble abode, and even if this isn't, it certainly gets me thinking that there is neither annoyance nor disapproval in his gaze as his dark eyes slowly glide over me. As if he knew exactly why I had embarked on such a daring nocturnal lurking, and if I just take into consideration what an awfully good observer he is, then I have to admit that he probably already guessed that sooner or later I would end up here when I recharged the small team so kindly. And I have the sneaking suspicion in my head that since he has such turbulent feelings connected to the evening of my last feeding, he is perfectly aware of when was the last time I could fill my stomach with my favorite snack, and with a little math he was able to calculate how close I could be to that state. And as the sweet memory of the incomparable taste of his blood creeps up on my taste buds, my mouth starts to water almost instinctively, and I have to forcefully push away the intrusive thoughts that urge me to put something much fresher on the menu today instead of Price's deep-frozen food.

"Where is Price?" The question escapes my mouth, because my suddenly sharpened senses don't allow me to even consider small talk and subtlety, because I fear that with every wasted word the desire to sink my canines, which ache with cruel pain, into one of the inviting slivers of the tanned skin that peeks out from under his t-shirt grows stronger. But even though the pull of instinct awakens in me, I'm still able to keep my consciousness together with my self-respect and straighten myself out with just enough determination before my longing becomes too obvious.

"He’s reporting to Laswell." Comes the rather objective answer, and with that, he gives me exactly the kind of information I was most afraid of. Once the captain starts a deep conversation with the woman, it's difficult and mostly risky to break him out of it, mainly because then it would definitely become clear how deeply I was immersed in the complications I had created for myself. "It'll take a while." He adds, and from the way he presses these few words, I understand the unspoken message, which confirms my guess that I shouldn't expect Price to get away from his exciting evening consultation anytime soon. And when I think about it, it's in the interest of all of us to immerse himself in this discourse, to see if Laswell has dug up something interesting from one of the endless pits full of super-secret documents she is so suspiciously familiar with.

"Great." I pull my mouth into a cynical grimace, and a sigh full of the world's pain escapes from my mouth, from which anyone could deduce how much this news fills me with joy. And I suspect that even without it, the masked man would have very easily been able to read the cause of my sorrow from the small tremors rolling through my body, because as he leans against the doorframe with comfortable carelessness and folds his arms in front of his broad chest, I understand from this gesture alone that I have revealed myself to him in a ridiculously simple way.

"You're at your limit again." He points out the obvious fact without an ounce of hesitation, and although his words sound like a statement of fact, there is something inquisitive in his tone, as if he is just starting to guess how creatively I will solve this situation. Because we both know what it will lead to if I let this initial torment drag on. The steamy moments that took place in the dimness of the infirmary are projected too vividly on the canvas of my mind, and as my eyes inevitably stray for a moment to his forearm, and I catch a glimpse of the tiny white mementos of my teeth on him in the sea of scars, I could swear I could taste the salty aroma of his skin on the tip of my tongue again. Shit…

"Maybe." I put all my carefree lightness into my voice, directing my attention to his face again, and I'm unable to hide the curve of the naughty smile creeping on my lips when I see the disapproval appear in his eyes. How sweet... "You're worried, perhaps?" I ask teasingly, raising one of my arched eyebrows, taking a bold step towards him, despite the fact that the dull pain in every fiber of my body slowly begins to pulse steadily, as if every heartbeat wanted to remind me how starved my energy is. But for some reason, the closer I get to this dangerous man's inviting proximity, the less I can think clearly, as if some invisible force is guiding me, like a helpless marionette being pulled on a string. And unfortunately, the problem is that I don't even try to resist.

But instead of engaging in a verbal sparring match with me, which already flows between us as effortlessly as breathing, I just watch in bewilderment as he steps aside and reveals the entrance to his room to me, almost inviting me in. And this small act seems so impossible that I only gape at him, blinking with skeptical confusion, because the realist side of my brain sees a trap behind this as well. Because what other logical reason could there be for him to voluntarily allow me into his den?

"Come in." He motions with his head towards the small room covered in the yellow light of the broken lamp, and it sounds more like he is giving a command, but it still sits in my ears like an irresponsible invite to a reckless dance. I'm sure he knows what he is conveying to me, because I realized a long time ago that there is not a twitch that he does by accident. And in light of this, he is very brave to let a hungry predator into his lair, even if I'm not a real threat to him. Although he could easily break my spine like a toothpick, we both know that it's not so easy to resist my mean little bite, which led us to interesting situations the last time as well. Although it may not have been against his will, but a dutiful man like him doesn't need a distraction like that on a mission.

"Unless you have a bag of blood, it's not the best idea." I warn him, aptly reminding him that we both know that a little heart-to-heart talk won't help with this problem, and I strongly doubt that he secretly indulges in the same sinful eating habits that I do. But he doesn't seem the least bit moved by my remark, as he continues to stare down at me with unflinching persistence, not wasting a word trying to argue his offer. And from the way his eyes are fixed on me wordlessly, I quickly understand that he shared his idea with me not as an option, but rather as an introduction to a ready fact. Because he already decided when he saw me on his doorstep that it would be best for me to stick with him in his solitude. Terribly interesting. "Okay." I finally give in, and even though there is a breath of staged resistance in my emphasis, I'm much more curious about what his purpose is with letting a wild animal ready to attack into his cave. Because although he is the apex predator of the two of us, I'm the one who is slowly becoming more and more desperate, and in this position, necessity drives a person to do many reckless and foolish things.

Although with every movement the stabbing pain that is growing stronger rips through my body, as if a thousand tiny needles were being twisted in me, I slip past him with all the lightness I can muster, and as the mouth-watering, spicy scent emanating from him hits my nose, then the violent hand of hunger twists my insides with almost unbearable agony. Because even this half-second of closeness is enough to make me dizzy from the inviting pulsation of his blood under the tight confines of his skin, and the desire to taste him again rushes into my mind with such force that it makes every inch of my body ache with cruel force. And that urges me to move deeper into his quarters, sneaking past him in such a hurry that it's almost pathetic, because I'm afraid that if I stay closer to him longer than necessary, I won't be able to stop the scratching voice in my head that screams to sink my teeth into him, because that's exactly why he led me here.

And the seduction of the treacherous thoughts echoing in my skull is louder than it should be, so I decide it's better to divert my attention to something else, because aimlessly peeking around seems like a much safer pastime than giving in to this miserable little voice. As I look around the barren interior of a half-empty room similar to mine, I discover the table resting at the other end and the pile of papers spread out in the mess that has unfolded on it, and my legs almost automatically carry me to the piece of furniture. And the closer I get, the clearer the reason for Riley's late-night fun becomes, because as soon as I arrive at the thick stack of files, I recognize in them every single piece of the documents that Price has so willingly provided for us with. It seems that he was at least as disturbed by the mystery of finding the Rat as his boss, because the complexity of the quickly scrawled notes rivals the work of the bearded Hunter, and reveals that the masked man has been crouching above these pages in his intimate alone time ever since the captain ordered our enforced rest. While it doesn't surprise me that Riley can't take a break and spends every waking minute working, it still sparks concern even in my ugly little soul when I see such obvious signs that he is driving himself to the brink of exhaustion. I know that the hyperstrong body of the Hunters can withstand a lot of stress, but I doubt that it will tolerate being drained and pushed for performance without rest and, above all, without sleep. Undoubtedly, thanks to the regenerating, he may now feel like someone who has had a liter of caffeinated liquid poured down his throat, which actually comes from coffee beans, but this momentum is quite finite.

The soft sound of the closing door pulls me back to reality, and as the promise of a way out disappears, I become aware that I have fallen into a not-so-terrible, but very sure trap of his company. And even though I feel the weight of the man's searching gaze on my back, I continue to feign carefree curiosity and concentrate on studying his work so far, because suddenly my sense of smell sharpens and detects the scent lingering between the battered walls, which casts the red mist of longing on my brain with almost elemental force. Because with each breath, his essence fills my nose, into which the bitter sting of tobacco smoke mingles, but despite this, alongside the empty pain throbbing in my stomach, it is able to stir up the demanding tension that I know only encourages reckless ideas.

"What's the plan now?" I ask the obvious question that hangs invisibly in the silence between the two of us, and I run my fingers through a small stack of papers with nonchalant interest, scanning through the notes scribbled in neatly curved letters. And even a fleeting glance is enough to realize what sharp observations he made about the unknown terrain in such a short time based on the laughable bit of information at our disposal, and I already have a fitting little compliment on my tongue, with which I would like to address his enthusiasm. But that's not why we are here now, and I'm much more interested in what could have gone on in that mysterious mind of his when he thought it would be worthwhile to share his undisturbed peace with me.

"I have what you need." Comes the completely unexpected answer, and when my brain, which is not necessarily working at peak speed, understands what he has shared with me, I turn to him with cautious surprise, because I have to check whether I'm hallucinating from the lack of blood. But when I see him standing as still as a statue with unwavering confidence in front of the closed door, I don't think I detect either amusement or uncertainty in him. And that makes me question for a minute whether he really knows what sinful temptations he offers me so carelessly.

"Would you look at that." The first small reaction of my surprise bursts out of me, and I lean against the edge of the table with my arms entwined comfortably in front of me, because this conversation is slowly straying into a very unusual side track. Although it would be a shame to deny that it beneficially diverts my attention from my ever-increasing suffering. "Don't tell me that you're secretly into blood and hiding a few bags." I remark with halfhearted disbelief, sneaking the blunt edge of boldness into my words, because even though there was already an example of me snacking from him, it was the unexpected end product of a series of very complicated circumstances. But it's different now. And even though I would have to drag myself to Price, slipping and falling in my own fever and sweat, I could probably last until dawn if I really had to, and he probably knows that well. Yet he almost ordered me here, knowing for sure that he wouldn't help any of us by doing so. What's on your mind, Riley?

And instead of cheering me up with some clever answer, he gives up his peaceful loitering and starts towards me with slow steps, and I eagerly follow his every move to see if he shows me what he is up to. The thumping of his heavy boots reverberates dully from the walls of the room, and I watch almost mesmerized as his strong figure stalks towards me with the elegance of a big cat, leaving only a few tantalizing inches between us as he settles in front of me, which makes my heart skip a beat with desperate speed. Because, although not with words, but with this simple act, he lets me know quite clearly why I'm here. And this raises some very risky questions in my mischievous little brain.

"Are you offering yourself up to me now, Riley?" I tilt my head to the side curiously, letting a cheeky smile to curve on my lips, because this is such an unexpected turn of events which even in my wildest dreams I would have only dared to imagine as an improbable joke. Now, however, he looks down at me with an almost surreal seriousness, and as my eyes meet his, I can read nothing but determination in his dark eyes, and in a fraction of a second, a pleasant tingle flares up under my skin in addition to the stabbing pain. And as every sinful wave of the seductive heat emanating from him reaches my sharpened senses, my fingers only bite harder into my upper arms, because I'm afraid that otherwise I would be enthusiastic enough to explore every inch of his luscious body.

"This is the most practical solution." He states with an almost objective indifference, but it doesn't escape my attention as amused wrinkles gather around his eyes, as if the line of a playful half-smile would be hidden under the dark fabric. And because of this, he gives me the impression of someone who is deliberately trying to provoke me, just to see if I do something completely thoughtless. And it occurs to me that perhaps this is precisely his goal, since he clearly let my delusional brain know that he wouldn't mind at all if he was on the receiving end of my cunning little practices. But such recklessness would be irresponsible even from a man as terrifying as him, because he doesn't know the dirty ways I can play once I put enough energy into it. And from the way the caress of his gaze warms my skin, I become quite motivated to fulfill my earlier promise and see what limits I have to push in order to see him let loose.

"I have a bit of a deja vu." I muse with feigned nostalgia in my voice, because my mind doesn't have to work long to recall what it was like the last time he so selflessly offered himself to me as a delicious morsel. Because the taste has been living in my memories ever since, as if it had bought a season ticket between my neurons. And just from the idea that I can sink my teeth into him again, to feel the rapid beating of his pulse under my tongue and hear the deep murmur of his breathing in my ears, I almost get lightheaded. "But now I've run out of wishes. Will you still let me drink from you?" I inquire, referring back to the little fact that led to our whole overheated little night out, which he seems quite eager to return to. And this gives me the stray thought that maybe he really doesn't want to sacrifice himself on the altar of camaraderie, but that my small stunt left such a deep mark on him that he would gladly ask for another round.

"I'm makin' an exception now." He elaborates, sharing the noble reason with me why he so candidly offers himself to be my late dinner, and I'm unable to get rid of the mean little expression climbing onto my face, because it seems that he gladly walks into my open claws with the greatest joy. And I'm neither so good-natured nor so crazy as to say no to a gourmet meal when he puts his throat so eagerly between my teeth.

"How generous of you..." I note, and let the hum of impatient craving crawl into my voice, because at this point it no longer makes sense, and from the pull of the hunger rampaging inside me, I wouldn't be able to hide the cruel force with which he draws me to himself. And this is what makes my eyes go on a lazy tour around all the desirable corners of his tall figure towering over me, because hundreds of ideas storm my mind, wild from his indulgence, debating where I should taste him. "Even if I'm the one choosing where I will bite you?" I challenge daringly, and now I finally let the itch in my fingertips invite me to a curious adventure, because it would be a sin not to take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself so kindly and foolishly.

My hands free themselves from their forced shackles almost too excitedly, and I can feel the slow rhythmic beating of his heart as one of my palms rests on his chest. With a deliberate touch, I map the bulging curve of the muscles dancing under my touch, and as I slither up to his shoulder with the measured slowness of a snake, I hook my fingers around the neckline of his shirt and pull the soft textile aside, revealing the seductive little valley where the inviting vein and the delicious red liquid pulsate under the hard flesh. And I almost desperately swallow the pitiful moan that rises in my throat, because even though the sun-kissed skin is woven with bright tendrils of scars here too, and I see a rough-edged mark that was once licked by flames climbing from his back with a dull purple color, yet I'm sure I've never seen a more enticing sight.

But as he suddenly moves and breaks me out from my mesmerized concentration, his hands find support next to me and close around me from both sides, trapping me into the prison of his hulking body. And I almost confusedly turn my attention back to his face, tearing my gaze away from the enchanting area I had just discovered, but I don't regret for a minute that I can immerse myself in those dark eyes again. Because now I can clearly see the dangerous flickers that light up in them, which promise such fleeting pleasures that make my stomach tremble with excitement, and I hardly even register the tension, tamed into a numb ache, caused by the hungry demand of my energy. The idea of burning the hot mark of my lips into every inch of him with my mouth awakens much more strongly in my body, so that he remembers in every waking minute what desperate desire he was able to bring to life in me.

"Go on." He leans down to me, and I can almost feel how the heat of the power radiating from him soaks into my cells, causing a shiver of anticipation to travel down my spine, slowly drawing a heady fog over my brain with his proximity. "Those little teeth don't do much damage." He claims, and his tone is filled with something quite playful, as if he just wants to tempt me to refute this impudent comment of his.

And as he glances at my mouth, which opens in shock, and my tongue almost reflexively runs along the grooves of my teeth, finding one of my aching canines, then I see how the brown irises slowly narrow into a thin ring as they follow this unconscious movement. And the realization that this man wants me to bite him hits me like a bolt of lightning. He demands that I tear open his skin and plunge deep into his flesh, because he wants to feel what he experienced in the infirmary. Which moved hoarseness in his throat and restrained tension in his limbs, and which caused a hardness in his lap, born of desire. He wants to bathe in the guilty feeling I caused him intoxicated by his blood, and suddenly I crave nothing more than to give him what he so nicely asks of me. Because every nerve fiber of mine is begging me to lure him into that shallow trap, in the smoldering foams of which I'm drowning more and more surely.

"Remember this later, too." I make this one last comment, and in this short sentence lies the warning, with which I let him know that he has entered into a game the outcome of which I will vouch for, but all its responsibility will rest on his shoulders if he brags so boldly that my teeth cannot seriously harm him. Since with this, he quite deliberately incites the need to prove myself, and urges me to show him how wrong he is. Because the storming thoughts in my head tell me that I can bring him to his knees, I just have to try meanly enough. And maybe that's exactly what he needs. Someone to finally teach him a lesson and take the control out of his hands, so that he could taste what it's like to be at the mercy of someone else with the fate of the burning desire awakening in his body. So be it…

And just enough motivation is born in my consciousness to finally push my body towards action, so I drag him down to me with my hand resting on his shoulder, and he fulfills my silent request with almost ready obedience. As I reach up to the base of his neck to trace the curve of the tight muscle with my lips, the heavy scent emanating from him fills my nose, and I close my eyes trembling, as the overwhelming torment of hunger ripples through me, dragging behind the blazing sparks that ignite every frail inch of my body like a wildfire. And now I'm unable to hold back the impatient pull that besieges my insides, which makes my mouth lach to his skin like a hungry leech, and as my teeth penetrate the supple boundaries of the tissues, then the intoxicating taste of his blood floods my tongue again and with that, every tiny thread that ties me to sobriety is torn. And it elicits nothing but a relieved sigh from me when the emptiness that tortures my stomach is finally replaced by a pleasant warmth. But even though my brain is covered by the veil of daze, my ears still keenly catch the hoarse moan, the force of which resonates throughout his chest, and rushes through my ear canals like a rousing melody, feeding the insatiable flame that licks at my belly, almost burning me alive.

The first greedy sip of red liquid rolls down my throat, and along with it, the electrifying sparkles settle in my limbs, and my mind, which is slowly sinking into a drunken stupor, does not try to stop the reckless thoughts that are stirring in it. My free hand departs with imperceptible insidiousness on his left arm resting on the table, dancing with a feather-light touch along his forearm webbed with thick fibers, and it fills me with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction when I feel them tighten under my fingertips. And although this small sign should serve as a signal to my blinded consciousness, I'm buried too heavily under the intoxicating sensation of his blood for me to be able to appreciate what a risky little fun I have started into. Although I'm aware of the horrors he is capable of with the power hidden within him, I still know that he holds the reins of his self-control with an iron fist, and I want to experience what it's like when he has to hold on to this control with gritted teeth. Because the damned little voice that lives deep in my skull tells me that if this terrible man lets his strict mask slip and the self-restraint that resides in him crack, then I will have an experience that I will never be lucky enough to witness again.

Excited by this, I trace the round line of his biceps, and as his broad shoulders twitch, when my mischievous little fingers reach there on their brave journey, I teasingly caress the battered skin with my tongue, and perhaps the subtle tremors that run through him are involuntary, but they accelerate the rhythmic drumming of his pulse under my mouth. And in my clouded brain, the thought arises quite boldly, whether he would tremble more wildly if I were to repeat the same small movement somewhere completely different. Because of this, the sharp teeth of want squeeze my insides with such desperate vehemence, that for a minute my consciousness, swimming in a blood-tipsy daze, drifts to the edge of fainting, and my blunt nails dig into him from the force I grip his shoulders with. But he doesn't protest, he just lets out a sigh heavy with desire, and as I feel his hot breath break through the fabric of his mask, I already know that I will do anything to see him falling apart.

I'm unable to stop, and my fingers continue to wander from his shoulder to the mounds of firm muscles swelling on his chest, and as my palm reaches his stomach, I feel the hard ridges ripple under the soft fabric, when I suck the wounds inflicted by my teeth perhaps a little harder than necessary. And I'm not quite sure that it's just the heavenly taste of his blood that's responsible for the warmth that boils in the pit of my stomach, because the raspy groan that erupts from his throat sounds more like the growl of a caged beast than the voice of a human being.

He invades every single one of my senses, and this heady buzz slowly enters my head, as if I wanted to quench the insatiable, sweet misery raging inside me with alcohol. Although the power of the hunger that tormented me has long since eased and the razor-sharp claws of pain have disappeared from my muscles, now something completely different fills every part of my being with restless energy. And when this feeling starts to feel a bit too much, and my mind would tip over into the pleasant unconsciousness of euphoria, I tear my mouth away from my victim's neck and with consoling kisses, I clean up the crimson droplets emerging from the small cuts of my teeth. And I know that I'm not imagining the way he jolts with each touch, and the sculpted muscles contract fiercely under the caress of my lips, like he would have to force himself to stay still. And the haunting voice in my head tells me that this is only the beginning, and just a small taste of the deep bottomless pit that I need to push him into.

Now that my mind is not dominated by fear of my actions, but by curiosity, I draw away from him with a lazy calmness to examine my work. And for a moment my breath is taken away by what I meet with when my bright eyes run over his figure leaning over me. There is something quite desperate in the way he stares down at me from under the tent of his blonde eyelashes, because I can see the hunger in his eyes that has also taken root in my body. A pleasant shiver sweeps over me when he follows my tongue, almost mesmerized, which cleans the rest of my dinner from the corner of my mouth. And my throat goes dry as I see his curved lips part under the dark material of his mask, and suddenly I want nothing more than to remove the damn fabric and feel what his mouth tastes like when he loses control. Because although I can't see his face, the smoldering waves of aching roll down his body with such ferocity that I can almost feel the roaring power emanating from him, as if I were embraced by living flames. But I don't care one bit if the fire that's coming to life in him sclads me, because every cell in me is begging me to burn myself with it.

However, I'm not satisfied with just recognizing the fierce thirst hidden in his eyes, and as I travel to his chest, rising wildly from his deep breaths, I'm filled with excited anticipation, because I want to see with what force my small teeth have effected him. Because I know that, contrary to his big words, I injected a poison into his body that planted a tension ready to jump in his every pore. And as my gaze slides down and rests on his crotch, a small grin spreads on my lips, because I see his hardness straining against the rough material of his pants, the clear sign of how much my sneaky little temptation was able to arouse sinful desires in him. And this finally breaks through all the barriers that kept my greed in check, which was already alive in my subconscious even in the infirmary, but now I'm not afraid to face it. Because I want to destroy this man, so that he can never forget my touch, and every time he closes his eyes, he replays these minutes behind his eyelids.

"You said last time that I started something I shouldn't have." I mutter softly, my eyes finding his again, and as I identify those mouth-watering, waiting glints to dance in the pools of his dilated pupils, I no longer have any desire to chase away the evil expression climbing to my face. Because I see in them the promise that could set the whole world on fire if I danced back from my vile little game. But he is lucky, because I'd die if I had to let him go. "Now I'll finish it." I declare firmly, and my hand resting on his stomach finds the belt attached to his pants to hook into the cold material. But I won't give him time to comment on my suggestion, because I'm not sharing an offer with him, but a dead-certain fact, and I'm going to make sure he can't think clearly enough to object.

My sly little hands immediately get to work and quickly unfasten the buckle of his belt, and as it surrenders with a soft clatter, I hear how sharply he inhales, as if he just wants to keep his composure in place. I know that he is still clinging to his sanity, and his stubbornness is sowing the seeds of a thousand diabolical ideas in my head, and guided by the bubbling excitement in my stomach, I decide that it is about time to obey one of them. With almost agonizing slowness, I loosen the small button that still holds his trousers on his hip, so that when I find the flies, I enjoy every second of the suffering that appears in his eyes when I finally start to pull down that wretched zipper. Because it's obvious with what persistence he has to hold himself back when my brave hand starts on its reckless path and traces the line of his erection hidden under his underwear. The line of his prominent jaw must be clenched with an almost painful force, as my fingers trail the throbbing curve of the thick vein running on his length, and the aching tremble moves into every fiber of me, as I find the wet spot that broke through the soft cotton in the wake of his excitement. And it's desperate how much pride fills me when it dawns on me that I'm responsible for how every single muscle of his is straining to the point of a snapping, and perhaps only a few thin threads separate him from throwing away his restraint.

But I want more than that, and this is the insatiability that leads my hand to sink under the fine fabric quite unexpectedly, so that I can finally release him from the suffocating captivity in which the poor thing has had to languish until now. And as the soft skin smooths under my palm, as my fingers wrap around his cock, I bite my lips to hold back the desperate moan that would want to break out of me, because I can clearly feel him twitching in my grip as I finally touch him. Now I have to look down, and I watch, almost spellbound, as his hard member emerges from under the dark textile. Thanks to the hypnotized trance taking over my mind, I can only follow silently as my fingers slowly trace along his length, and when my thumb smooths a white, pearly little drop from its head, then his whole body shakes from this small movement, and I fix my eyes on his face with the speed of a starving predator. And heat rises between my thighs, as I see the violent, barely controlled lust that radiates from his gaze, an excruciating desire coming to life in every corner of my body under its weight, which makes me want to cling to him asking him to bury himself into me. But now I have a different objective.

This is the determination that makes me able to swallow the pleading words rising in my throat, and instead let the crippling thoughts in my head take control of me. Without warning, my hand locks around his cock, and it's cruel even for me, the way my hand starts slide along his length, bringing out such muffled sounds from the man with each movement, which only further helps the flames raging in my consciousness become blazing hot. And I stare in amazement as his broad shoulders shake, when my fingers gather the wetness collected on his leaking tip, and the chuckle is brave even to my ears, that escapes my lips as his mouth opens in a rasped moan, as my thumb caresses that tiny little slit, from which the pre-cum gush out in thick drops. And although the determination in my head helps me stay on my goal, all my senses are focused on him, and with each passing minute, the veil of passion that descends on my brain grows thicker and thicker. An infectious heat emanates from every inch of his strong body, and the tingle under my skin boils hungrily, which pleads for his large palms to soothe the impatient energy that pulsates desperately in my veins. And the longer my hand strokes his heavy shaft, the stronger the salty scent emanating from him becomes, and it fills my nose and creeps further into my head, pushing all my nerves towards a drunken bliss.

Still, it's a much bigger reward as I see the battle of feelings passing through the dark eyes, and even my slowed mind recognizes that he is deciding how long he will let me continue with my naughty little game. And I don't have to wait long for the answer, because I catch on my periphery how the strong muscles dance as his arm rises, but before he can gather himself and leave his post on the table, I suddenly grasp his cock, and his whole body shakes from my meanness. My fingers gently tighten around the silky flesh, and even this small warning is enough to make him abandon his plan in an instant, whatever he was going to do, and instead, fix his fierce eyes on me, grunting like a wild animal that was pulled back by its chain just as it could have sunk its teeth into its victim. But he needs to know that the leash is in my hands right now.

"No, no..." I shake my head with playful scorn in my voice, and he leers down at me with such an angry temper that I know I'm well on the way to him giving up the self-control he's honed over the years. "Be a good boy, Riley. Keep your hand on the table, or I'll stop..." I share my silly little threat, and it doesn't escape my attention how quickly his jaw tenses as I scold him. And from the way he puts his body weight back on his hands and leans closer to me, I know that although he certainly doesn't like me instructing him in such a treacherous way, he is very happy to join this fight. Because I saw the excited lust in his eyes when I called him a good boy.

"You're playin' with fire..." He warns, and the passion puts a hoarseness in his voice, with which he addresses his frivolous little words to me. He doesn't need to remind me of that, because I know he could take what he wants in a heartbeat. But instead, he remains motionless, and his hips jerk almost demandingly, as my nimble little hand begins to pump him again, moving lazily up and down his thick length. And for a moment I almost take pity on him when I see how his strong shoulders stiffen as he tries to fulfill my request, like a well-trained beast that wants to please its owner despite its instincts. That's why my free hand goes on a torturous journey, and he snaps his eyes on my fingers running along the graceful curve of my neck so willingly that it's quite sweet.

"Is that how you wanted to touch me?" I ask quietly, and he follows with unflinching attention as I caress one of the supple mounds of my breast, and even under the material of my shirt I can feel one of my nipples visibly hardening under the onslaught of my feather-light touch. And although I'm also torturing myself with this, because the pressure of the hot ache in my belly is becoming more and more intense, it gives me much more satisfaction to see his throat move, as he swallows the tormented sigh that nevertheless escapes from his mouth as a muffled growl. Because I know that I will slowly break his tough mask by simultaneously giving him pleasure and fueling his hunger with the little show that I present to him. When my shameless trip ends on my stomach, and my fingers playfully dance along the edge of my pants, submerging under the rough fabric for a moment, then I hear how forcefully the air gets trapped in his chest from restrained anticipation. But I'm more evil than that, and I enjoy this disgraceful game much more than to give him what he so strongly craves.

I finish my performance just as quickly as I started it, and finding the nape of his neck, I tug him down to me, leaning closer to him with every alluring inch of my body, smoothing my lips against his face through the dark textile. Because I want him to hear clearly what the price is for me to stop torturing him, and he can finally get the sweet release, for which every part of him screams so much for.

"You don't deserve that just yet." I state simply, and the softness as I caress the line of his ear with my mouth is quite intentional, and I can feel how he freezes, as it reaches his brain, what kind of diabolical comment I made to him. "First I want to hear you moan my name..." I whisper my bold order to him, and an excited shiver runs through my body when I hear how the hard surface of the table cries out, as it cracks under the grip of his big hands. And the knowledge that he could easily throw me on the table and help both of us with our ravenous hunger, but instead obeys me despite the wild desire pulsing from him, awakens such a satisfied warmth in my stomach that makes me decide that it's time to reach the finale.

Letting go of his thick neck, I lean away from him because I want to see him fall apart by my hands, and I grab his shoulders with excited terror as my eyes connect with his. Like the raging sea in a night storm, in which the destructive waves collide and bury the ships drifting under them, dragging their helpless victims into the deadly foam. There swirls the heat in his eyes that could consume me alive, and under the intensity of which a painful tremble moves into each and every corner of my body. And the movement is quite instinctive, as my thighs tightly press together to try to calm the feverish, wet pulsing between my legs. I can only thank the fact that I don't start begging him to bury in me his throbbing hardness between my fingers, that I can feel his hips jerking forward, thrusting himself deeper into my grasp. I know he is close to the end, because I can feel his breathing speeding up, and this is enough of a signal for me to pick up the pace of the torturous work of my hands, and it's quite mesmerizing how his chest rises while panting, as the pleasure slowly washes over him.

"Fuck… Woods!" He moans, and I can almost hear him squeezing my name out between his clenched teeth, but I'm sure I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. It vibrates along his chest like a big cat purring, and it puts such a guilty edge in those few syllables, that I have to bite into my lips to hold back the tortured whimper that climbs up my trachea.

I can name exactly which is the point when the string of lust breaks inside him and his body falls into the burning arms of pleasure, because his whole body tenses up at the same time, like a drawn bow. He closes his eyes, and there is something insanely beautiful in the way his head is thrown back and the characteristic curve of his throat bulges out, and I would like to trace the moving tip of his Adam's apple with my tongue, but the sight is too paralyzing for that. And I only perceive it as a dull crackling as the wood of the table finally gives in, because it blurs my mind too quickly, as his hot release spills on the back of my hand, and I help him through the violent tremors of his orgasm.

And as the heat that has traveled through his body seems to subside, and the burning tension contracting his muscles seems to ease, then I watch with fascination as the droplet of sweat appears from under the material of his mask, to crawl down and mix with the crimson pearls appearing through the teeth marks I left on him. And this reminds me that it would be time to taste the dessert that I served myself with such tireless work. I let his cock slip out of my grasp, and he, gasping for air, follows me from under his half-closed eyelids as I raise my hand to my mouth. It doesn't escape my attention that his mesmerized gaze settles on my protruding tongue, which cleans the pearly white streams of his cum from my skin with a comfortable slowness. And I see the unbridled temper flaring up again, as I consume my snack to the last drop with a mischievous little smile, and release the soft moan that wants to break out of me from the salty taste spreading in my mouth. But it seems that he is still under the influence of my game, because he cannot react in time as I reach up and place a small kiss on his lips pressed together under the dark fabric, enjoying the warm moisture that the sighs trapped in the textile planted there.

"Thanks for the dinner." I thank him with a biting cheekiness in my voice, and something quite dangerous flashes in his eyes, which makes me think that maybe it's time to finally take my leave. Because I'm afraid that if I stay even a minute longer, I will let him seize control and take revenge for having amused myself with his sweet suffering in such a nasty way. That's why, taking advantage of his pleasure-induced slowness, I nimbly duck under his strong arm and retreat from his charming proximity before he has a chance to catch up with me. And the irritation with which he turns around is quite amusing, because he looks like a dog on a chain, in front of whom the cat danced just enough to make him want to bite its thin little throat.

"Woods... " He grunts, and I sense the edge of his unspoken threat, and although I hear my name escape his mouth for the second time during the night, and despite the fact that now a series of dark promises are mixed in his emphasis, he instills a morbid excitement in my limbs as he adjusts his tattered clothes and straightens up, glancing down at me. "This isn't over yet." He claims firmly, and there is not an iota of uncertainty or hesitation in his statement. But if it scares me, it dulls into a distant worry in my skull, for his blood and the wondrous sight he presented me with fill my mind with too much careless courage.

"Punish me if you can." I shrug my shoulders lightly, walking to the door with a spring in my steps, only to turn back to him one last time before leaving the room overheated by the heady smell of his body. "I'll look forward to it." I add this little remark to the end, putting a defiant grin on my face. As I see the recognition appear in his gaze, which makes his eyes narrow dangerously, then I know that he remembers that not so long ago he challenged my cunning tactics against himself with these exact same words. And he can only blame himself for believing that I wouldn't make use of his irresponsibility.

Although I step out into the moonlit hallway with the knowledge that I can cash in on the fact that Riley will pounce on me, perhaps when I least expect it, the threat is unable to make the satisfaction that nestles in my head disappear. And it may be true that every single cell of mine is crying out demanding that I turn around and let the man ease the burning need stretching my insides, but even that can't break my good mood. Because I was able to force him to surrender, and I showed him what vile tricks I have up my sleeve, which can make even a determined, powerful Hunter like him hand over the reins to someone else. And that sweetens the anticipation that I will be subjected to. Come on, Riley, show me you can be a mean bastard like me. I can't wait…

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